“Who’s the Prodigal?”

Sermon: Rev. Mary Alice Mulligan, Ph.D.

Scripture: Luke 15:1-3,11b-32

In most sermons, when I speak about God, I use gender inclusive language. Sometimes I use feminine imagery for God – which is okay, since the Bible uses feminine imagery and even refers to God in the feminine and in the plural at times. God is Creator of all people. We are each created in God’s image, so God is male and female and gender fluid. But of course, God is not physical, so, we stretch our imagining about God by considering different language. But today, I’m using all masculine language for God, following the imagery used in the parable.

Many might be familiar with the parables in Luke 15. All three involve lost things – a lost coin, a lost sheep, and today, the lost sons. In fact, some jokingly refer to Luke 15 as the “Lost Chapter” of the Bible. Luke introduces the section showing political and religious bigwigs near Jesus grumble about the company he is willing to keep. “This fellow welcomes sinners, even eats with them,” they say. Apparently, Jesus doesn’t know where the social barriers are. In response to their griping, Jesus tells the “lost” parables. Turn now to read Luke 15: 1-3, 11b-32. 

Of the various interpretations offered for this parable, one ingredient is consistent. People recognize that Jesus means for us to see the Father in the parable as standing for God. God is the One who deals with rebellious children; the One who waits faithfully for the no-good kid to come home. Scholars love to point out the image of God, running, willing to abandon protocol and personal dignity to get to the beloved. God, creator of the universe, is running to forgive the unforgiveable. Then, turning to deal with the other son, who resents the Father’s extravagance. One worthless son come home penniless and the other insulting his father, trying to crush his joy. 

So, how many sons are lost? And let’s ask Jesus, who is the prodigal? 

God has given away everything. We may not have noticed before, but the Father has granted his children everything he has. At the beginning of the story, we see the Father dividing his entire estate between his two sons. The younger child has asked for his portion early, unwilling to wait to receive it as an inheritance. The young man is essentially saying he wishes his father would hurry up and die so he can get his portion. And the father gives the younger son whatever his portion is: half the estate or the percentage the younger son would appropriately receive. The father figures it up and hands it over. 

But then, after the squandering in a far country is done and the son comes home, we hear the older son refuse to come into the house, angry that his father has thrown a party for the scoundrel’s return. And how does the father respond? “Everything I have is yours.” Get it? All that is left, whatever the remaining portion is, is given over to the older son and now belongs to him. As if the Father had died, the estate is fully distributed. The father is not elderly; he was spry enough to run to meet the prodigal. Nevertheless, he executes his own will. Everything he worked for years to accomplish, now belongs to someone else. The Father is left with nothing.

We’ve seen that divine image before, the absolute self-giving love of God, haven’t we? In the image of Christ, but not in a made-up story. We’ve seen the body of Jesus, hanging limp on the cross. Everything he had, even his last breath, given away, out of divine love for God’s children, to provide life and wholeness for his precious ones. Nothing left. God gives away everything.  So there’s the selfless Father; now let’s turn to the sons, who look eerily familiar.

Some church people resemble the older brother. They are like the faithful child who never left home, never squandered the Father’s gifts. These folks never drifted away from the Church. Always dependable. Every church has them. They are the ones who sing in the choir year after year, showing up at every choir practice (no matter what’s on tv). They run the annual bazaar; volunteer at the church food pantry, even when no one else shows up. They clean the pews anonymously. Some of them teach Sunday school or show up to listen week after week. They run meetings and put away the chairs. Churches all over the world keep on keeping on through the faithful efforts of some of these “older brothers” of the congregations. Through lean years and good, these are the people who keep supporting the church with their prayers, their presence, their gifts, and their service. Congregations depend on them. 

But “older brothers” have to guard against acquiring an air of ownership, because when their Father’s other children, the less than perfect-attendance-pin winners, come wandering back home, older brothers can get into quite a smug snit. Older brother-types often complain that the church needs new blood. New members must be recruited, they say. But then when a new person wants to join the deacon board that already has as many members as the by-laws prescribe, the older brother (or sister) is overheard saying, “What, I’m supposed to give up my place on the board so someone who doesn’t know anything about us can have a vote? I don’t think so.” The older siblings can see themselves as the faithful “Us,” and the hoped-for new members remain “Them.” No quite good enough to be part of “us.” Older siblings are so used to holding things together, making the decisions, they worry someone new won’t know how to do the job right. These faithful workers always succeed in their responsibilities, always do what they promise. Every church has faithful older brothers.

But in reality, each of us has been the younger brother. That is, each of us wasted God’s gifts somewhere along the line. No matter how faithful we have been through the decades, we all know how the younger brother feels, don’t we? Each of us fails the test of faithfulness from time to time, even if no one knows about it. Perhaps most of us have not lived lives of wild, reckless abandon – spending months, even years not caring about God, or other people, or even ourselves. But some of us have. Most of us have not awakened with pigs, not remembering how we even got into the sty the night before, but some of us have (figuratively speaking). Many of us have given ourselves to something which left us starving for home, yearning for security. And all of us in one way or another have squandered the blessings our Heavenly Father has heaped on us. 

But if there happen to be some among us who never faltered, never slipped up, never woke up, not even one morning, with the pigs, then too bad for those folks, because they miss the astonishing, soul-cleansing feeling of divine grace. For most of us, if we stop to think how God has welcomed us back home after whatever shameful stuff we went through, it takes our breath away. The divine welcome extended to every-one of pig-filthy us? Stunning. What a glorious image, the Father running out to embrace unworthy us. The church doors are open and each of us is welcome to the celebration. See? The Table is set with food and drink for all; but not just any food. The food is the bread of heaven and the drink is the cup of forgiveness. Whatever blessings we frittered away are forgiven. Like an ongoing family Thanksgiving dinner, we are welcome at the Communion Table every month, and no one is turned away. Instead, we are welcomed home, no matter what. Forgiven. God throws a party for untrustworthy, us. We understand the experience of the younger brother, because in one form or another, we have each been the younger brother.

So, we need to welcome all the brothers (and sisters). We are called to share God’s welcome with all our siblings, because every one of us lost children is found by God. If we happen to forget we have not always been God’s perfect child, we may find it difficult to welcome other imperfect children. Some people even refuse to come in if certain younger brothers are welcome. In other words, they are saying God needs to choose between the rotten younger brother or faithful me.

When we hear someone insult and demean an amazing Supreme Court candidate, we are tempted to say that speaker shouldn’t be welcome. Or when someone on the sex abuse register steps out of their car on Sunday morning, we might want to bar the door. Or the Ukrainian family who will take so much time and money and energy to help acclimate to the US, they are so easy to ignore. But every person is God’s child. So that means, no person belongs here more than anyone else. Everyone is welcome, no matter what. It is the Father’s good pleasure to welcome everyone to the Table. Every-one. We can’t say everyone should be welcome. We must say, everyone is welcome because, only God is head of the church. And God welcomes all. So, each of us both receives God’s welcome and is expected to extend God’s welcome to others. 

Getting along with siblings can be difficult. But when we gather in the presence of our Loving Father, we recognize each of us is broken and imperfect, but then as we worship together we realize we are each at the same time forgiven and redeemed. (1)  We gather, with all our differences intact. Each person is allowed to be themself, to learn all they can about God, to be filled with the Holy Spirit, and to participate in the ministry of Jesus Christ here and throughout the world God loves. The church becomes richer when we are open to how God is welcoming others here. We are invited into the church; and so is every other person. So, we share God’s welcome with all our siblings. 

How many times have we heard the parable of the Prodigal Son? Lots. So we ask Jesus, “Who is the prodigal?” Well, the word prodigal means “recklessly wasteful or extravagant.” The younger son who took his premature inheritance was “recklessly extravagant” with it, until it was gone. But there’s a bigger “prodigal” in the story. The father! The father is carelessly, recklessly extravagant with his possessions, with his love, with his forgiveness, and with his celebration. What wondrous love splashes over onto each of us, the selfish younger siblings and the self-righteous older ones. And the reckless extravagance poured out on each of us, gives God tremendous joy. So, let’s join the party.

(1) This idea comes from Parker Palmer, The Company of Strangers: Christians and the Renewal of American Public Life (New York: Crossroad, 1990), 122.