Lost and Found

Then the father said to him, “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. 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.” [Luke 15:31-32].

Over the years, I have found that often the most difficult passages of Holy Scripture upon which to preach or write are not the ones that are relatively unknown—e.g., the Outrage at Gibeah [Judges 19-20] or Jacob’s use of strange genetics in his bargain with his father-in-law, Laban [Genesis 30-31], but rather those portions of the holy text that are most familiar, such as the so-called Parable of the Prodigal Son [Luke 15:11-32], the Gospel reading for this upcoming Sunday [Fourth Sunday in Lent, RCL, Year C]. When it comes to these familiar passages, most folks already think they know what the scripture has to say. The challenge, therefore, is to peel away some of that familiarity, without doing damage to the text itself.

We all remember the parable: A father has two sons. As we build our mind picture from Jesus’ words, we could substitute a mother for the father, or one or two daughters for the sons if we like. Our Lord’s parables, after all, don’t speak about historical figures. Without going into the details—there really aren’t that many—the younger convinces his father to give him his inheritance and then the lad leaves town, whereafter he blows the fortune on wine, women, and song.

There’s the other son—the “good” son—who stays behind and tends to his father. And there’s the father, a man who seems a bit like a pushover. The younger son runs out of money, determines to return home, and is greeted by the father, who throws a lavish reunion party, much to the older son’s chagrin.

One dominant sermon line centers on the repentant attitude of the younger son. After all, the text is read during Lent, and one of the important Lenten themes is repentance. Only, are you sure repentance is even present within the parable? Read the text carefully. To be sure, the younger son indicates what he’s going to say when he returns to his father. The son isn’t so much repentant as he is desperate. My bet is that he knows the sort of line he needs to give his dad to get what he wants. The lad may say, “I’ll tell him I’m sorry.” The text never says, “The lad was sorry.”

Another dominant sermon line—one that I have used on three occasions—is to argue that the real “spendthrift” in the parable is not so much the younger son, but rather the father. Here, my point is not a negative one. Constantly reminding ourselves that this is parable, not a story of life in our society, it seems that Jesus is painting a picture of a father figure whose love is unbounded. This is a father who lavishes his love and blessings.

Recall from other parables, this father is like the sower who broadcasts his seed in every direction, not just toward those who happen to be in favorable positions to prosper from it. This father is like the woman who loses a coin, searches diligently until she has found it, then calls her friends together and says, “Rejoice with me …” [Luke 15:9a]. This father is like the shepherd who has lost one of his sheep, leaves the 99 in the open country and travels until he has found that which was lost. Then he “joyfully” puts it on his shoulders and goes home [Luke 15:5]. The father in Jesus’ Parable of the Prodigal Son is like no ordinary father; he’s a Prodigal himself, for he is profligate in expending his love.

A theme in a sermon with the father as the dominant figure often goes like this: long before we turned to Him, He was there. Long before we began what we thought was a difficult journey toward God the Father, He was there. Long before we ever confessed the magnitude of our sin, He was already there. And I’ll bet that you, like me, believe that with all your heart.

There’s a third sermon line. I’ve used it twice, but I’ll confess that I’m afraid of it. It’s the one that tends to hit too close to home. This sermon line looks at the “good” son, the son who didn’t ask for his inheritance—but got it nonetheless [Luke 15:12]. This is the son who thinks he has it hard. He’s the type of son who has been laboring dutifully since early in the morning, to borrow from Jesus’ Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard [Matthew 20:1-18], the son who sees others join the “workforce” later in the day, only to see still more stragglers hired on near the end of the day, and who has to wait as all the workers are given the same daily wage, receiving it in reverse order of their hiring.

This is the son who must search his heart when he’s asked the question, “Do you begrudge my generosity? [Matthew 20:15b]. Oh my, does this son begrudge such grace bestowed on the undeserving son by the father! This is the son who, seeing that his brother has squandered how own fortune, cannot understand why the father would throw a party upon the younger son’s return. Moreover, this is the story of the son who seems likely to find it difficult to join in an intimate relationship with his father. Note that the older son was out on his own, out in the field and not at home with his father when the younger son returned.

On numerous occasions, I’ve warned against trying to see discussion points within every detail of Jesus’ parables, or to try to turn them into allegories. In spite of those admonitions, I’m left with the feeling that the older son—the good son—felt a bit like an outsider, even within his home. He was slow to join in. It was difficult for him to commit emotionally. In short, this son finds it difficult to embrace joy.

To be sure, he acknowledged the inheritance the father had given him, but he likely chose to listen not so much to the loving words of his father as to the competing words of a society that surrounded him. “You need to prove yourself. Nothing in life is free; you’re only worth what you put into something.”

He’s more comfortable maintaining some distance between himself and the father. I suspect that sons (and daughters) like the older one in the parable rise early in the morning, hours before the father, leave the house to engage in commerce or other enterprise, take a quick lunch at their desk, and in later afternoon, while the father has been at home patiently waiting for his/her return, perhaps tells the father not to wait supper—“I’ll catch something on the way home.” In their hearts, these sorts of sons and daughters appreciate “what the old man” has done for them. They just like to keep some separation. Showing too much emotion is a sign of weakness.

The wayward son, having lost everything, can simply be embraced within the loving arms of the father. He has nothing left to lose. But the good son (or daughter) cannot release himself/herself from the need to prove his or her worthiness.

During a preaching conference at Duke some years ago, the Reverend Dr. Sam Wells, former Dean of Duke Chapel, now Vicar at St Martin-in-the-Fields, allowed that when it comes to this parable of Christ, both sons are asked the same question, “Will you come to my party?” For one son, the answer is clear. For the other, things are a bit open-ended.

Dare I say it? In his parable, Jesus isn’t talking about relationships between an earthly father and two sons (or daughters). That’s the danger of reading too much into the parable’s details. Jesus is instead talking about the Kingdom of God. Jesus is talking about relationship with God the Father. Confronted with Joy, do we say yes or no?

Moving back for just a second to the parable’s details, if you—like me—see some of the older son within you, carry that vision just a little further. Can we see how wonderful it would be for the good son or daughter to arise each morning, share some quiet time with the father, and perhaps do the unthinkable: throw away the boundaries, move over to him, place one’s cheek against his chest, and feel his gentle breath upon you. We hear his whisper, “Rejoice with me.”

It doesn’t mean that all the world’s troubles are gone. The Russians are still killing children in Ukraine. The virus still struggles for its due. Young people are still dying on the streets of Chicago, New York, and Durham. But in that closeness of time and space with God the Father, He tells us nevertheless, “Rejoice with me.” And why should we share in the Father’s joy? Because, as some of the Father’s lost children, you and I have been found.