Lent 4, 2025
Joshua 5:9-12
2 Corinthians 5:16-21
Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32
Psalm 32
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
So, I made a living for 30 years playing in a band called Lost And Found. And—because of the band name—we often referenced the Gospel reading we just heard from Luke. It’s part of a series of parables about things and people that were lost and found. A lost sheep, a lost coin, and a lost son. But you can turn those parables around and consider them as stories about a faithful shepherd, a diligently seeking woman, and a waiting father. You can do a lot with these parables, and we did exactly that, what with having the band name Lost And Found.
In fact, we wrote three different songs about this parable we just heard. The first one was from the perspective of the prodigal son. And the second was from the perspective of the waiting father. And then in seminary I wrote a third song we never recorded, which combined both those perspectives along with that of the elder brother. So much to work with in this story! But today, I want to focus on the relationship between the two brothers.
We’ve all heard this story many times. The younger son demands his share of the inheritance and then blows it on loose living. And then he realizes the error of his ways, he repents, and he returns home offering to serve as a hired hand. The father says “nonsense," and throws a big party for him. A beloved child who was lost has been found. Great. So what’s the problem? Well . . .
This unconditional welcome makes his older brother mad. As we heard, “he became angry and refused to go in.” Refused to go in? What the cheese? There’s a fun party going on, with great food and music, where everybody’s happy because they have been reunited with the loved one who was lost and you refuse to go in? There could be angels and archangels and the whole company of heaven singing in there, and you refuse to go in. Why?
Well, because “this son of yours came back.” This son of yours came back. Not “this brother of mine,” not “this sibling whose name I’ve known since the day he was born.” No. This son of yours. This son of yours, this sinner who shouldn’t even be allowed entry has been welcomed in and celebrated.
A friend of mine named Jonathan Rundman has a great song called, “Meeting Nixon,” where he suggests that when we walk through the pearly gates we’ll all be meeting Nixon. And what I love about that song is that it upsets everybody! Evangelicals would say Nixon never had a born-again experience. Catholics would say he wasn’t part of the true Church. Republicans might say he betrayed the country and gave us the EPA. People on the left might say he was a crook who bombed innocent civilians. The idea of Nixon being in heaven is a universal irritant, which is what makes that song so great! And there are so many other examples of this kind of thing.
Like here’s one. It puts me in mind of the anger over student loans being forgiven. I know lots of people whose loans were forgiven, and I rejoiced for them, while hoping that mine might one day also be forgiven. But I’m sorry to say, mine has not been forgiven. In fact, right now, I don’t even know who owns my student loans, let alone how much my payments will be once they start again. Fat chance I’m getting invited to the student-loan-forgiveness party.
But I’ve seen lots of people, both inside and outside of government who are furious that some people’s loans are forgiven. That these others have been welcomed into the party with the fatted calf. People who refuse to rejoice that some other people—this son of yours—got a second chance.
My younger brother died of AIDS in 1994. Since then, science has come up with medications that allow people with AIDS to lead healthy productive lives. It would be absurd for me to be mad that these people are alive when my brother didn’t have that chance. Just think of all the people whose lives have been saved through advancements in medicine and technology. Should we be angry because that son of yours, that daughter of yours got a second chance?
The older brother's real complaint is that the underserving got a chance at life. He’s been working hard and playing by the rules. And for what? A party with his little brother? “No, father, I will not be joining in this party for the undeserving. I’d rather sit out here by myself and pout until you give me a party of my own. The redemption and salvation of the underserving is no reason to celebrate! The lost being found brings me no joy.”
The older brother is self-selecting out of a good time because someone else got some grace. But just imagine if he could take a step back a moment and consider what that grace means. Because if his father can celebrate someone who squandered the life he had been given, if those on the very edges of acceptable behavior can receive a grace-filled welcome, well . . . what does that mean for him? What does that mean for us? If no one is outside the reach of God’s redeeming love, what does that mean for you and me?
Well it means we’ll be meeting Nixon, that’s what! But only if we’re willing to step inside the celebration that’s going on. You can view this story from a perspective of grace, or a perspective of retribution. Each one of us can do that when we hear a story like this. We can say, phew, my little brother was saved! Or we can say, what is that horrible “son of yours” guy doing here?
Now you know by now that I am not the biggest fan of the writings of the apostle Paul. But this week’s reading from 2 Corinthians is a banger. As Paul says,
All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us.
Given us the ministry of reconciliation, and entrusted the message of reconciliation to us. You know what our prayer book says is the mission of the Church? “To restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ.” That’s our mission. (You’ll find it on page 855.) To restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ. All people. That’s the ministry of reconciliation that Paul is talking about.
And that’s what’s missing in the story of the prodigal son, a.k.a. the story of the waiting father, a.k.a. the story of the disgruntled brother. The prodigal son is restored to unity with his father, through his repentance and the father’s forgiveness. He experiences the ministry of reconciliation, as does his father. But the older brother? He will not be reconciled. No way. In fact, the reconciliation makes him angry! So angry that he can’t even bring himself to join in when there’s a free raucous party going on in his own house!
And then his father pleads with him, trying to convince him to celebrate. Come on in son! It’s Laetare Sunday. We dressed the priest up in pink! Rejoice!
Today, we are all invited to the party because the lost have been found. We can choose to stay outside and sulk. We can point our fingers at the undeserving and refuse to admit that they are our brothers and sisters and siblings in Christ. Or we can decide to take a chance that a celebration is exactly what we need, whether we deserve it or not. As the father says, “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.” So come into the party and celebrate; be reconciled, and rejoice. We’ve got bread and wine and lovely music. And oh, have you met Mr. Nixon?
Amen
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