"A Man Had TWO Sons"

Psalm 32; 2 Corinthians 5:16-21; Luke 15:1-3, 11-32

The story we're about to read

has to be one of the three or four most familiar stories

in the entire Bible.

Even people who aren't Christians

have seen and heard enough about "the prodigal son"

that even they could probably give a basic outline of this story.

Most of us can pretty much recite it in our sleep:

Son gets inheritance,

goes out and squanders it,

comes crawling back after he hits rock bottom,

and his father welcomes him home.

The fact that it's so well known

makes it one of the hardest stories in the Bible to preach on.

As much as I love this story,

I usually don't look forward to preaching on it!

But the fact that it is so well known

makes it equally hard for us to hear.

We think that this story has nothing new to say to us.

I wonder if this story is hard for preachers to preach

and hard for listeners to hear

not because it's so awfully familiar to us,

but because it hits so awfully close to home.

Which it does.

But let's see what the Spirit has to say to the church.

As Jesus would say,

"Let anyone with ears to hear listen" for God's word

as we find it in the fifteenth chapter of Luke?

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Holy wisdom, holy word.

Thanks be to God.

We know all about that first son, don't we?

And we know a hundred sons and daughters like him.

He's the bratty younger brother,

the hedonist,

the one that Mom and Dad were always too easy on.

If this were Aesop's fable

about the hard-working ant and the party animal grasshopper,

he'd be the grasshopper.

His father must have spoiled him rotten.

He probably never had to work a day in his life,

and now he wants what's supposed to be coming to him

after his father dies.

Except, his father HASN'T died,

and he wants it now.

So what if he's asking for Dad's social security?

He doesn't care whether his father is dead or alive

as long as he gets another infusion of cash.

Yep, we know this guy pretty well.

But listen again

to how Jesus starts telling this story.

He says,

"There was a man who had TWO sons."

We know so much about the prodigal son -

what is there to know about this other guy?

And why would we care?

He was the straight-laced son,

the good one who stayed home

and did what he was supposed to do.

Either that,

or he was the boring one who stayed home

and did what he was supposed to do!

It's harder to care about the older brother, isn't it?

Mark Twain would have called him

"a good man in the worst sense of the word."

His story isn't quite as romantic

as the story of the prodigal son.

Which story do you think would sell more newspapers:

"Son declares father dead,

takes inheritance, blows it all,

and gets welcomed back.

Father embarrasses self

by running out to the road to meet the wastrel."

Or,

"Son comes back inside the house

to attend a party for his little brother."

He just didn't have the glitz and glam

like his little brother.

He fits that old definition of a true Calvinist:

someone whose worst fear

is that somewhere,

someone else is having a good time.

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Appearances notwithstanding, though,

these two brothers had a lot more in common than the same father,

more than you might think.

Both of them were stinkers.

They were both lost,

each as much as the other.

Both of them were masters at sticking it to their father

as well as to one another.

Both were calculating in their own way

about whether or not to come home.

The younger brother only headed back

when he got hungry.

And the older one -

he blamed, he pouted,

and we're still not sure

whether he ever went back inside the door.

And both of them

thought that "hired hand status"

was the best they could hope for

where their father was concerned.

The prodigal knew

that his father treated the servants pretty well,

well enough that they never had to eat pig food.

So he thought he could go back home

and relate to his father

like a mail clerk might relate to the head of the company.

And as for the older brother,

when he blew up at his father

he revealed that he had always seen their relationship that way:

not a loving father-son relationship,

but nothing more than resentful indentured slavery.

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I started out by saying

that this story hits a little too close to home for most of us.

I know that it does for me.

There are plenty of days that I feel like the prodigal,

if for no other reason

than I was the youngest of three sisters.

And if you ask either of the other two,

they'd be quick to tell you

that Mom and Dad let me get away with everything,

and that compared to their difficult lives,

I was spoiled rotten!

So like the prodigal, I was the youngest in our house.

And I've definitely done my share of "dissolute living,"

but we'll save that for another sermon!

But then I also have my share of elder brother days,

days when duty becomes my false god

and I get so proud of the way I do the right thing //

that I just can't stand it

when someone else gets to the finish line at the same time.

And on those days when I'm feeling extra virtuous,

it's hard for me to understand how anyone

couldn't see things exactly the same way as I do.

Honestly,

neither one of those is a very good place to be.

So which one is your story?

Which one of the sons is most like you?

Have you wasted your father's inheritance?

Have you acted as though God is dead,

and taken all the good things God has given you

into a country that's as far away from God

as you can get?

Do you feel like you're about the last person

that God would like to see?

Have you come to worship today,

hoping that God will take you back in as a hired hand,

not as a full child of God,

but someone who can at least get a meal around the table

and a bath around the font?

Or do you see yourself as the older son?

Have you never strayed?

Have you been in church every single Sunday,

and never had one day of doubt?

Is it hard for you to imagine

that God would make any room around the table

for thieves,

or liars,

or Republicans or Democrats,

or non-Presbyterians,

or people who have come late to the party?

Are you just going through the motions,

serving God as though you were an indentured servant,

giving in to resentment

and making no room for joy?

If someone comes to this table

that you consider to be immoral,

could you offer them the body of Christ,

or would you just rather pick up and go elsewhere?

No matter whether you see yourself as the elder

or the prodigal this day,

there is good news.

There is welcome,

even for you,

even for me.

If you've blown it all

and have come to worship today

in hopes that God will take you back

and give you some menial role in the kingdom,

just look in front of you.

God's already out there,

running towards you with open arms,

tripping over himself to get to you

before you say a word.

All is forgiven.

It's okay.

There is a place of honor for you.

And if you're feeling resentful

towards someone who is also a child of God

but whom you cannot relate to as a brother or sister,

just look in front of you.

God's already out there,

running towards you with open arms,

tripping over himself to get to you

before you even have to ask.

Everything God has is yours -

just come back inside and celebrate.

There is a place of honor for you too.

As Paul wrote to the church inCorinth,

the good news of the gospel is this:

"God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself,

not counting their trespasses against them,

and entrusting to us

the message of reconciliation."

Each day during the season of Lent,

we find ourselves closer and closer to the cross.

And each day during Lent,

we are reminded

that the prodigal didn't get home

because he was so unworthy,

nor the elder son because he thought he was so worthy.

Both of them got home

because the father had begun the process of reconciliation

before either one of them knew they needed it.

And so in Christ,

God has done with us.

You see, it's still true.

God has NO favorite children.

The abundance around God's table is incredible.

There's enough for you,

and for me,

and for all of us.

God has already started the process of reconciliation

before any of us knew that we needed it.

That means it's okay for us to come in.

Actually, it's more than okay.

God knows that each of us

needs forgiveness as much as all of us.

God won't rest

until all of God's children are around the table,

especially the ones who have no right to be here,

which includes all of us.

The title of this parable

may advertise that it's about two dysfunctional brothers,

but really, it's about

the lavish, unconditional, irrational,

unmerited, overflowing, unbelievable,

reconciling love of the Father.

This parable doesn't have a sweet,

neatly tied up,

happy ending.

And neither does our story, does it?

We don't really know any more about the ending of this story

than we do about our own lives.

This is the story of what happened in that moment.

What will be the story of this moment?

Prodigal, or proud,

or somewhere inbetween,

God is offering gracious, reconciling forgiveness

to you, and to me,

and to all of us

with arms open wide.

Amen.