Introduction
The Parable of the Prodigal Son is one of my favourite
pieces of Scripture. I must confess that sometimes I struggle to read it
without welling up. There are many reasons for this: some of them deeply
personal and private, but others that I am more comfortable sharing with you.
It is a passage that demands a lot of us, both spiritually
and emotionally, and getting to grips with it demands an openness to being
moved to tears, being moved to joy. We might be tempted to skip to the end: to
focus on being embraced by the Father, being welcomed home, but to do so means
that we will never fully understand the meaning of this. To fully understand the
meaning of this parable, we have to be willing to descend to the depths of our
very normal and very human experiences. We have to be willing to look at our
own failings, our own sin, and recognise that, so often in our lives, we too
have abandoned our home and gone our own way.
I am going to try to lead us into the depths. A part of me
is afraid to do this because, sometimes, we fear the depths. Although I am your
priest, I am every bit the human being that you all are. This journey we take
together. It will not be easy but one of the things that Lent teaches us is
that we have to face our own natures and our own brokenness. The depths to
which we must go, the death, if you will, that we must face, end with risen
life. I will lead you to the depths and, if you will travel with me, we will
then step forward into the light and life of Easter.
The first two of these talks are a descent into the darkness
but please do not lose heart. The descent into the darkness is part of the
journey to the light. Remember that whatever depths we go to, Christ is there
ahead of us and no darkness can overtake us while that light shines in the
darkness.
Reading of Luke 15:11-32
11 Then
Jesus said, “There was a man who had two sons. 12 The younger of
them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of the property that will
belong to me.’ So he divided his property between them. 13 A few
days later the younger son gathered all he had and travelled to a distant
country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. 14 When
he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country,
and he began to be in need. 15 So he went and hired himself out to
one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the
pigs. 16 He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the
pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. 17 But when he came
to himself he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and
to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! 18 I will get up and go to
my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and
before you; 19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me
like one of your hired hands.” ’ 20 So he set off and went to his
father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with
compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. 21 Then
the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am
no longer worthy to be called your son.’ 22 But the father said to his
slaves, ‘Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring
on his finger and sandals on his feet. 23 And get the fatted calf
and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; 24 for this son of mine
was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!’ And they began to
celebrate.
25 “Now
his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he
heard music and dancing. 26 He called one of the slaves and asked
what was going on. 27 He replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your
father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.’
28 Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out
and began to plead with him. 29 But he answered his father, ‘Listen!
For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never
disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I
might celebrate with my friends. 30 But when this son of yours came
back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted
calf for him!’ 31 Then the father said to him, ‘Son, you are always
with me, and all that is mine is yours. 32 But we had to celebrate
and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he
was lost and has been found.’ ”
Talk
The younger of the two sons said to his Father: ‘Father,
give me the share of the property that will belong to me’.
Essentially, the younger son was saying to his father: ‘I
want now what will come to me when you die’. In other words: ‘I want to be able
to live as though you were dead’.
We could be tempted to think of amusing stories of children
saying to their elderly grandparents: ‘Nanny, when you die, can I have…’
A few years ago, I visited my grandmother in South Wales—now
my only surviving grandparent. On a book shelf she had a series of books, the
works of Charles Dickens. I said to her, partly in jest: ‘Nan, can I have these
books when you die’. It was said in jest and affection and, thankfully, she
wasn’t upset by it. The next time I visited, she had boxed them up for me and
said that I might as well take them now because it is one less thing to sort
out. There was one of the series missing but I managed to get it online for the
princely sum of £5.
Of course, I wasn’t rejecting my
grandmother, my mamgu but the story of the Prodigal Son is one in which the son
is completely rejecting his father, and his father’s house, and saying: ‘I want
my own life, away from you. Just give me what I will get when you are dead, and
I am gone.’ It is the rejection of relationship, for the illusion of freedom.
Note my choice of words: ‘the illusion of freedom’. I will come back to that
next week. The son was effectively saying to his father: ‘I wish you were dead’.
In a society where family lines and bonds were absolutely central to the people’s
identity, these words of the younger son would be completely shocking and they
are meant to be. It is a dramatic image for us to ponder: the complete
rejection of the person without whom you wouldn’t be alive.
The Parable of the Prodigal Son, and the two parables that
immediately precede it in Luke 15, is a story of repentance: the shepherd going
in search of the lost sheep, the woman searching for the lost coin, the father
rejoicing over the return of his lost son. The emphasis of most preaching is
naturally on the coming home, the being found. But to really get to the full
meaning of this passage we must, as I said in the beginning, descend to the
depths of our human nature. We don’t mind talking about repentance; we are far
less comfortable talking about sin. But that is the subject of this evening’s
talk.
Sin
If we reflect
on what the younger son was saying to his father, and on what he went on to do,
many of us would probably be reading or listening to the passage thinking: ‘but
I haven’t done anything as bad as that’. This is the first mistake that we
make. Our temptation is often to make comparisons, which we normally do in our
favour: ‘I haven’t done anything as bad as that’ or ‘I am not as bad as that
person’. We like to try to scale things to varying degrees of seriousness,
usually in order to reassure ourselves that we are not as bad as we are. At its
heart, all sin is the same.
When I do baptism visits, in order to talk about what
baptism is, we have to talk about what sin is and I often use the story of the
Garden of Eden. I make the point that not many people believe that it is a
historical account of what happened; rather, it is a theological story that
teaches us a moral truth about who we are and why our lives are the way they
are.
What was the one thing that Adam and Eve were told not to do?
Why was it a sin?
Why was it a sin?
In the story of Adam and Eve, the man and the woman that God
created were placed in the Garden of Eden. It must have been the most beautiful
place on the whole earth and Adam and Eve were given almost complete freedom to
enjoy it all, apart from eating from the tree of the knowledge of good and
evil. They had a complete relationship with God: walking with him and talking
with him in the garden.
The one thing they were told not to do was eat from the tree
of the knowledge of good and evil. This tree would give them knowledge and
understanding and, in the words of the serpent, they would become like God.
Wow! We can become like the God who made us and have all knowledge and
understanding! What an amazing thing!
Remember that they had a perfect relationship with God. They
walked and talked with God in the garden. They were created by God. They were
loved by God. Everything they needed came from God and was given to them by
God. Everything they could ever want to know could be told to them by God. What
an amazing relationship: rather like the relationship the younger son had with
his father. He had everything he needed at home. Adam and Eve had everything
that they needed to.
The reason that taking the fruit was a sin was that they
were choosing to take the knowledge and understanding for themselves at the
expense of their relationship with God. They were choosing a life of freedom
and independence rather than being dependent on God. To use the phrase I
mentioned earlier, they chose the illusion of freedom instead of the relationship
that had given them life. In reaching towards the tree of the knowledge of good
and evil, they were, in fact, turning their backs on God and saying, like the
son said to his father: ‘we don’t want you anymore: we can do this by ourselves’.
This is what every single sin, whether we consider it big or
small, is. It is the turning away from God and taking for ourselves. All sin is
the same thing: whether it is rape, murder, the abuse of children, or a little
white lie to get ourselves out of a tricky situation, the unkind word about
somebody behind their back, the one glass of wine too many, or the walking past
the homeless person pretending we don’t see them at all. This is both good and
bad news.
The good news is that we have all sinned: we are no better
or worse than anybody else. We are all in the same boat. Laypeople, priests,
bishops: we are all the same boat. We are all prone to sin and we all do indeed
sin. There can be some comfort in this. I once heard it said, to describe the
Church, that we are all beggars looking for bread. Or, to use the words of
Oscar Wilde from Lady Windermere’s Fan: ‘we are all in the gutter, but
some of us are looking at the stars.’
The mistake we sometimes make is that we use this truth to
justify our sin. We say to ourselves: ‘I’m only human’. We use this to somehow
justify the things that we do wrong, to make it ok. We must, however, remember
that it is not ok. Sin is not ok. That is not to say that we should be walking
around riddled with guilt—more on that next week—but we must recognise sin for
what it is. Yes, it is part of our human condition and we all do it, but we
should be aiming higher. In the words of Jesus in Matthew 5:48: ‘Be perfect,
therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect’. Yes, we will all stumble and
fall but our aim should be that perfection.
The bad news is that in sinning we are all choosing
separation from God. To put it more dramatically, we are all choosing death. Romans
6:23 says: ‘the wages of sin is death’. This is what we choose when we
deliberately sin. Like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, and like the younger
son in the Parable of the Prodigal Son, when we sin, we choose to turn our backs
on our relationship with those who have given us life and walk away into the
illusion of freedom.
What was the result for Adam and Eve of taking the
fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil?
Romans 6:23 tells us that the wages of sin is death. Through
their turning away from God, Adam and Eve were denied access to the tree of
life. The story teaches us that sin is what has brought pain, suffering, and death
into the world.
We are all born with this separation and we are all born as
heirs of this separation from God, with that distance from God, and the
inclination to seize things for ourselves, and seek our own individual freedoms.
This isn’t just the problem of Adam and Eve, or of the
younger son in the parable: it is the problem that all of us have. We wander
away and find ourselves lost.
I hope that this has been helpful. Let us not despair of the
darkness but let us remember that this is the reason Christ came into the
world: to restore that relationship. Christ is the light that shines and the
darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it. In order to remember the light,
let us hear the parable again.
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