Sermon March 30: Luke 15:11b-32   Brothers                       Rev. Betsy Hogan

So… have you found yourself outdoors without a coat yet? It’s always one of the most glorious signs of spring, every year. That day when we venture outdoors to do this or that or whatever we’re up to and think… “I don’t need a coat”.

Absolutely spectacular. When I was in university, there was always at least one day like that, end of March, beginning of April, always right in the middle of exam time –

When suddenly it was the amazing breathtaking wondrous day… when nobody needed a coat. And the entire student body would be outside in shorts and teeshirts, “sunning ourselves” on blankets, studying for exams, like it was NOT manifestly Montreal in March, but was in fact some sort of tropical paradise.

Usually it meant that the temperature was roughly ten degrees. It was in fact approximately the SAME temperature that when it had happened the previous October… was the signal for all of us to put ON our winter coats.

But perspective is everything. Ten degrees in October is frigid and painful. Ten degrees in March, on the other hand, is the warmest day that’s ever been known to humankind.  

Perspective really is everything. Which brings me to the Parable of the Prodigal Son or the Lost Son, that Anne read for us just now. Because this parable of Jesus, which only turns up in the gospel of Luke -- this parable, more than any other of the parables of Jesus, I think, is the one in which our own perspective when we hear it, seems to matter so much. 

Shapes our reaction to it so sharply. IF, at least, our perspective when we hear it is the perspective of the older brother. 

Because if we hear it identifying with the younger brother? It's not provocative, it's not upsetting, it's just lovely and warm and comforting. It's a parable of God's grace, it's a parable of unconditional love, it's a parable of forgiveness and welcome and embrace.

But if we hear it identifying with the elder brother? Which based on my very unscientific statistical analysis of conversations with people after every time I've preached on it, the vast majority of us do? It IS provocative, and it IS upsetting, and it's not just "oh what a lovely parable, the lost is found" – we react. Sometimes pretty sharply.

And we probably even know, while we're reacting the way we are, that it's not our best look. I've always sort of thought that's why the elder brother actually stays outdoors, doesn't join the party – because he kind of knows it's not it's best look.

Because everyone's rejoicing, the lost is found, love is unconditional, grace abounds – and he knows he shouldn't be feeling so resentful, and he knows he shouldn't be feeling so angry, and he knows he shouldn't be feeling so hurt, but he is. 

And maybe also ashamed. About all those feelings he's feeling.

That we might be feeling too, if we crash up against this parable every time we hear it, because we hear it as that elder brother.

Which we might. And it's exactly why Jesus includes the elder brother in this parable. 

Because this is the third parable in a triad -- a series of three -- about stuff that gets lost. There's the lost coin, but Jesus doesn't bother mention how the other nine coins feel -- of course he doesn't. And then the lost sheep, but we don't get any musings about how the other ninety-nine sheep feel -- we're probably meant to assume they didn't even notice one of their buddies had strayed off.

But when it comes to the lost son, Jesus knows the water's going to get muddy for some of his listeners, for some of us. Rejoice for a found coin, rejoice for a found sheep -- sure! God is amazing, unconditionally loving, seeking the lost until they're found.

But when it's a lost son? And we'd never have gotten ourselves lost? Ya, we're going to need some help.

That's why Jesus includes the elder brother, and his bitterness. His pain. Because it's real. Because we can hear Jesus rattle on about God's unconditional love and God's unconditional grace until the COWS come home along with the sheep --

But if we're like that elder brother, God's unconditional love and God's unconditional grace actually on the ground? In real life? Can feel completely unfair.

Because they are. Or, in fact, because they're not. Because, in fact, God’s love and grace are entirely equitable. God’s love and grace are there in equal measure for the good son and the prodigal son, for the saints and the sinners, for the dependable hard-worker and the one who's a pain in the neck.

Which is utterly equitable, utterly fair. And yet can feel so unfair. Astonishing and amazing and a gift beyond measure if we identify with the prodigal son -- and infuriating and bitter if we identify with the elder son.

Which is why Jesus includes the elder brother. Because that perspective is real. The nature of grace IS provocative. 

It's completely counter-intuitive -- our human default is to assume that goodness is earned and we reap what we sow and we get what we deserve. And meanwhile God's grace is just God's grace, raining down upon all of us apropos of none of those things at all. Unearned, unjustified, indiscriminate.

It's really hard to GET. Truly, in our bones. And lost coins and lost sheep just don't convey the full outrageous measure of it. 

For that we need people. Messy messy people with their messy messy perspectives. Irresponsible prodigal children, and siblings who get furious with resentment, and parents who love them BOTH unconditionally.

Because if we look back at who Jesus is telling this parable to, he's telling it to the tax collectors and sinners he’s sitting down and eating with… AND to the scribes and Pharisees who are reactive about that. He's telling it to a whole bunch of prodigals – tax collectors and sinners who've turned back "home" and have been welcomed with the outpouring of joy –

AND he's telling it to a whole bunch of well-behaved siblings – scribes and Pharisees who've only ever been faithful and dependable and reliable, and "of course you're beloved and everything I have is yours".

And if ALL of them, tax collectors and sinners and scribes and Pharisees, can now go away having been wholly and completely assured of their father's unconditional love – which they have –

The fact of the matter is, the story's not over. This parable needed messy messy people to achieve the full measure of its import, because the story's not over. There's a messy messy unfinished ending still. BECAUSE of those messy messy people. And that's what Jesus leaves his listeners with. That's what he leaves us with.

There once was a man who had two sons, is how the parable begins. But it's also how it ends. And what's profoundly striking in the abrupt way it ends is what's missing.

Because the prodigal finds his way back to his father, and the father finds his elder son and brings him back too – but they still haven't found their way back to each other.

It’s the hardest part of all. It's not grace theoretically, grace that surprises us with joy or challenges us with its unconditional equity – it's grace on the ground. It's hopeful but it’s messy. And are we going to be up for it.

Like, the prodigal son, beautifully restored and forgiven by his father, is he ever going to notice the repentance and apology he owes his brother?? Because that doesn't even seem to be on his radar. And it really should be. He's broken that relationship too. 

And the elder son, reminded afresh that he's always been loved by his father, is he ever going free himself from this burden of resentment he's been carrying around? Because right now it kind of doesn't look like it. Right now he looks really stuck.

So the two of them, they're restored to their father, but frankly that was kind of the easy part. God is God and grace abounds and love abides. The hard part is being restored to each other. No matter what our perspective is, or which brother Jesus' listeners identify with. The hard part is being truly restored to each other.

And that’s not just about a flooding in of grace. None of us is God. That takes work. It takes honesty. It might involve a choice to embody grace, but it takes work. 

The tax collectors and sinners, the prodigals welcomed home, it's hard to do that work. To take on that humility and shame of having hurt someone, and needing to apologize. But that's what being restored in relationship might require, that acknowledgement and honesty -- trusting in grace on the ground, but doing our part to move toward it.

And the scribes and Pharisees, the 'elder brothers' who've always carried the weight, who've always picked up the pieces, it's hard to let go of resentment that's maybe pretty justified. It's wearisome, the hurt was real, it's wildly unsatisfying. But that's what being restored in relationship requires, that decision to lay it down and move on --  trusting in grace on the ground but doing our part to move toward it.

So there once was a man who told his listeners, the rascals and the dutiful, a parable about a father who had two sons. And he knew we'd each hear it from our own perspective. He wanted us to. He wanted the prodigals to feel the unconditional embrace, he wanted the elder brothers to feel the reassurance – he knew we'd identify with these brothers, and he wanted us to. 

So that we'd finish the story. So we’d trust in the grace we abide in, and know ourselves to be whole and beloved. So we’d trust in the grace we abide in, and recognize our own brokenness but also know our own worth. 

When it’s ten degrees out, some of us are going to sunbathe in teeshirts and others are getting out the winter coats. Reconciliation and restoration takes work on both sides. And there’s grace in remembering that too. Amen.