The Radical Welcome: a sermon about the Prodigal Son
A sermon about Luke 15:1-2, 11-32
In defense of the older brother.
As an older brother who tried to keep my nose clean and do the right things, Eagle Scout and the whole bit, while watching my little brother get away with stuff I would never dream of, I have often wanted to correct the Bible. It should say:
When the prodigal returns, the father says, “Go away. You had your chance. Besides, you smell like pig poo. Seeing you reminds me of how I’ve taken your brother for granted. I’m throwing him a big party and infusing his account with a ton of cash.
Like attracts like?
But before you take my improvement on Jesus’ story, perhaps we should see if there isn’t anything we can get from the way Jesus told it.
Jesus didn’t tell the parable of the prodigal son out of the blue; there was a triggering event. When you return to the beginning of Luke 15, you find some religious people sneering at Jesus. “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.”
It was a put-down. They believed that you could tell a lot about a person by the company they keep, “Like attracts like.”
Jesus went beyond tolerance. He accepted them. To eat with someone was more than just sitting at the same table. It was like saying, “You’re my brother from another mother.”
This fellow eats with sinners and tax collectors. It’s a put-down of Jesus.
Imagine you are one of those tax collectors or sinners listening to Jesus that day. These guys interrupt your dinner to insult and shame you—like they always do. You are used to it. But you see Jesus puffing up. His face shows irritation at those fellows.
Jesus says he came for people who’ve messed up. He wasn’t giving spiritual spa treatments to the perfect people of the world. He came to help people with real problems—the people the religious folk loved to feel superior to and look down their noses at.
We’ve got some good suspense. Those fellows ticked off Jesus. What will he say?
Maybe he will quote Billy Joel, “I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints. The sinners have much more fun.” Unfortunately, Billy Joel was born too late; otherwise, I imagine Jesus belting out the chorus.
It’s about the character of God, not family therapy.
So, what does Jesus say? He fires off three stories. The first compares God to a woman who loses a coin and searches all night until she finds it. The second compares God to a shepherd who leaves the flock to retrieve a wayward sheep. The third story is the parable of the prodigal son—the story of the wideness of God’s mercy. Spoiler alert—this story isn’t offering parenting advice or how to set up a criminal justice system. It’s about the nature and character of God whose heart bends towards all sinners, including us.
Hitting rock bottom. Can people change?
You know the story. A man has two sons; the younger does the ultimate disrespectful move and asks for his inheritance while his father is still alive and well. Essentially, he’s saying, “Dad, you’re dead to me.”
Dad says, “Fine.” He liquidates assets, lets the kid go his own way.
The young man moves to a far-off country and blows the money on seedy seedy stuff. He winds up in the pig pen eating pig slop, which for Jesus’ crowd was a way of saying, “He hit rock bottom.”
The text says the kid then comes to his right mind or regains his senses. For many people, it takes hitting rock bottom before they say, “I just can’t keep going like this. I need to change.” Sometimes people figure that out before it’s too late. The young man in the story sensed that he could return home and find a better life.
The cynic says people cannot change. A leopard can’t change its spots. People aren’t sorry for misdeeds; they are just sorry they got caught or got in trouble. But I know a different story. I’ve lived a different story. People can and do change for the better. I have seen so many addicts and heard the testimony of too many former criminals who have turned it around by seeking spiritual help. It happens. And there is so much joy in it.
The meaning of the father’s actions.
The father in the story spotted the son coming back. The son is walking with his head down, rehearsing his speech. And the father runs to welcome the kid back—a few quick things about this part of the story.
- The father sees the kid while he is still far off. The father saw. He waited, watched, and hoped day after day. While we are still off, the parent sees. You may feel invisible and lost, but the father sees you trying to find your way in this crazy world.
- It was important that the father get to the son before others in the community could do a ritual where they break a pot that symbolizes the irreparable nature of what has happened and cut off the kid forever from the community. That was a thing.
- The father looks undignified, throwing away all the macho stereotypes. He hikes up his cloak, bears his legs, and runs toward his son. He didn’t care how he looked; nothing was more important to him than this reconciliation.
Before the son can launch his speech, the father cuts him off and declares there’s going to be a party. Although I object to the story as an older brother, I totally get it when I think of how I felt when my daughter came back after going down a bad path.
Confetti, not lightning bolts.
The couple from out of town came to our church, where they had been married 30 years previously, to celebrate their anniversary, so they wanted to stop by and reminisce. “Watch out for lightning bolts, pastor,” the man said. “This is the first time in church for a long time.”
I hear that one—a lot.
I get it. As you know, Pastor Dave likes humor. But I have to confess that it irritates me that a punitive, lightning-bolt-hurling concept of God is what they got from church. No wonder they haven’t made it part of their lives. Who wants to be around a God like that?
So, in my imagination, I get a little snarky, “If you had only been here to hear the story of the prodigal son, you would know that the God we worship is much more likely to throw party confetti than lightning bolts at you when you come back.”
That’s the story of the prodigal son. God celebrates when the wayward one returns. There is no scowl, no shame, no snark, only the welcome home banner and a celebration held in your honor.
I know we have a lot of new folks who have been checking out the church. And this is what I want to say to you: welcome home! I’m glad you’re here. We’re all glad you are here. No matter who you are, what you’ve done, what you’re going through, or what you’ve been through. No matter your doubts, desires, or inner demons, we celebrate your return home to the God who welcomes you with open arms. So let the drums roll, unfurl the banners, let the confetti fly. I don’t have a fatted calf to offer, but we have some mighty fine donuts!
I think the story says that God meets us and greets us with every move we make toward God. What is God? God is love, compassion, gentleness, and kindness. When we move toward these things, we experience the holy. The joy soaks in.
It’s only a good story for sinners.
Let’s check back in with the older brother. He has a good case to be ticked and not go to the party. The brother got his share, the robe, ring, and calf are supposed to go to him one day, but the irresponsible one gets them instead. It’s not fair.
But the father says all I have is already yours. You’re good.
Who has screwed up. Who God gave better to than I deserved. I think that is the point of all of this.
Jesus paints a picture of God, not of wrath and lightning bolts. But who gives us better than we deserve. This God isn’t about rubbing your nose in your mistakes. This God isn’t interested in guilt and shame, but in the celebration of us getting better, doing better, being better because we connect to what is truly important.
Jesus told the three stories to say that the sinners are my people. Back off. He’s inviting the religious fuddy-duddies who are worried that someone might not get punished for their misdeeds to instead celebrate whenever someone gets back on the right track.