[NOTE TO READER: In paragraph 19, the word "Laetare" is pronounced: lay-TAR-ray.]
Todayâs parable is the longest in the Bible â and the most quoted. The parable of the Prodigal Son, as it is popularly known, has preoccupied and perplexed the thoughts and works of countless religious and secular scholars, writers, and even artists.
Why? It doesnât seem so complex. The meaning doesnât seem so obscure on the face of it. The domestic scene it describes may even be familiar to some of us: the return to the fold of a beloved family member who has wandered off for a while. His family greets him with conflicting emotions. Some feel joy at his return; some feel relief that he is safe; some feel jealousy that all seems forgiven and even forgotten; some harshly judge his profligate ways; some feel it is unfair that they are not celebrated for staying and remaining faithful to their family obligations.
But as you can expect, the real message of this parable isnât quite so simple. It doesnât lie so obviously on the surface of the narrative.
Taking our cue from Paulâs admonition to the Corinthians, we realize that the eldest sonâs error was in judging his brotherâs return and his fatherâs reaction of pure joy â no reproaches, no recriminations for the trouble or grief the sonâs appearance had caused â âfrom a human point of view.â Who among us hasnât and wouldnât take that same âhuman point of viewâ when confronted with a similar situation that seems so obviously unfair?
Somehow the Prodigal Sonâs return to his fatherâs favor seems just too easy: essentially, âHi, Dad. Iâm Home!â And all is forgiven. Letâs have a party!
It is hard for us to accept that the consequences for behaving badly could be, should be, so apparently light. Even though we understand that the return to the faithful flock of any one strayed sheep, even just one formerly lost soul, is always the occasion for joy in the family of God. Even though we understand that always â but especially during Lent â the call to ârepent and returnâ is one that we all should heed in small ways, as well as in life-changing ways. Even though we take to heart the psalmistâs reminder that âhappy are they whose transgressions are forgiven and whose sin is put away!â
We understand, we have been taught and believe abstractly, that a forgiving nature is one which we are called to cultivate in a life of faith and to demonstrate in our relationships with others. But somehow we canât help but feel that the situation described in this parable smacks of what we might call âcheap grace.â It conflicts with our definitely all-too-human notion that we need to earn good fortune, and certainly in some measure deserve Godâs favor, and that âno pain, no gainâ is the proper yardstick for measuring out someoneâs portion of forgiveness.
Understanding Godâs justice is never easy. Basically, the difficulty lies in the fact that we confuse our sense of justice with Godâs capacity for love. In human and secular understanding, the two have become entangled â and muddled. Justice has to do with fairness; love has to do with selflessness. Justice is balanced; love is extravagant. Justice almost always involves some measure of retribution; love calls us to reconciliation.
The deeper truth of the story of the Prodigal Son lies in coming to grips with the breadth and depth of Godâs love. In the words of the hymn, it requires us to contemplate the âwideness of Godâs mercy,â to imagine it from outside and beyond the narrow confines of the human perspective.
The breadth of Godâs embrace is unknowable to us. The depth of Godâs love is incomprehensible â and certainly immeasurable from a human point of view. It is not for us to decide who falls within Godâs grace â nor who should be excluded from his mercy.
During this time of Lent, when we are meant to prepare ourselves spiritually for reliving the story of Jesusâ passion, his death and resurrection, we need to keep Paulâs words clearly in focus â that through Jesusâ one astounding act of self-sacrificing love, âGod was reconciling the world to himself.â And not just reconciling our one self-selected flock of faithful believers gathered in any one place at any one time, but the whole world, once for all time.
In Christ, in his death and resurrection, God was reconciling the world to himself. There was no universal accounting of trespasses, no meting out of more salvation to some than to others. There was no greater redemption for one group than for another, no fuller restoration of a chosen few over the vast hordes of sinners. God was reconciling the whole world to himself. That isnât justice; that is unfathomable divine mercy and unbounded holy love.
Paul tells us that we have been entrusted with spreading the message of this kind of absolute reconciliation â the message of reconciliation that lies at the heart of the story of the Return of the Prodigal Son.
And the kind of reconciliation that we are called to preach is the kind of reconciliation that does not weigh our merits, but simply pardons our offenses, as the collect says.
Itâs the kind of reconciliation that holds nothing back, harbors no recriminations, nurtures no resentments.
The kind of reconciliation that demands nothing in return ânothing except utter surrender to Godâs mercy.
The kind of reconciliation that starts with a heartfelt confession like the one the Prodigal Son makes to his father: âFather, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am not worthy of your favor.â
We are called to preach the kind of reconciliation that comes from unconditional forgiveness, like the father gave in his immediate welcoming and loving embrace of his errant son: âLet us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.â
Today is the Fourth Sunday in Lent, Laetare Sunday, or as it has been more popularly called âRejoice Sunday,â referring to the opening words of the Introit for this day: âRejoice, O Jerusalem.â
On this one day amid the other thirty-nine of this penitential season, the clergy may shed somber purple vestments for glorious rose ones.
On this Sunday we are permitted to dispense with whatever Lenten regimen of fasting we may have imposed upon ourselves and indulge â moderately â without guilt.
And on this Sunday we are told to make a truly joyful noise unto the Lord with hymns and organ, and even array our altars with gloriously colored flowers â a celebration that immediately calls to mind our gospel story and the fatherâs celebration at his youngest sonâs return.
On this Sunday, we are meant to cast our eyes forward to the end of this season of penitence. On this Sunday we are called to anticipate the joy of Christâs resurrection, to celebrate the fulfillment of Godâs promise of redemption given long ago to the Israelites, Godâs chosen people:
- a promise renewed time and again down through the millennia each time Godâs people have returned from their disobedient and faithless ways
- a promise given to Moses when he led the people out of Egypt and across the Red Sea
- a promise renewed with Joshua at Gilgal, redeeming all Israel from their forty years of wandering faithlessness in the wilderness
- a promise renewed again with David, forgiving him for his sins against Uriah and God and making him king of all Israel
- a promise renewed by bringing the dispersed people of Israel out of exile in Babylon and restoring Godâs people to the promised land
Again and again, scripture recounts one story after another of redemption, restoration, and renewal of Godâs people â individuals, tribes, and nations of Godâs people -- until finally, the promise is fulfilled in Christ once for all time for all who would believe.
Jesus Christ died once for all time and once for all humankind.
On this Sunday of rejoicing, let us remember the words of our psalmist this morning: âMercy embraces those who trust in the Lord. Be glad, you righteous, and rejoice in the Lord; shout for joy, all who are true of heart.â