Jesus, the Life of the Party

10 March 2013

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

          This week in worship we hear the familiar story of the lost son, sometimes called the prodigal son. Prodigal doesn’t mean lost, it means wasteful, and it is a label Jesus never used. The judgment was made by biblical translators in the age of the Reformation. Yes, the son spent his entire inheritance living large for a short time, like some professional athletes featured in the ESPN documentary Broke. The son in the parable blew it.

            But the father was also prodigal—wasteful—you might say. First, he gave half his fortune away to a son who basically said, “Dad, you’re dead to me, so give me my inheritance and I’m out of here.” The father had no obligation to give that boy anything. In fact, according to the law, the father’s obligation was to discipline the son harshly (All who curse father or mother shall be put to death—Lev. 20:9). The father, you could say, wasted mercy, gave it away for nothing. In terms of what the law required, he blew it.

            The only one who wasn’t prodigal was the older son, the one who stayed at home and did what was required of him. He was the opposite of prodigal… he was stingy. He withheld his approval, his forgiveness, and his presence at the feast given in honor of his brother. He conserved his integrity and preserved his pride. He acted just as the law required.

            But man, he really blew it.

            I have been a keeper of cats for many years. A cat fancier, a cat companion. Opener of the cans. Scooper of the litter. Nobody really owns a cat and you have to have lived with cats, I think, to understand that. Cats might be the inspiration for the “Borrowers” of Mary Norton’s fiction. Human beans exist for borrowers, Arrietty explained to the boy. I believe that’s the way cats feel about us “round ears.” 

            Anyway, one day, one of these cats who lived with us had to go to the vet, and the other cat, when she realized that she was alone, except for the human, sniffed the spot where she had last seen her cat-sister and then let out a mournful yowl. She went about the house calling for her sister, and then curled up in the closet and went to sleep. It was pitiful. I felt bad for her, but and tried to comfort her, but she was inconsolable.

            A few hours later when the “away” cat returned from the vet, I prepared myself for a heartwarming reunion. The cat who was left behind came running to the door the moment she heard the car in the drive. And when the cat carrier was opened, and her sister stepped out, they touched noses, and then…

Hst! She gave her a swat and ran away.

            I don’t think cats have much long term memory.

            It was as if a strange new cat came back from the vet, and not the companion for whom she had grieved.

            That image came to mind when I pondered the story of the two brothers in the parable.

            How long did it take for the older one to forget that the younger brother was his childhood playmate, and his own flesh and blood? Sibling rivalry is natural, but so is sibling affection. I can barely remember, but I can still remember, how much I missed my brother and sister when the summer was over and they went back to school for the whole long day. I remember waiting for them, at the top of the hill which they had to climb to get home from Grant School, and the great joy I felt as we walked the rest of the way home together, hand in hand.

            But, I also remember how, much later, I waited and waited for my sister go back to school, back to her dorm room at Illinois State University, so I could have my room to myself again!

            What happens to us as we grow up and grow old? We seem to move from some natural sense of attachment to people, to detachment. From barely sensing where one of us ends and the other begins, to delineating boundaries with masking tape on the bedroom floor. It’s not a fault or a flaw, it just is what it is—a natural observable human phenomenon, an adaptation that may even be necessary for the survival of the species. That’s just the way it is.

            Someone asked me this week what I thought of original sin. I don’t think about it much. I believe in original blessing. That’s where I put my trust. The first story of creation resounds with the refrain, “and it was good.” Behold it was very good! We were created and declared good, and so we are, when we are genuine.

            I love the way the story goes, the turn of phrase, when the younger son “came to himself.” He was out there, living la vida loca, and then, when he came to himself he decided to go home. When he came to himself he realized that it would be better to be a slave in his father’s house than to be estranged.

            I believe that is what theologians used to call original sin-- that estrangement, that malignant form of self-differentiation, that extreme detachment. And repentance would be coming to oneself, recovering that original state of relationship with God by being in good relationship with others.

            And that is what the older son, and the Pharisees and scribes for whom Jesus told the parable, missed out on. They thought that righteousness was about being good and following rules, but they forgot the reason behind the rules. God created the law, the book tells us, because more than anything God wants to be in relationship with us. To know as we are known, to love as we are loved by God. And the only way we can truly experience a relationship with God is through our relationship with others.

            It’s not about being good, it’s about being in relationship.

            The older son is good, but he is missing out on the party because of his own self-imposed estrangement.

            The parable ends with the father’s plea. Come in, join the party, rejoice with me.

            Well, will we go in? Will we enter into the experience of the realm of God, or will we remain outside, estranged, alone. That is the question we must ask ourselves every day. Will we choose relationship, or not? The door remains open. That is the good news. Thanks be to God.

Jesus the Host

3 March 2013

Isaiah 55:1-9

            Today, we hear the voice of God calling us to come. “Listen up! Everyone who is thirsty come to the waters! You that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price!” Come on come on.

            This is not the kind of invitation we hear in the marketplace. It’s not “buy one, get one free.” It’s not “easy credit financing, zero down and zero percent financing for 60 days. This is a genuine gift, no strings attached, come.

            God has what we need. Not only what we need to survive, but more than that, to thrive, to grow, to delight. God gives us what is needed, but then kicks it up a notch: Thirsty, come get water, no, come get wine, no, come get milk. Bam! Kicking it up a notch.

            We witness extravagant hospitality when Jesus is at the table. We have for example the story of Jesus at the wedding in Cana. When his mother tells him that the wine has run out, Jesus provides wine from water (even though he is cross with his mother at first, saying, Woman, my time has not come yet). And, the wine that Jesus provides is not just adequate screw-top red or box white. No, only the best, and that, in abundance. Another guest commented to the host, Man, most people serve the best wine first, and bring out the cheap stuff when the guests have become drunk. But you have saved the best for last!

            Extravagant abundance and extravagant welcome. When Jesus is at the table everyone is welcome. In his day, Jesus was criticized for the company he kept. He would eat with anybody. Tax collectors, sinners, women, Pharisees and leaders of the congregations, if Jesus was invited, he was there. He dined without distinction. At one time he said to his host, next time you give a banquet, do not invite your friends and relations. You know they will reciprocate, you will get an invitation and go and eat at their house and your hospitality will become a simple matter of exchange. Where’s the good in that? No. When you give a banquet invite the poor, invite the destitute and the desperate. Go out into the highways and hedges and bring them all in. That is real hospitality, giving a feast for those who cannot repay you, feeding those who would otherwise not eat.

            And the last thing Jesus did before he was arrested for sedition, for inciting rebellion against the emperor, the last thing he did was host a dinner with the people who followed him, and he took bread and called it his body, and he broke it, and shared it with all. And he took the cup of blessing and called it his blood, and he gave it to everyone. He made this simple meal of bread and wine his own, eternally, and whenever we eat this bread and drink this cup, we are at table with desperados and tax collectors, Pharisees and upstanding citizens, women of property and women of ill repute, widows, lepers, orphans and immigrants. We are all here. So if you would prefer to dine with distinction, this is not the place. This is the table of grace. Jesus is the host, and we are the guests.

            But, we are also the body of Christ. As the church, as Christ in the world we are given charge of this meal, not to act as bouncers at the door, not to screen candidates for the table, no, we are called to bring them all in. Look around. Who is missing? Where are the desperate? Where are the poor? Where are the students? Where are the children? Where are the dispossessed? Where are the grieving and the sick? How do they know they are invited, welcome, and expected, if no one invites them? Do you know whose job it is to invite them?

            It is up to all of us together and each of us individually to act on behalf of the host, who says, go out to the highways and the hedges and bring them all in! Use everything. Turn up the volume on the invitation. Bring them all in because this is not our table. This is the table of the Lord, the Christ of God. Ho! Everyone who thirsts, come!

Homework:

When and where have you felt extravagantly welcomed? At a hotel, a resort, a shop, someone's home? What was that like?

Now, how do we replicate that experience for everyone who comes to our church? Then everyone can experience God's extravagant welcome, without money, without cost. Free. Just like grace.