Real Men Don't Run

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

The gospel story we read this morning is one of the best-known stories in the Bible. Even in the secular world, references are made all the time to “the prodigal” or “the prodigal son,” a phrase that has become idiomatic for lost things, sometimes for lax morals or licentiousness. In religious vernacular, for sin.

Certainly when we think of the prodigal, we associate him or her with undesirable living, and sometimes, as one who has returned to the fold following a period of misadventure. We’ve each probably known someone like that at some time in our lives. Perhaps we’ve been that person.

Perhaps even now we relate to this story of the Prodigal Son because there is some aspect of the story that is, today, part of our experience of family or other relationship. Many of us know the prodigal experience all too well. Something is lost. Someone is lost; missing; as good as dead.

It might be a child who has rejected us and our sense of values; or it might be a sibling from whom we are estranged. Some of us might have experienced this kind of separation from parents or from friends, we might have suffered hurts that have never healed and cannot now be healed – because it is too late. We never got to fix what was broken, and now, a scar resides deep within.

Perhaps we are the ones who have “fallen from grace” through bad decisions we have made, by falling in with the wrong people, because we have gone to bad places in our lives, suffered failures of our own making, or adopted harmful habits.

And so it is that we might approach this story and the accompanying scriptures we read this morning with a bit of empathy for the different characters; we can imagine all too well what it is like to be in their shoes.

It’s easy to place ourselves somewhere in this story. Yet this story does not stand alone, and to fully appreciate the gospel good news for us today, it is helpful to know the rest of the story.

The context of today’s scripture is that the Pharisees and scribes were grumbling about the social activities of Jesus. He has been spending time, even eating with tax collectors and sinners. He has been hanging out with outcasts; undesirables.

Jesus has allowed himself to be in the presence of the unclean – those no self-respecting Jew would even acknowledge. The thrust of their argument is that if Jesus parties with and favors those people, what kind of Jew, what kind of leader, what kind of savior can he possibly be?

If we were to receive such criticism, we might be tempted to respond, “Back off boys! I will love who I want, embrace whom I choose, do as I please.” We might expect Jesus to respond, “I will redeem those whom I choose. They will repent because of my saving mercy. They will become more like you and me.”

Instead, Jesus tells three parables – stories in which it is unquestionably clear that God loves differently than we do, God behaves differently than we do, and God values sinners more than we could ever imagine, which is good news for all of us.

As Jesus moves from story to story he barely takes a breath. He begins with a woman who finds a lost coin – just one coin among many she may own – because of its importance to her.

He moves on to tell about the celebration that goes on when one measly sheep out of an entire flock is found after wandering away and becoming lost.

And finally, he tells about the biggest party of all, this huge bash given in honor of the most unlikely of recipients: one that was not simply lost, hadn’t just wandered away, but has behaved in the most outrageous manner, has sinned against his father so egregiously, that disinheritance and banishment is all he really deserves.

What makes this story so interesting and over-the-top is that all of the characters behave in such outlandish, ridiculous and outright scandalous ways. As it is told, this is a story of extremes. The father’s over-the-top forgiveness and love for his sons is bookended by their outrageous behavior.

The younger son isn’t just a bad boy. He doesn’t just wreck the family chariot or steal money from the father’s purse. In any age this son’s behavior would be frowned upon, but remember that the story is written in a time and for a people where every action and interaction is deeply inscribed with honor, status and rank being conferred or denied; and people live and die according to such things.

The younger son treats his father with the ultimate disregard. He treats his father not only as if he wishes he were already dead, but as if he were dead to him. He violates the 4^th commandment. He does not honor his father. He tells his father he wants what he has no right to ask for.

Rather than treat his father with honor, love and respect, he spurns him; he spits on a grave not even dug yet. That is the strength of his wrongdoing; his sin. It is, frankly, an unforgivable sin. Once his father gives him what he wants, this son essentially wipes the dust of their relationship right off his feet. He takes off for faraway places.

At the end of the parable we have the elder son, who also treats his father with disrespect and disregard. Many of us might sympathize with this son for the injustice he feels has been dealt him. Yet still, he dispels his wrath upon his father, dishonoring him, disregarding his status, ignoring the respect which he is due, and denying his father’s right ultimately to do as he chooses with what is his.

His father is throwing a big party. Everyone has been invited. All of the neighbors are there. There is a banquet table heaped with the finest food, and the best wine is being poured. And this son refuses to go in. In a culture where honor is everything, this son scorns and shames his father. At a banquet where the patriarch would expect to remain reclining at the table throughout, he makes his father go out to him; he makes his father plead with him.

Even if we feel for this son and the hurt he must feel, part of our take-away from this story must be that even this son, the one who has worked hard, done what is right up until now at least by his accounting, even the one who by every measure of society has lived righteously – even he displays appallling behavior and fails to show his father the absolute honor and loyalty to which he is entitled.

Each son in fact has behaved shockingly disgracefully.

Sandwiched between the shenanigans of the two sons, comes the father. The bridge between these two sons is a father who behaves most unexpectedly of all. His behavior is the most surprising and scandalous of the three.

By every measure possible this man is of high rank and status. A strong sense of propriety is expected – no – demanded of such a person. And yet by every measure of respectability, especially those in the Ancient Near East, he has behaved the most scandalously and shamefully of all.

First, he reveals himself to be a fool, “dividing his life” – his goods- his property – and his wealth to his sons before he is dead. Disregarding the wisdom and religious teachings of the day, he makes himself dependent on these sons of his.

Here are the words from Sirach, which guided these relationships and was deeply inscribed in the culture:

To son or wife, to brother or friend,

do not give power over yourself, as long as you live;

and do not give your property to another,

in case you change your mind and must ask for it.

²¹ While you are still alive and have breath in you,

do not let anyone take your place.

²² For it is better that your children should ask from you

than that you should look to the hand of your children.

²³ Excel in all that you do;

bring no stain upon your honor.

By every measure of respectability and honor, the father has been the fool.

Despite his abandonment by the younger son who squanders everything with “dissolute living” – we can read that as licentiousness, debauchery, despicable lifestyle and behaviors - when his son returns but is still a “far way off” the father, filled with compassion, races toward him. He doesn’t wait for the apology, the excuses and that the rest. It is clear he has been watching – and waiting – and hoping – for his son’s return.

Men of high status don’t run. Certainly in that world they didn’t. They don’t hike up their robes, exposing their ankles and who knows what else for all the world to see.

Men of high rank don’t throw themselves at anyone, let alone those who have so completely wronged and shamed them. Before this son could even begin speaking – apologies, groveling and all the rest of it – his father has not only forgiven him, but embraced him, and conferred high status on him – he gives him robes and a ring and throws the biggest, most extravagant party you can imagine. His joy is overflowing.

Everyone is invited!

All those neighbors who have surely noticed his son’s absence all this time, who have likely heard stories about him, are invited to help him celebrate his son’s return.

Then, when his elder son himself acts shamefully and dishonorably, forcing his father to come to him and refusing by his choice of words to confer respect to his father, his father reaches out to reestablish the family bond. How does this father, who has been so wronged, forgive so completely, love so fully that he again makes himself absolutely vulnerable to those who have not earned it?

The past few weeks the adult group in our Sunday morning faith connections, has been considering the topic of forgiveness. Through rich conversation we have discussed this complex topic – how hard it is, how multi-faceted our experience and understanding of it is. And here in this parable we read of a forgiveness and compassion, driven by divine love, which is above and beyond the scope of anything we can imagine.

Through this parable, Jesus reminds us this is what God does for us. God esteems those who deserve none of it. God’s grace and mercy and forgiveness, measured in worldly terms and measured by the human yardstick are stupid; ridiculous; foolish and even scandalous.

But as the father indicated that it was necessary – “we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life.” We are reminded of the reality of the divine necessity of Jesus’ journey – that there might be rejoicing and celebrating over finding what has been lost, and the restoration of that which has been dead. We recall our confession that even when we were dead in sin, God forgave us – and gave us Jesus.

The love of God transcends even our deepest brokenness, transforms us despite our most profound failures to be the people God created us to be. We cannot understand it. We cannot measure it. We can only grasp it, accept it, give thanks for it, and celebrate it.

The love of God is a mystery to us. How and why God chooses to love so truly, madly and deeply and forgive so completely, so absolutely, is beyond all human knowing. But isn’t it a source of joy and wonder that through Jesus this is exactly what God does?

God’s love is scandalous. God embodying our humanity in Jesus is ridiculous. God enacting our salvation through Jesus’ victory over death is stupefying. And yet this is what God does, for the sake of love. Despite where you see yourself in this story remember this: God loves you – and God waits for you, forgives you, and embraces you, conferring the high status of “my beloved” upon you. It’s true; God fiercely, vulnerably, courageously, scandalously, ridiculously and gloriously loves you. Period.

Forget Me Not

 Luke 23:33-43 ~ Christ the King 

I read a story recently about a woman named Jill who has the first diagnosed case of hyperthymestic syndrome. This is the continuous, automatic, autobiographical recall of every single day of her life since she was 14 years old. She is now nearly 50. For some reason yet unknown, her brain has been cataloguing each and every day for more than thirty years now, storing information that can be recalled either by date or by event. November 14, 1981, she’ll tell you was a Saturday, her dad's 45th birthday, and that night she was initiated into a group that she was joining at school. July 18, 1984 was a Wednesday: a quiet summer day, when she picked up the book Helter Skelter and read it for the second time.

Ask her about a particular event and she can tell you not only the date on which it occurred, but also the day of the week it happened to be. The end of the FBI siege on the Branch Davidian compound: Monday, April 19, 1993. The final episode of MASH: Monday, February 28, 1983 a rainy day in L.A.; the next day while she was driving her car, the windshield wipers stopped working.

She says her memories are like scenes from home movies, constantly playing in her head, relentlessly flashing forward and backward through the years. The emotion of them isn't dialed down as she recalls them, either; they are exceptionally vivid. It's as though she’s actually living through the events again, she says. I wonder how such remembering in fact shapes Jill’s life and her actions.

Memory and remembering, are both blessing and curse. There are days when I could wish for a memory like Jill’s. Instead I’m stuck with a memory that is contrary. It often fails to recall details I’d like to or need to recall, while at the same time refusing to allow me to shake the memory of some things I long to forget.

For example, I have been known to miss a meeting or an appointment because I misremembered or plumb forgot where I needed to be or when I needed to be there. Earlier this week I drove an hour to a meeting only to arrive to find the building empty. I had forgotten that the meeting had been moved to another venue, in another town altogether. And the busier I am with “life” the more likely I am to let things slip the bounds of my memory.

I find that the older I get the more I struggle to remember things that I used to know like the back of my hand. Yet I vividly remember some things I’d much rather forget. Like mistakes I’ve made, things I’ve done wrong, people I’ve hurt, injury I’ve received from other people, losses I’ve suffered. Some embarrassments stay with me and memories of traumatic events still elicit many of the same emotions as they initially did. Is it the same for you?

Memory can soften over time, which is sometimes a good thing, and yet for those for whom it slowly leaks out and disappears, and for their loved ones, grief of the loss of memory is profound. 

Remembrance is important in all kinds of ways and there is ample evidence that something about remembrance is at the core of faith. Remembering, in fact, is noted throughout the gospel of Luke. At the very beginning of the gospel in both Mary’s song and Zechariah’s, God remembering God’s promise of mercy and of salvation are embraced – not only does God remember God’s promises, but God acts on those promises.  Later, in the parables of Jesus, Abraham tells the rich man who hoarded his riches to remember how he had lived. Following the crucifixion, when the women carried spices to the tomb and found it empty, two men in dazzling clothes stood before them and told them to remember how, when Jesus was with them in Galilee he had foretold not only his death but also told them that he would rise from the dead. The women indeed remembered and they ran to tell the disciples what had happened. Remembrance involves first seeing the picture and then acting out an appropriate response.

In our gospel text for today, we hear these words from one of the criminals, the second one to speak: “Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.” With those words this man, who confesses that he himself belongs up there hanging to death on a cross for he has done things in his life, has in fact earned his place there, at the same time, confesses that Jesus is Lord. He confesses that the ultimate kingdom is one in which Jesus reigns. Yet Jesus is hanging on a cross just like him, suffering just like him.

The criminal isn’t asking Jesus to remember that he was a bad man, or even to remember him as a person at all. He wants Jesus to remember his confession. He wants Jesus to remember his faith, as late in the day as it may have come. Still, sinner that I am, remember, Jesus, I believed. Jesus, as you come into your kingdom, as you come into your reign, remember me. I doubt very much that the criminal really understood what it was he was asking. But he recognized that Jesus had the power not only to remember him in paradise, but to act on that memory.

Isn’t it what we all want?

We celebrate Christ the King Sunday today, the last Sunday of the “church year” and on the surface we might question why, on a Sunday that is supposed to point to the kingship of Christ, we would read this gospel account. Look around – we celebrate this day as a festival Sunday! Yet in our gospel for this day, no one except this lone criminal seems to get it, no one else seems to understand that Jesus has any power. After all he is hanging on a cross! This gospel doesn’t mention kingship, it is a Good Friday reading – it speaks to death! That certainly doesn’t illustrate “power” in any credible way, does it?

In Luke’s gospel, as Jesus hangs there, what is happening around him? The people stand and watch; the leaders scoff at him; the soldiers mock him; the first criminal derides him. Like Satan once did in the wilderness, they all seem to be saying “save yourself” if you can. Indeed, if any of those witnesses had any inkling that some of what they had heard about Jesus was at all true, they are standing around most likely waiting for the show to begin. Because surely, if Jesus is the Son of God, if Jesus has come to reign, then he is not about to actually suffer the pain and humiliation and scandal of dying like a criminal alongside criminals on this device of torture. Because that is not godly. That is not evidence of power, but just the opposite.

And yet, this king, this Messiah, has done nothing according to any human script, has he? His birth in a stable was about as humble as it can get. He stirred up trouble wherever he went, he ate with tax collectors and sinners, he preached about a God who loves the whole world and not just a few chosen people, he healed the sick and embraced the poor, (on the Sabbath, yet) and proclaimed resurrection of the dead would come through him, to all who would believe.

Christ does indeed reign as king, in an entirely new realm and new world order, initiated through his death on the cross and his rising again. We know that through his death on the cross Jesus indeed had the last word, because that death could not hold him, the grave could not hold him, the stone was rolled back and with it the veil of death was torn in two and new life began.

In this text we observe that as Jesus hung on the cross, in his agony, he did two things: He forgave, and He offered salvation. Jesus looked this man in the eye. He regarded him and accepted him for who he was, he remembered God’s promises to him, and he acted on that memory and gave him a second chance. Jesus assured him his place in Paradise. Because that is how the realm of Jesus works.

In the realm of the kingdom of God, in the power and authority of Christ the King, there is new life, hope and grace. Above all, in the realm of Christ our King, there is the kind of love that never gets tired of giving second chances.

In the kingdom of God there is remembrance for each of us. Jesus himself told us it is true. As Jesus looks us in the eye, and loves us, accepts us, and forgives us, he embodies God’s promise of redemption for each and every one of us, no matter what. The ultimate judgment of the world happens at the Cross, where Jesus, through his suffering and death has earned our salvation. At the cross, Jesus gave each of us new life.

Remembrance is important, and it is formative. As people of faith, and as the Body of Christ, we remember that Christ is King, who bought for us an eternal kingdom through his dying and rising again.

Each time we gather in this place, we remember all that God has done for us and we remember the stories of our faith that never fail to have import for today. As we gather at the table we remember the deliverance of the people of Israel from slavery in Egypt and we remember our own deliverance from sin through the power of the cross. At the Last Supper, Jesus told his disciples that whenever we partake of the precious body and blood of our savior, we do this in remembrance of him. And that remembrance shapes our faith and provokes us to action on behalf of the kingdom of God.  

What might our lives look like if they were always living out the prayer, “Jesus remember me”? What would our lives look like if we began each day acknowledging Christ as reigning over our lives and then praying that prayer? How would each day be shaped if we intentionally remembered Christ’s power and grace, and then acted on it?

Let us pray, Remember us in your kingdom. Amen.