Fourth Sunday in Lent

In this morning’s Gospel Jesus tells the parable that is commonly known as the story of the prodigal son. The term “prodigal” is defined as “being wastefully or recklessly extravagant.

I think that a more appropriate title for this story would be “the prodigal father,” as, from our perspective, I think it is the father who acts in a most extravagant manner.

The two sons in this story represent two rather typical ways that most people respond to treasures entrusted into their care. It is the classic distinction between those who see a half glass of water as either being half full or half empty. One of these brothers is an incurable optimist. The other is a stubborn pessimist.

One way to define a pessimist is to imagine that a child is placed in a room full of toys, and after an hour, is found sitting in a corner, not having touched one of the toys. When asked why he refused to play with them, he responds, “I knew I’d just break them.” A definition of an optimist would be to put another child in a room full of horse manure, and when you came back in an hour, you’d find the child digging like crazy. When you asked why he is digging, his response would be, “Well, with all this manure, I just know there’s a pony in here somewhere!”

I think that there are times when it is appropriate to be optimistic, but there are also times when it is prudent to be a bit pessimistic as well. In this morning’s Gospel the two brothers represent the extremes of these two perspectives. One is a foolish optimist. The other is a joyless pessimist.

The issue is their inheritance; the wealth they will receive from their father. One demands it, and then squanders it. The other accuses his father of wasting it on his worthless brother.

These two brothers are not that unusual. We probably all know someone who has come into an inheritance and managed to spend every penny in a short time. And we also probably know those who most likely still own the first nickel they ever earned.

Note that both of these sons are stewards, not the owners, of this wealth. Their inheritance was the result of their father’s labor. Being good stewards, caretakers of that entrusted to us by another, requires a mixture of optimism; the willingness to invest in the future, and pessimism, the wisdom to not invest foolishly.

What is reckless, and even extravagant, is the response of the father to both of his sons. He greets the one who has squandered his inheritance with joy, and throws a party to celebrate his homecoming. In response to his angry elder son, he invites him to set aside his preoccupation of what is fair and what is not, and join in the party.

The reckless extravagance of the father has nothing to do with the inheritance of material wealth. It is about what is lost being found. It is all about his love for his sons. It is about his relationship with his sons. It is about grace, the unmerited favor a father offered to his sons.

It is with this same grace, this same unmerited favor, that God responds to each of us. It doesn’t matter if we are inclined to be optimistic or pessimistic, a squanderer or a hoarder; God wants us all to come home and join the party.

In his book, A Passion for Pilgrimage, Dean Alan Jones offers these words about homecoming:

The Great Memory is simply this; God has fallen in love with you and wants you to come home! Our first memory is God's love for us, and it is this memory that has been buried and repressed. Your first memory (if only you could get back to it) is that of being God's joy and delight. Why is it difficult to remember the joy of our beginnings in the heart of God? I wonder if it has something to do with our unwillingness to face the fact of our limited future? Memory and hope are intimately related. Perhaps we cannot recall the love that brought us into being in the first place, because we cannot imagine a love strong enough to pull us through the gates of death. I refuse to remember, because I dare not hope. I refuse to remember and I dare not hope, because I am frightened and angry because I will have to change.

God is madly, head over heals in love with each and every one of us. And, as the people of God, it is with this same passionate love that we are called to greet every person who walks through our doors. It doesn’t matter if we think they are worthy. It doesn’t matter where they have come from. We rejoice that one who was lost has once again returned to the family of God, and we invite them to join in the celebration.

We who are already members of the church might consider ourselves in the role of the eldest son. Our culture would the younger son who has left home. The biggest challenge in this story is for the eldest son to accept the prodigal grace, the recklessly extravagant grace, of God. Our challenge is to accept that those who are new to the kingdom of God are seen as equals in God’s eyes with those of us who have worked in the kingdom for most of our lives. There is no pecking order in God’s kingdom. And that doesn’t seem fair, does it? It’s not. God’s free gift of grace is not fair. It is freely given to all.

During this season of Lent, let us seek to return to God, and rejoice with the heavenly hosts when those who once were without hope experience the depth of God’s love. This parable has no ending. We are not told how the older brother responds to his father’s invitation to join the party. The celebration pauses as the guests await the brother’s response, and our response as well. This morning God asks each of us what we will do in response to God’s recklessly extravagant grace.

May we observe a holy Lent, resulting in abundant Easter joy.