There was a man who had two sons

Sometimes grace so astonishes us that all we can do is change course. All we can do is repent...turn around. There are times, I know, when the repentance seems to come first. But look closely, and more often we will find that it works the other way around. Grace, once demonstrated and experienced, can change everything about us.

“There was a man who had two sons.”

Be honest now, how many of you heard those words and started reading the announcements, already knowing the story fully and completely?

How many of you, when you heard those words, just skipped right on ahead to the party that will be thrown?

And how many of you tensed just a little a bit, sensing the injustice coming, levelling solidarity with older brother?

WE HAVE LOST THE SHOCK VALUE

“There was a man who had two sons.” So the story begins and so we sit back with a little grin on our faces, knowing precisely where this story is going. The so-called Parable of the Prodigal Son carries for us today very little surprise and very much predictability. Indeed, the relationship-shattering words of the younger brother, “Give me my share of the inheritance,” leaves us unperturbed as we can hear the fiddles be tuned for jig that will be danced at story’s end. We are unworried by the anguish in the son as he proclaims, “I am no longer worthy to be called your son,” because we can almost smell the wafting aroma of the fatted calf as it roasts on the. The fetid stench of the pigsty where a Jew is forced to work among the most unclean of animals leaves us untroubled amid the feel of silken robes and golden rings. Yes, indeed, there is no reason to fear, no reason to be concerned, the son is coming home as he always does.

Perhaps it’s the result of an over-familiarity with the story. Perhaps we have just heard it too many times. Perhaps it is so stuck in our memories that we cannot help but jump the story. But I do think that there is something more at play with our wistful dismissal of the story’s movement. The problem, at least as I see it, is that this parable that was once filled with mystery and unexpected depth, with trap doors and sharp turns has become for us an Aesop’s fable with a fanciful, anecdotal, and quite prosaic moral tag. The deep wisdom of God that shouted into our misty world has become just a whisper of some cultural wisdom that concludes, “No matter how badly your life has turned. No matter how badly you have messed things up, just cinch up your belt and pick yourself up by the bootstraps. And when you get there, a ready supply of forgiveness is waiting for you to start over.”

This text has undoubtedly logged a great many pulpit hours. It is treasure of a parable, a storehouse of sin and redemption, of grace and repentance, and of acceptance, welcome, and confusion. It can be read and interpreted from several different perspectives – the father, the younger son, the older brother, and even the servant. I heard of a preacher who once tried a sixteen-week sermon on the Parable of the Prodigal Son. After the final installment, an elderly woman, a respected and long-time parishioner, greeted the pastor at the door of the church and said, “I'm so sorry that poor boy ever ran away from home.”

So perhaps this story has become too familiar and perhaps the story has succumbed to our culture and national milieu, our national penchant for insisting, “If they [the poor, the immigrant, the oppressed] just work or try harder, they will pull themselves out of whatever condition they find themselves.” And all of this poses a great danger to our understanding the parable and maybe even the Gospel message itself, which is the greater danger.

The problem is we have lost the shock value of this very shocking story and when we lose the shock value, this very shocking story becomes nothing more than very predictable self-help advice. Our predictable reading assumes that once the young prodigal has pulled himself together and headed home, then the father is obliged to throw a party for him. The fatted calf, the robe, the rings, the music and dancing, the celebration become the son’s due for his turnaround. The story then becomes a comforting and reassuring tale about the expected rewards of turning around. And I think what many of us still want – today as much as ever – is the reassurance that our right behavior, our proper prayers, and our correct belief counts, that it earns us the Father’s reward. The notion of unmerited grace bothers us a great deal.

UNMERITED AND OVERWHELMING GRACE

But that is not the shocking and surprising parable that Jesus told! Instead, this is a parable that Jesus tells present a picture of divine acceptance and welcome and grace so radical and sweeping that it will generate outrage and astonishment, provoking outrage to the point of Jesus being killed. The power of this parable is the power to shock and offend because the parable speaks of grace, unmerited and overwhelming grace that is wonderful and mysterious, awesome and terrible, gut-wrenching and heart-rending. It is grace that not only offended those in Jesus day but offends us still when it is exercised fully.

I once offered a homily on this parable in which I framed the Father as one who utterly and completely embrace sinners, no matter the sin, whether profligate living or self-righteousness, and no matter the repentance. As people left, there was that usual crowd who would comment on the homily. Usually the comments were benign, like “Nice homily, Father” or “Good words, Father.” This particular day, however, when they stopped, many commented that all the talk of grace made them uncomfortable. They were dismayed at what I said because they worried that grace “could be cheapened” when not “purchased with repentance.” One man actually asked me to stop preaching about grace and start preaching about repentance. For them and, unfortunately, for us, repentance is the precursor of grace.

I don't know exactly what I said; but as I recall, I made an uncharacteristically categorical statement about the bible. “There is not a single instance in the Gospels,” I said assertively even as I wondered if it was true, "when Jesus demands repentance before he extends grace or hospitality. Repentance is always a response to God's grace, not the cause of it." I have spent many hours with the Gospels and the teachings of Jesus since then and while I don’t like such categorical statements any more (after all, I still learning), I still cannot find an instance of Jesus’ demanding repentance before he extends grace.

GRACE PRECEDES REPENTANCE

Grace precedes repentance. This I still believe and this parable of the father with the two sons underscores that progression. I know that on the surface of the story, it appears that repentance comes first. The younger son has been heedless of his father’s love, seeking only what is “his own.” He takes it without thought for what this might do to others, or to the failure to “honor father and mother” that his departure clearly signifies. The dispersal of his possessions in “dissolute living” in a far off land demonstrates a loss of self, an alienation made striking as he hires himself out to be a herder of pigs. The younger son then comes to his senses or “comes to himself,” an interiority that shows a return home.

At this point, attention shifts to the father, who does not abuse or shame or judge the son for carelessness and selfishness. The father does not even wait for the son to arrive but instead the father went to the son “while he was still a long way off.” The father ran out to receive his son, embracing him and kissing him even before the child has a chance to state his repentance. And the father then interrupts the careful speech, entering into action at the words of relationship: “Father” and “Son.” The father bestows the choicest signs of honor and welcome upon his son who was lost: sandals, a robe, a ring, and the fatted calf. The son receives grace, forgiveness and welcome when he returns but the movement of the story makes it clear that the grace of the father is pre-emptive. And not just towards the younger son but towards the elder as well.

We discover through the dialogue that the older son has experienced son alienation from the father as well. The older son has “slaved” for his father and obeyed all the rules but has not felt rewarded. He is angry, jealous, and resentful. The tragedy of the older son is that he has failed to recognize his constant position, that all the time they were together “they shared goods in common.” Moreover, the father now extends the same constant care, affection, and concern to him as he does to the prodigal.

The prodigal is indulgent, foolish, and self-centered, coming home only when he has nowhere else to go. The older brother is jealous, spiteful, and self-righteous, rather lacking in imagination. Perhaps we should pity the poor father who has to deal with such conspicuous vice and the even more conspicuous virtue. Maybe the father should have run away in the place of the prodigal.

The father didn't run away, though, did he? No, he didn’t run away because the story is about him. And we know that the father won't run away because running away is not in his character. The two sons must know what is in the father’s character as well. The younger son, the prodigal one, teaches us about his father’s character when he proclaims at his lowest point that he will “arise and go to my father.” He probably didn’t expect the fatted calf or the robe and rings. But he knew enough to know that his father could not, disavow him and that his father would be there to receive him.

The older brother shows the father’s character when he complains. The older son must have known his father’s love and justice and mercy, otherwise why complain? Both sons presume upon what they know to be there and what they know to be theirs: the unconditional love of the father for his own. And here is the heart of the gospel and of the Jesus movement: No one is too bad, too low or too far gone… no one is too good, too dutiful, or too righteous for the love of God. It is the very nature of God to love those to whom he has given life.

Some might notice that the prodigal son does indeed acknowledge his sin but it is not the confession that triggers the love but the father's love that triggers the confession.

Repentance is important. We see, for instance, in this parable that both sons need repentance in order to fully enjoy life in their father's house. For the prodigal son, repentance is about turning back to remember what it means to say “Father.” For the older brother, repentance means turning back to remember what is means to say “Brother.” Repentance is vital if we are to fully enjoy God’s blessing. But Nonetheless, repentance is not essential nor is it a precondition for grace.

JULIO DIAZ - A STORY OF GRACE

A couple of years ago I heard a story on NPR that reinforced such a belief for me. Michael Garofalo told the story on "Morning Edition" about a 31-year-old New York City social worker named Julio Diaz.

Julio Diaz has a daily routine. Every night, the 31-year-old social worker ends his hour-long subway commute to the Bronx one stop early, just so he can eat at his favorite diner.

But one night last month, as Diaz stepped off the No. 6 train and onto a nearly empty platform, his evening took an unexpected turn.

He was walking toward the stairs when a teenage boy approached and pulled out a knife.

"He wants my money, so I just gave him my wallet and told him, 'Here you go,'" Diaz says.

As the teen began to walk away, Diaz told him, "Hey, wait a minute. You forgot something. If you're going to be robbing people for the rest of the night, you might as well take my coat to keep you warm."

The would-be robber looked at his would-be victim, "like what's going on here?" Diaz says. "He asked me, 'Why are you doing this?'"

Diaz replied: "If you're willing to risk your freedom for a few dollars, then I guess you must really need the money. I mean, all I wanted to do was get dinner and if you really want to join me ... hey, you're more than welcome.

"You know, I just felt maybe he really needs help," Diaz says.

Diaz says he and the teen went into the diner and sat in a booth.

"The manager comes by, the dishwashers come by, the waiters come by to say hi," Diaz says. "The kid was like, 'You know everybody here. Do you own this place?'"

"No, I just eat here a lot," Diaz says he told the teen. "He says, 'But you're even nice to the dishwasher.'"

Diaz replied, "Well, haven't you been taught you should be nice to everybody?"

"Yea, but I didn't think people actually behaved that way," the teen said.

Diaz asked him what he wanted out of life. "He just had almost a sad face," Diaz says.

The teen couldn't answer Diaz — or he didn't want to.

When the bill arrived, Diaz told the teen, "Look, I guess you're going to have to pay for this bill 'cause you have my money and I can't pay for this. So if you give me my wallet back, I'll gladly treat you."

The teen "didn't even think about it" and returned the wallet, Diaz says. "I gave him $20 ... I figure maybe it'll help him. I don't know."

Diaz says he asked for something in return — the teen's knife — "and he gave it to me."

Afterward, when Diaz told his mother what happened, she said, "You're the type of kid that if someone asked you for the time, you gave them your watch."

"I figure, you know, if you treat people right, you can only hope that they treat you right. It's as simple as it gets in this complicated world." (Michael Garofalo, “A Victim Treats His Mugger Right,” Morning Edition, March 8, 2008, downloaded March 3, 2016. http://www.npr.org/2008/03/28/89164759/a-victim-treats-his-mugger-right)

Sometimes grace so astonishes us that all we can do is change course. All we can do is repent...turn around. There are times, I know, when the repentance seems to come first. But look closely, and more often we will find that it works the other way around. Grace, once demonstrated and experienced, can change everything about us.

Before Your grace, O God, we stand amazed, and in our astonishment, we turn to You yet again. Amen.