LENT 4-C, March 21, 2004

The story of the Prodigal Son could probably be better called "All in the Family" -- not Archie Bunker's "All in the Family" but every man's and every woman's family -- even Archie's. For if you are like me, the story of the Prodigal Son is very much a story of my family. It is very much my story. That is my family Jesus is talking about in that parable. I am that over-indulgent father who waits for his child to come home. I am that older son who sometimes resents the actions of his younger brothers and sisters. I am that younger son, whom we have called the Prodigal, who sometimes wastes time and talent. When I hear and read today's parable, I am hearing and reading about me.

In more ways than I would like to admit I am that older brother. In actual fact I am the oldest brother, the oldest child in a family of five children. And I have been the model child, the almost-perfect child. That is not to brag. That is simply a statement of fact. Like the older brother in the parable, I did what was expected of me. I never gave my parents trouble. I grew up in the church. Went off to seminary at 15. I was even a model seminarian. I was ordained on my 27th birthday and have spent the rest of my life in the church. For the most past I have done what was expected and demanded of me. My younger brother Dan thinks I've led a dull and boring life.

Compared to him, yes I have. If the truth were told, Dan was more like the prodigal son than I. He is the resident genius in the family, but also the one who has the least common sense. He dropped out of Carnegie Tech because he preferred to party than study; and he dropped out of St. Vincent's College because the professors gave him a hard time after he told them he was an agnostic -- not a very smart thing to do at a Roman Catholic College back in the 1960s. Dan immediately went off to California, got married, had a son and went into debt. And when he came crawling back home with child and pregnant wife, my parents were there with open arms. They even gave him and his family my bedroom. I was not a happy camper. Today Dan is a successful businessman who can buy and sell me. Oh, well.

As I said, I relate to that older brother. But I am also that younger brother. Foolishness is only determined by degree. It is not determined by age, gender or mental capacity. We all do stupid and foolish things in our lives. I dare say that there is not one person here this morning who does not have at least one skeleton in the closet. I will not tell you about mine. I would rather leave them where they are. That closet is a constant reminder to me of my failings and shortcomings. My brother may have been more foolish than I, more wasteful, more prodigal, but, again, foolishness is only measured in degree. In the end, difference in degree really makes no difference. Dan and I have both overcome the mistakes and foolishness of our past even if we keep making new ones.

And I am also very much like the father in the parable. I give to my children probably more than I should in terms of material goods. And when my children make mistakes, when they do foolish things, as all children are wont to do, I am angry, but I am also ready to forgive. Every parent of every child knows what it is to stand on the porch waiting for the child to return home safely.

Whether the wait is the return from a dance, the return from work, the return from college, wherever, we don't sleep until our child is home safe and sound. And even when the child comes home late or drunk or whatever, as angry as we may be, we are even more thankful the child made it home safe and sound. Like the father in the parable, sometimes we are even tempted to throw a party, especially after the child has finally gotten his act together.

The Parable of the Prodigal Son is the Parable of every person, the parable of every family. And, as Robert Capon calls it, it is a parable of grace. Jesus told that parable in response to an accusation by the Pharisees that he hung around with sinners. And, to their minds, that was utterly wrong, especially for someone who, at least by his words and actions, claimed to be a teacher of the people. If Jesus stayed true to his words and actions, these Pharisees contended, then what he was advocating was the overthrow of their faith, if not the overthrow of society itself.

What these Pharisees wanted was justice not mercy, condemnation not compassion and grace. If you broke the law, you were to be punished. If you went against the established order, you must pay the price. In fact, the only way to keep order was by an orderly set of laws. If you hung out with lawbreakers and sinners, why what kind of message were you sending? There was no place in Jewish society, said the Pharisees, for sinners and lawbreakers, certainly no place for mercy, compassion and the grace of God.

The Pharisees, of course, did not have a lock on self-righteousness. We are all self- righteous. We all at times think we have a lock on what is right, especially on what we think is right for someone else. We seem to know what another should do better than that person himself. I am personally good at telling someone else how to do his job, especially my boss. I mean, I can tell Bishop Scarfe how to be Bishop. Just ask me. And if the Bishop does not do his job the way I think he should, I am very ready to criticize.

If there is any, any consolation in this, I am not alone. There is an older brother, a big brother, a Rush Limbaugh, a Bill O’Reilly, an editorial writer in each and every one of us. And when we become like the Pharisees, agents of justice and condemnation rather than agents of mercy, compassion and grace, there will always be conflict. I rushed to judgment about my brother. I was quick to condemn. And I often still do. But when the shoe is on the other foot, what I seek is mercy, forgiveness and grace.

It is so easy to rush to judgment, no pun intended concerning Mr. Limbaugh. It is so very easy. Oftentimes, like the older brother, we judge others because we secretly would like to be in their shoes. We are jealous. And so we resent the seeming good that happens to them as they get away with murder. Other times we rush to judgement, because, like the Pharisees, we are simply self-righteous. We wouldn't do that. We would do something else. We have all the answers, or at least the right answer. Or, maybe, we just don't like the other person or think he dislikes us. Whatever. So we condemn, find fault, are angry.

The point, though, is not why we do what we do, why so often we seek justice rather than mercy, why we seek condemnation rather than compassion and grace. That is a result of our both our human nature and our human sinfulness. No one of us is exempt. As Jesus reminds us in another parable, before we cast the first stone, we must open our own closet and see what is hidden there. And when we do, my suspicion is that we will drop the stone and will want mercy not judgement, compassion not condemnation.

When we are in that younger brother's shoes, what we need, you and I, is to come to our senses and realize that what we are doing is not doing us or anyone else anyone good. What we then want is for the old man to be standing on the porch with open arms and open heart and a forgiving soul. We don't want any lecture on irresponsibility, no suggestion that we go inside and immediately make amends to our poor mother, no accounting of where the money went. We may feel we deserve to be treated as a hired hand rather than as a son or brother, even expect it, but we would rather not. We would like mercy and compassion and grace. What we really don't expect is for the old man to throw a party, to give us a brand new set of clothes and maybe even a new car.

If we are the older brother who arrives home while the party is going on, we are confronted with a decision. This is how Robert Capon paints that scene: "Then arrives Mr. Respectability, The Departments of Ethics and Moral Theology, the Faculty of the School of Religion, the Deans and Trustees of the Law and Business Schools, and representative's from the Bursar's Office" all rolled into one. I know. I've been there. I've been that older brother. I still am. What often keeps me from rushing to judgment is that gentle reminder that I am also that younger brother. But not always.

The parable ends without our knowing what the older brother did. Did he go in to the party, pour himself a drink and rejoice in the celebration of the death and resurrection of his brother? Or did he remain outside, angry, resentful, compassionless and condemning? The choice was his. That is Jesus’ point. The choice is always ours. When that younger brother finally comes to his senses, comes home and asks forgiveness, we have a choice. We can be the older brother who stands outside and criticizes, judges and condemns, forgetting all the while our own failings and shortcomings; forgetting that we, too, in more ways than we would like to admit, are that younger brother who is somewhat less than perfect. Or we can be like the loving father who always stands and waits with open and loving heart, mind and soul. Just like God.

There is in each one of us something of the older brother, something of the younger brother, and something of the father. Those roles change from day to day, often from hour to hour. What is ultimately important is what we do when given the choice between judgment and mercy, between condemnation and compassion. Will we stand arms folded and unforgiving or will we stand with arms open and accepting the one who was dead to us and is now alive, who was lost and now is found?