Day of the Church Year: 4th Sunday of Lent
Scripture Passage: Luke 151-3, 11b-32
I know it’s controversial, but I’ll say it anyway: The beloved so-called parable of the prodigal son is not about forgiveness. The parable of the prodigal son is not about repentance. The parable that could be more aptly named the parable of the prodigal father is about grace, radical grace.
To call someone prodigal means that person is wasteful, extravagant, or reckless. Yes, the younger son of the parable recklessly spends his inheritance once he rudely asks for it from his living father. Yes, the younger son comes to himself only when he has nothing to eat. Yes, the younger son is in dire straits because there was a famine in the land, no one helped him, and he had isolated himself through his prodigal ways. Yes, this is a prodigal, wasteful son, a reckless son who comes home because he is hungry, not because he is sorry, not because he has seen the error of his ways.
Note that the father sees his younger son coming from far away; the father must have been waiting and watching for his son’s return.
Note that, before his younger son can say anything, the father runs to him, puts his arms around him, and kisses him.
Note that, when the son makes his speech about what a rotten son he is, the father never responds to it and instead calls for the fatted calf to be slaughtered in order to throw a party.
Note that, when the older son complains to his father, the father describes his years-long generosity to the older son.
And note that, despite the bitterness and jealousy of the older son, the father pleads with him to maintain relationship.
The prodigal father recklessly, wastefully, extravagantly loves his sons, both of them.
We can probably all tell stories of times when we made mistakes or intentionally hurt others, like the prodigal son. In some of those stories, the people impacted not only held us accountable but maybe hurt us right back. In other stories, the people impacted held us accountable but also showed us grace by trying to understand our perspective or just straight up loving us.
When I was in seminary, in one of the classes I took, the majority of my classmates were black women. As a white woman, I struggled then, and I struggle now to really understand my racial privilege. I struggled then, and I struggle now to understand the limitations of my perspective. I’ve entered the struggle because I think it’s vitally important as we live together in community to question our assumptions and cultural norms especially around race, but good intentions don’t always get the job done! And one day in class, I made a comment in response to something one of my classmates said. I honestly no longer remember the content; this is now 18 years ago. But I do remember that I got it wrong. Really, really wrong. After I made this statement, an awkward hush descended on the room. At the end of class, our professor pulled me aside and graciously helped me understand how I had likely hurt this particular classmate and how I had diminished most of my other classmates. In hearing these difficult truths, I grieved and repented hard. The next time I saw this classmate, I apologized for the mistake I had made. In response, she told me that she went home that night and called her mom to discuss what I had said. She told me she was hurt and angry and sad. And then, she told me she discussed with her mom how she could see my perspective in my comment, that she could partially agree with what I had said, that she could understand why I had made the comment even though she was hurt and angry and sad. What grace, what radical grace my classmate showed me!
Grace is undeserved favor, and at a moment when my classmate could have remained angry or dismissed me or just written off the moment as the comment of a perspective-limited white woman, she explored in a conversation with her mother why I would have said something that hurt her. While both she and my professor held me accountable for my statement, my classmate sought understanding and showed compassion.
This is what grace looks like. And grace is God’s posture towards us.
This week, I had a conversation with someone who, like all of us, has made some mistakes and endured loss in his life. And he’s faced these mistakes and losses with courage and honesty and a desire to heal and grow. Looking back at his life, he said to me, “I’ve never had this little money and yet had so much.” Finally, all the pieces of his life have fallen into place, and he is filled with gratitude. Acknowledging the truths of his life, he is astonished to find that God has now given him gifts of peace and joy, opportunities to give and serve, meaningful employment, people to rely on, and cats to adore. Though he prayed for stability and health, God has given him more, much more than he ever asked for, more than he ever thought he deserved. God’s posture in his life is one of grace, radical grace.
When we are honest with ourselves, we recognize that we are so very dependent on the grace of God and others. Day in, day out, we make mistakes. We don’t always do the right thing. We don’t always know what the right thing is. We are sometimes too tired to be kind. We are sometimes too overwhelmed by life or the news to do what needs doing, and tasks are left unfinished. Relationships are left untended. None of us are perfect. We depend on the grace of God and others. And so does everyone else. So be gentle, dear ones, be gentle with one another—as God is gentle with us.
The parable of the prodigal father is a story about a God who never tires in loving us, who keeps watch for our return, who celebrates us even when we’ve lost everything and can’t reasonably defend our actions. Grace and accountability go hand in hand; remember: God’s law that leads us into right relationship with God and others is our accountability. But our gentle God waits with open arms to welcome us when we are hungry and ready to come home. Our gentle God meets us from far off, gathers us into a hug, and celebrates our return. Later, there will be discussion and sorting out with openness and honesty. Later, there will be accountability. But today, now, God kills the fatted calf, and our community dances and sings. For we who were dead have come to life; we who were lost have been found. Thanks be to God! Amen.