The Fourth Sunday in Lent, 03/18/2007

Sermon on Lukas 15:1-3, 11b-32, by Samuel Zumwalt

1Now the tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to hear him. 2And the Pharisees and the scribes grumbled, saying, "This man receives sinners and eats with them." 3So he told them this parable: 11And he said, "There was a man who had two sons. 12And the younger of them said to his father, 'Father, give me the share of property that is coming to me.' And he divided his property between them. 13Not many days later, the younger son gathered all he had and took a journey into a far country, and there he squandered his property in reckless living. 14And when he had spent everything, a severe famine arose in that country, and he began to be in need. 15So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him into his fields to feed pigs. 16And he was longing to be fed with the pods that the pigs ate, and no one gave him anything. 17"But when he came to himself, he said, 'How many of my father's hired servants have more than enough bread, but I perish here with hunger! 18I will arise and go to my father, and I will say to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. 19I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Treat me as one of your hired servants."' 20And he arose and came to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him. 21And the son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.' 22But the father said to his servants, 'Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. 23And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. 24For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.' And they began to celebrate. 25"Now his older son was in the field, and as he came and drew near to the house, he heard music and dancing. 26And he called one of the servants and asked what these things meant. 27And he said to him, 'Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fattened calf, because he has received him back safe and sound.' 28But he was angry and refused to go in. His father came out and entreated him, 29but he answered his father, 'Look, these many years I have served you, and I never disobeyed your command, yet you never gave me a young goat, that I might celebrate with my friends. 30But when this son of yours came, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fattened calf for him!' 31And he said to him, 'Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. 32It was fitting to celebrate and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found.'"

WHAT IS GOD LIKE?

In the name of the Father, and of the +Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

He sat alone on his bed in the middle of the night, his back resting against three large pillows. A small oil lamp fought against the darkness, casting flickering shadows here and there. His legs were knotted and sore from that unexpected mad dash followed by hours of unplanned dancing. His belly rumbled from an excess of his best wine and the lingering taste of too much charred meat. His heart was aching with both joy and sadness. What a day it had been! How could any old man sleep after such happenings?

He remembered with what joy he had always sung Psalm 127: "Unless the LORD God builds the house, the builders build in vain. Unless the LORD his steady watch o'er city keeps the watchman reaps no bounty from his toil. No bounty from his toil.... The LORD God makes the little child; each opened womb a gift. Like warrior's arrows are the sons and daughters that bless parents young...and old; they stand with them. Praise God! They stand with them" [sung to REPTON, a tune from C. Hubert H. Parry].

Oh, how he had sung it at each child's birth. Then holding each child aloft with glistening tears, he exclaimed: "Blessed are you, O LORD our God, King of the universe, for you have made me rich again with offspring from your gracious hand. May they bless you all their days. May they serve and obey you with joy and gratitude. Amen."

What delight their father had taken as each child had learned the tasks of the family farm. How he had laughed as the children discovered the hard way to respect the animals' ends, north and south. With awe he had taught his sons to tie phylacteries, to pull the prayer shawl over the head, and to intone the morning prayers. They had grown strong and tall and he somewhat bowed and weary.

His daughters had married fine young men from the community. Already there were grandchildren, but even that joy had been muted by the death of his wife. The older son, the principal heir, had been virtually running the place by himself for years. And the father, he hated to admit it, had spoiled the other boy, his youngest child. But, he asked himself, wouldn't any father have done that for his motherless child?

It was inevitable his older boy had become the responsible son. The boy knew that he was to take the father's place someday as head of the family, the master of the farm. Perhaps it was just as inevitable that the younger boy would have lost interest in having anything other than his one-third inheritance.

But the father would never have guessed - never in all his life - that the boy would come to him one day and ask to have his inheritance in advance, asking, in essence, for his father to drop dead. How the neighbors had looked at him with new eyes, disgusted that he would have been so weak as to acquiesce to the boy's demands. How the heir had begged him not to do this thing - not to liquidate assets for pennies on the dollar - and worse, selling land and livestock to Gentiles, all to mollify a spoiled brat!

Given all that he knew about the younger boy, what should the father have expected? That the boy would use his share of the inheritance to start his own business? That he would marry a local girl and reinvest the money in the community? No! After the boy had gone quickly to avoid his brother and sisters and the neighbors, the father had spent how many nights replaying his life over and over trying to make sense of things?

His son had been lost, dead to his father. The neighbors had no longer treated him with respect. The older son had always brought this sharp edge to even the simplest of exchanges as if the old man had become a burden. His daughters had hovered between pity and making pointed remarks about how differently they were raising their sons.

Each night the father had begged God's forgiveness for his foolishness. Each night he had asked just once more to see his youngest son's face, to know that the boy was still alive and prospering. Just once more he had hoped to see his youngest tie on phylacteries, pull the prayer shawl over his head, and intone the prayers with his father.

Days had become weeks, weeks months, and months years. Still no word had come. The boy had been lost, even dead to his father.

The man had long since given up any pretense of working. He had sat staring down the road each day, hoping against hope to see his baby. The older boy had learned to expect nothing from him. His eyes had always seemed to narrow just seeing the father pining away on the front porch. The old man had sometimes felt as if his heir were measuring him for a shroud. Oh, yes, the oldest had done his duties well, but it was if he had forgotten that it all belonged to the father. That all had been handed to him to run!

And then, that morning he had not been able to believe his eyes. Master of the Universe, it was his baby coming down the road. How thin he looked. He was wearing the threadbare clothing of a peasant! No longer proud, no longer strutting like a peacock. None of the neighbors had even recognized him yet. But how could a father not know his own no matter how terrible he looked?

But what if the neighbors should recognize the boy, they might well beat him for his sins. Without a second thought, the father had done what no self-respecting elder would do. He had pulled up his robes and run - I tell you, he had run as if he were himself a child being chased by a ravenous lion. No thought for how foolish he looked. No thought of the humiliation of it all. Humiliation upon humiliation!

Then his boy had wanted to say something, doubtless some rehearsed speech. But the father had embraced and kissed the child, flesh of his flesh. Never, he had begun to think, never again would he see this...his baby! Oh, my son, my son, my son! You have come back to me.

Again, the boy had opened his mouth to speak. He had said with genuine remorse: "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. No longer am I worthy to be called your son."

But the father had yelled to a servant: "Quickly now! Bring a ring for my son's finger and shoes for his feet! Kill the fatted calf and call all my neighbors to the party. My son was lost, but now he is found. He was dead, but now he is alive."

He had sent the boy to take a bath. The father had himself burned the old clothes and given the boy his finest robe.

The neighbors had come, doubtless thinking him a bigger fool than before. But who among them could pass up free food and drink, the gift of his hospitality? Perhaps they had hoped to hear the boy tell how he had squandered his inheritance. More Schadenfreude, of course, at the old man's expense!

Then while the party was going on, the father's oldest son had come home to the commotion. Grabbing the first servant he saw, he had demanded to know what was going on. It had been, for him, the worst possible news. His attitude had been: the little ingrate, that spoiled brat, had come back - not like Jacob of old with wealth to share and asking in advance for his brother's forgiveness! No, he had come back penniless, and the old man had welcomed him back - even throwing a party for the little so-and-so!!!

Then the servant had come in and had seemed to enjoy telling the father that the older brother was refusing to come in to the party. An insult! Another humiliation for the old man! But, the father had done the unthinkable again. He had gone out to the son and begged him to share his joy that the lost brother, the dead son had come home.

But the heir had said with a venomous bitterness: "I've always worked hard for you. I've never said no to you before. But how could you possibly expect me to be happy that the little party animal has come back after blowing his whole inheritance on...on...on...God only knows what! I can only imagine...never having once sowed a wild oat...never having once done the wrong thing! How could you? To hell with him! You never threw a party for me and my friends! You never acted grateful for the son who single-handedly kept things going while you grieved over your little lost prince!"

The old man had tried to make him understand. The old man had wanted to hear his oldest son say that he loved him, that he treasured being with him, that he was grateful for all that the father had taught him, that he was humbled to be the heir, and that he could grasp how overjoyed the father was to have found the lost, for the widowed father to have the dead son come back to life with him!

The old man sat exhausted on his bed, his back propped against three large pillows as the oil lamp burned lower and lower and the darkness closed in. Weary and dead tired, heart aching with both joy and sadness, the father prayed: "Master of the Universe, thank you for my sons and daughters. Thank you for my life. Thank you that my child has come home. Thank you that his brother was always with me. Forgive my failings as a parent, for you are slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. Create in my sons a new heart, O God, that they may yet become all that you have created them to be. Have mercy on me, O LORD, a sinner! Amen."

And God the Father answered him: "You are more like me than you know. For I, too, ache over my lost sons and daughters who wander away from my love and squander their lives. I, too, ache over my lost sons and daughters who stay close to my house but share neither my pain over the lost ones nor my joy over those that come home. Yes, you are more like me than you know, old man. For I will watch my Son die on a cross for sinners like you and yet how many far and near will ignore my greatest gift of all? Yes, indeed, old man, you are more like me than you know!"

In the name of the Father, and of the +Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Samuel Zumwalt
St. Matthew?s Evangelical Lutheran Church
Wilmington, North Carolina USA

E-Mail: szumwalt@bellsouth.net

Bemerkung:
To listen to this sermon, please click on the icon at the top right ?This Week?s Message? page at www.stmatthewsch.org

(top)