Sermon for March 30, 2025 - The Fourth Sunday of Lent
Father, I’m Coming Home
The very familiar parable we just heard is the last in a series of three parables that portray God as seeking out that which is lost. The other two being the parables of the Lost Sheep and the Lost Coin, all of which are found in this chapter of the gospel of Luke. The beginning of this chapter states that Jesus told these three stories in response to a complaint raised by the Pharisees and scribes concerning Jesus’ habit of associating with known sinners; those deemed impure, those cast to the margins of society. These parables attempt to show that Jesus was carrying out God’s will to seek the lost.
In this third and final parable, as Jesus tells it, a prosperous landowner has two sons. The younger cannot wait until his father dies before he gets his inheritance. Despite this insult, the father gives the younger son his share of the family property. The youngest runs off to some first-century Las Vegas, squanders it all, and ends up eating beans and mush alongside the hogs he is reduced to feeding. The fact that he was tending swine should not be lost on us. Moses was clear that swine were not kosher. They were unclean animals, impure. No good Jew would be caught dead near pigs. That is how far this guy is from home.
Then, as he literally wallows in his own shame, guilt, and fear, he decides that he might return home, even if his father will not take him back as a son and treats him like a hired hand, anything would be better than this. So, he begins his journey home, in the exact opposite state in which he left. He is expecting the worst. His mind is playing into his fears. As he walks, he is preparing his speech, ready to throw himself on the mercy of his father, hoping to just be home; even if he is not restored to his place within the family.
However, as he comes over the hill in sight of his hometown, his father runs to greet him with open arms. The prodigal son cannot even launch into the groveling speech about his wicked sinful actions, the one he has rehearsed over many weeks and many miles. Before he knows it, he is wrapped in the finest robes, a family ring is put on his finger, and the fatted calf is killed and prepared. This moment of humiliation has turned into a moment of joy; it is a party of biblical proportions.
The hardest part about coming home, is making the decision to do so, because it means wading through those deep emotions of guilt, shame, and fear. We feel guilty for our actions. We feel shame because of what everyone else thinks of us in light of our actions. And we are afraid of how our loved ones, our friends and family will act towards us. These feelings are strong motivators for us to not come home, to continue running, so as to not have to deal with these powerful emotions. We numb the pain, and hope that it will all just go away. But we all know it doesn't work that way, life doesn’t work that way, and as Jesus tells us, God doesn’t work that way either.
Some years ago, I found myself sitting in a small furnished apartment across the street from the sprawling campus of the Ohio State University. I was in Columbus, Ohio because I had foolishly followed my own will and desires rather than listening to the better judgment of others. But as the relationship that drew me so far from home deteriorated, so too did my desire to stay. I began to retreat within myself. I stopped going to class. I stopped leaving the apartment during the day to avoid others, so I wouldn’t have to lie about why I haven’t been around. I left only when I absolutely needed to. I wanted to go home but I couldn't. I was imprisoned by my own guilt for my actions and screw ups. I was caged in by my shame for potentially being viewed by others as a failure and disappointment. I was paralyzed by my fear. I was so desperately lost. Out of the depths, I once again cried out to God for help.
As I wallowed in my own pigsty, I too had to make a choice; do I stay and continue down the self-destructive path spiraling out of control or go home. That same feeling in my heart that pulled me back from the brink of the dark abyss once before, was tugging at my heart again and I knew that God was telling me that there was more to my life than this. God was calling me back. I decided to go home.
So, I called my parents and two days later they were in Columbus with my older brother, and we packed up my apartment to head home. I needed to shed the weight of my own sin and seek forgiveness from my family for my actions. Then and only then, after letting go of my will and surrendering myself to the will of God did I experience the freedom found in being welcomed home.
Behind Jesus’ parable lies profound and overwhelming truth about God and his kingdom. We humans, we are all lost in some way, mired in sins of sensuality and greed and self-referential resentment, hip-deep in the pig slop of envy. Before we knew it, God reached out to us through the ancient Israelites, providing for us through a covenantal relationship. The nature of covenantal relationship is such that both parties are to be active participants in that covenant. Each side must hold up its end of the bargain. We failed to live up to God’s expectations, so he reached out to us once again in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Through Christ, God has raised us up and called us home. It is not just about you or me, or my sin or your sin. It is about God and God’s life-giving love and mercy.
Every time God’s active, stretching, searching, healing love finds someone who is lost and calls that person back home, it does not mean less for the rest of us. There is enough for all. As the father lavished his love upon both of his sons, the sinner and the righteous, so too does God lavish his love upon us. So, where do you need restoration, healing, and hope? If you are feeling like the younger son, what do you need to let go of in order to return home? If you are feeling like the older brother, what judgements of others do you need to let go of in order top welcome the lost back into the fold? Or if you are feeling like the father, how might open your arms just a little wider and cast your love further? The invitation to come home is there, ready for us to take, if you want it.
Our story begins with a complaint made by the Pharisees and scribes regarding Jesus’ willingness to welcome and eat with sinners. It ends with a father’s welcome to his erring younger son, marking the restoration of proper relations among the members of the family and the wider community. The parable ends with an implicit question: will the Pharisees and scribes join Jesus in welcoming all outsiders into the household of God? Are we willing to also join Jesus? What must we shed so that the old can pass away and live boldly into the new life offered by God in Christ? Amen.
