Dying to Party

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector

St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas

March 10, 2013; 4 Lent, Year C

Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32)  All the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, "This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them."

So Jesus told them this parable:

"There was a man who had two sons. The younger of them said to his father, 'Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.' So he divided his property between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. But when he came to himself he said, 'How many of my father's hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands."' So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. Then the son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.' But the father said to his slaves, 'Quickly, bring out a robe--the best one--and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!' And they began to celebrate.

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“Father.  I want you dead.” 

The words of the younger son must have sounded like that to his father.  In a patriarchal culture, a child owes full obedience to the patriarch for life.  The father sits at the head of the table and rules the family until his death.  That’s just the way it is.

In an agrarian society, the father is to keep the family property in trust as it was passed to him, and he is to pass it to his sons for the sake of the whole family for generations to come. 

Jesus’ hearers must have been scandalized by the notion that any father would give a younger son a share of the property.  They would have been shocked by a father who would stand aside as that son sells the fields that have been in their family longer than memory. 

Then the young fool goes away and loses everything to foreigners, to pig-loving Gentile Romans.  The Jewish Talmud has a ceremony to deal with a Jewish boy who loses the family inheritance to Gentiles.  It’s called a qetsatsah (kweat-sat-sash) ceremony.  If ever that person shows up in the village again, the villagers can fill a large jug with burned corn and nuts, and shout the man’s name loudly as they break the jug before him.  He is cut off from his people forever.  He is dead to them.

Aristotle said, “Great men never run in public.”  But maybe, when he realized his prodigal son was returning, this patriarch ran to get to him before the village could cut him off forever.  “Filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him.”  The father called for the best robe, which would have been his own.  And a ring – maybe the patriarch’s ring with which he sealed binding agreements.  And the fatted calf – a signal that the entire village would be invited to a feast to celebrate a dead son’s return. 

In an honor culture, this father’s sacrifice is beyond imagination.  He willingly sacrifices his honor for the sake of reconciliation, to restore a lost and rebellious son.  And our story today ends right there with the happy words, “And they began to celebrate.”

But that’s not the end of the story.  There is still the elder son.  The good boy.  When the inheritance was divided, this son kept the land and did what was right.  He only learns about his brother’s return as he comes back from his day’s labor and hears the sounds of the party. 

According to custom, it is his duty as an eldest son to welcome the guests at his father’s door and to show them to the food and wine.  To do anything else would bring shame to his father.

But he refuses.  It seems easy to understand.  His foolish brother has squandered half of the family fortune and brought humiliation to them all, leaving him alone to take care of their parents.

Inside the house, word comes to the father.  He’s at the head of the table, as he should be, reestablishing his relationships with their neighbors and acting in accordance with his standing as family patriarch.  If he stays at the table, the rest of the village will show him honor. 

But he does not.  He goes out to the elder son just as he did to the younger.  There he hears an earful of insult.  “Listen!  For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends.  But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!”

Humbly, gently the father responds.  “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.”

And there we leave the story.  A humiliated father standing outside begging his elder son to join the party, to be reconciled and at peace.  We don’t know how it ends.  If the elder has an ounce of pride, if he insists on what is right and just, it will end badly.

Think of what has to be given up to join this party.

First, he prodigal son.  He had to face his failure, yes.  But as he was starving in the pig sty, he cut a plan.  Plan B.  Being a hired hand is better than this.  I’ll go home, apologize to my father and give up my standing as his son.  I’ll work for him.  I can talk him into it.  The boy has worked out a scheme to save himself. 

But when his father threw himself on the boy and kissed him, the boy realized he’s not there to try to make a deal.  He’s not executing Plan B.  He finally realized truly, he was a dead man.  (Maybe he could see the villagers around the corner prepared with their large pot of corn and nuts.)  He realized he was not there to negotiate.  He had no standing to negotiate.  He was dead. 

With that realization, he spoke his confession.  “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.”  Period.  Stop.  No more foolishness about being a hired hand.  That’s all he can say.  He is dead.  That’s real confession. 

Listen to this from Robert Farrar Capon:

Confession is not a medicine leading to recovery.  If we could recover – if we could say that beginning tomorrow or the week after next we would be well again – why then, all we would need to do would be apologize, not confess.  We could simply say that we were sorry about the recent unpleasantness, but that, thank God and the resilience of our better instincts, it is all over now.  And we could confidently expect that no one but a real nasty would say us nay.

But we never recover.  We die.  And if we live again, it is not because the old parts of our life are jiggled back into line, but because, without waiting for realignment, some wholly other life takes up residence in our death.  Grace does not do things tit-for-tat; [grace] acts finally and fully from the start. [i]

Death and resurrection.  The robe, the ring, the fatted calf.  Forgiveness, reconciliation and a new creation.  Welcome to the party.  Welcome to the Eucharist.

The only thing that can keep you out is your pride.  Or your insistence on your standing.  If you insist on being right over being in relationship, you will split up the family.

Think of what has to be given up to join this party.

Like it or not, your father does not stand on honor, or dignity, or rightness.  Your father embraces wrongdoers and raises the dead.  Love is given, not earned.  Some people wish that father were dead.

But, good people.  The party has begun.  And we are all invited in.  But so is your prodigal brother, and the neighbors who would punish him.  And you’ll have to give up any notion that you’ve earned your entrance.  You’ll have to give up the notion that anything meaningful can be earned. 

Can you give up your honor and dignity and rightness?  Or are you just going to stand there outside with your dumb rules.  Why?  Why don’t you just do yourself and everybody else a favor and drop dead.  Forget about your stupid life, come inside, and pour yourself a drink.[ii]  It’s party time!

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[i] Capon, The Parables of Grace, 1988, p. 140; quoting from Between Noon and Three, 1982, p. 77

[ii] The Parables of Grace, p. 144

And thanks to Barbara Brown Taylor’s sermon The Parable of the Dysfunctional Family, 2006 for several things in this sermon.  http://www.barbarabrowntaylor.com/newsletter374062.htm