In the parable of the lost sons, Jesus shows us our greatest obstacle is how much we want others to deserve our scorn.
and the necessity of celebration
Lent 4C | Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32
The story begins with a wealthy man. He has a great deal of land and many workers. And we learn from the story that he is generous with his employees, is a fair boss, and a decent man.
He has two sons. They grow up anticipating the time when all that is their father’s will become theirs.
Well, the younger son doesn’t want to wait. He wants out now. Out of the family and its responsibility. He doesn’t want to farm; he wants something else.
Now, this isn’t a casino. You can’t just cash out when you’re done. Because this is inheritance. And his Dad is very much alive. So he’s not so much asking for an advance. He’s essentially saying to his Dad “You’re dead to me.” But not only in words. But in the eyes of the law. Give me the cash as if you were dead.
And incredibly, the father does it.
This is probably the most profound and improbable part of the story. The father doesn’t just entertain this nonsense. He gives it away. He doesn’t just let his son go; he lets him lose everything.
Now, this requires the father to immediately sell one-third of his farm. Remember, it is one-third because the eldest son gets two portions. So to do this, you have to divvy up the farm into three portions and give each of brother one-third and then the eldest a second third. Anyway—back to the point.
The father has to sell a third of his property: real estate, livestock, produce; everything. He has to fire workers because there is less farm to take care of. This is a huge financial undertaking.
And the younger son takes that cash and splits.
Meanwhile, the older son stays.
He stays on the farm that he was always going to inherit. And he takes on the responsibilities he was duty-bound to do. The very things his little brother refused to do.
And all of this would be hard enough, anyway. And would be harder still if his little brother hadn’t skipped town. But it must be excruciatingly difficult to do it and deal with the fall out of what his brother did to the family.
His brother committed economic patricide: for one only gains the father’s inheritance when the father has died. So he has economically killed off his dad.
So where does that leave the older son in relation to the property? Whose land is it? From that moment on, every piece of it will be the one son’s. Every patch of dirt to every chicken or goat to every hired hand. Every last inch will be his.
But now, is it not his? If the father has given out one inheritance early, has he not also given out the other?
And yet, the Father is acting like a dad. And the elder son is acting like a son. And nobody’s clear about who owns this land! Here they are: pretending like everything is going the way it is supposed to. Seriously, these people need therapy.
This is the groundwork for the tension in the story.
And I would wager that every time the vast majority of us read this story we get a bit cheesed at the younger brother. And we feel bad for the older brother. If you’ve watched Encanto you get that family dynamics have a life of their own. Especially when we don’t talk about them.
Chances are really good that when we hear the description of the younger son’s experience, we’re thinking Well, this is what he gets! And we’re imagining how wasteful and terrible this young man is. And then we hear about the poor, confused older brother who just wants his Dad to be as generous with his love as he is to that stupid, good-for-nothing brother! Even when we know better, we pick sides!
But if you have been at the bottom, made mistakes, or gotten out of a toxic relationship, you read this story completely differently, don’t you?
You start to see how remarkably generous the father was in letting the son go. And in letting him come home. Even after the son has disowned his father, the father never does the same to his son.
Meanwhile, the “good son” shares none of himself with his father, demands ownership of the property but acts like a slave, and sees his father, not as Dad, but master. He is jealous of the younger brother for escaping the tyranny of a terrifying monster.
The kind of monster who throws a party for his long-lost son.
Nobody helped him
Before this great reunion, there’s a moment I want us to consider. That younger son has lost everything and gets a job feeding pigs. But he’s broke. Starving. Down to nothing:
“He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything.”
There’s a kind of double-meaning here that strikes me. One is obvious. He’s got nothing and nobody is helping him out. The other takes a thought. As the young scion of a wealthy family, he grew up used to handouts.
This is obvious, of course. But if we think a little harder, peel another layer back, we can see why this is even more significant. And that third layer is this: What do we think of handouts? Well, we tend to think of handouts to the poor and destitute as wasteful. Our politicians like to demonize the poor as lazy people always looking for a handout.
But for the wealthy, handouts are what? Inheritance.
How we feel about earning income is directly related to class. And how we feel about the person generally depends on where we find them: a shelter or a C-Suite.
And this is why it is so noticeable that nobody helps him. Yes, because he’s used to being helped. But also this truth is condemnation of the community. Because nobody helps him.
And when he comes home, his brother sets himself to walk out on his family. Because his Dad has the audacity to be the one person in the world who helps this young man in need.
This is the Parable of the Lost Sons.
Two prodigal sons. Both are lost. Running away.
But the father has always been there. Above the property disputes. Always generous and fair. It is the sons who have refused to be connected to him.
And then the miracle. His son has returned; his heart full of remorse. And there can be only one response: Celebrate! Throw a party!
“for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!”
A party is the right response to miracles. A festive celebration with friends and food. So generous, extravagant, and…oh, but the word we’re inclined to use next reveals how wrong we are. Because we would dare call it unnecessary. A lavish celebration; so imprudent. So unnecessary. But the father says it is quite the opposite.
As the older brother tries to leave, the father tells him he had no choice!
“But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.”
This is what we do when the lost is found and the dead are raised!
We celebrate. Party.
But so often we are lost. Not just like the younger son. Sometimes we’re the older brother who refuses to forgive: his brother or his father.
We let all the other stuff get in the way. We don’t feel like partying. Acting like the party is optional. Extravagant. And the subject of the celebration: unworthy. We mix our pain with judgment; refusing to do the thing that is most Christ-like.
But even this we selfishly personalize. We make it about ourselves or other people as individuals or what’s wrong with our church and the one thing we can do to fix it.
But we aren’t called to judge ourselves or our neighbors. Or our church. We aren’t here to fix us. We eat with outcasts and celebrate the mercy of God. That’s the work.
When Kelly Brown Douglas reminds us that
“In the final analysis, we must hear the call of God asking for us to be the church”
this is the material. The people we share the love of God with. Show mercy toward. Open our doors to. It’s the lost and marginalized. This is how we be the church.
We seek and we find. And then we celebrate it. Extravagantly. Because, of all the things we are called to do, the celebration may be most essential and necessary.