Sermon, Fourth Sunday in Lent, "The older brother finally gets his say"

 

C Lent 4 Pilg 2022

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

March 27, 2022

 

            Great, just great.  I suppose most of you identify with my younger brother, don’t you?  Can think of a time when you needed forgiveness, were down on your luck, needed a helping hand?  And there were the open arms of compassion just waiting for you.

           Nice that throughout all of Christendom, I’ll always be the party pooping older brother.  Which is really stupid when you think about it.  Because what is religion if it isn’t about some solid family values—some values which help us define what is right and wrong, good and evil?

         I just wonder what kind of families you think you would all have, what kind of churches, if those families and churches were more like my younger brother than they were like me?  Think about it--how many of the faithful church members would you be able to keep if you were actively out there celebrating the entrance of people who had never darkened the door of a church before?  Things would change, I tell you.  The faithful members wouldn't have as much say in the goings-on in the church.  So you better be careful not to let those new ones have any real power--any real say, or else you will never have church as we have come to know it.

           See, that’s what ticks me off.  I played the rules of the game.  I was responsible.  I did more than my share for the family.  And now, now he gets the party!  Family is just like church in that those who paid their dues should be able to reap the benefits.  All I’m saying is that my little brother should pay some dues.

           I don’t get my father’s notion that I have had all the benefits of the family with my participation in it all these years.  He says, “Sure, the family is great for you, because you helped set it up.  You profit from it every day.”

           “But sometimes,” he said, get this, “sometimes the family has to be broken so people like your brother can share in the good things.”  Let me get this straight.  I helped create some of the wealth and the good times and the glory years here . . . and now . . . now we need to break the family for people who did not help to bring the good times and the glory to fruition.  You figure that one out.

           My dad says I miss out on a whole lot of fun just because I won’t celebrate other people, but I say, “Well, those other people, they ain’t me!”  My dad says that families have to be all about welcoming and inviting people to return home.  I say it is about time I got to decide, I got to run the show.

           The embarrassing part was how my father humiliated himself in front of everyone else.  Here I go trying to provide decorum for the family, and, my dad, without shame, without a thought to appearances and the neighbors, runs out to my long, lost brother.  At least wait till he gets all the way home!  That way the neighbor might think the stranger who smells like pig rot is just another vagrant looking for work.

           But that’s the way it’s always been with my dad.  It truly is amazing that the family survives.  He mouths rules and responsibilities to live by, but then somebody breaks with the rules and responsibilities . . . and he runs shamelessly out to the street corner to blubber all over them.  He puts rings on their fingers, bells on their toes, and seems to have an irrepressible urge to give them responsibility again.  So now we have this huge extended family at the ranch.  Now that’s ok, I’ve got a few friends in that group, but all I asked for was to have my own little farm where I could have control and run things the way I want them.

           And I have reached out to the neighborhood around the ranch.  It’s not that I think we should stay all to ourselves.  Two, count them, two big parties where I invited other ranch families.  And people turned out, but my father, he even chided for me that.  “Why,” he asked, “did I have the parties?  Merely to have people just like me show up and grumble and complain about the servants and the increase in taxes?

           I don’t know.  When you throw a party at your church, who gets invited?  People just like you.  Everybody does it.  I just have an old man who complains about it.

           The ranch, the church, it’s all the same thing, isn’t it?  We all have these responsibilities we would love to give over to the people coming to the place . . . but . . . you know better than anyone else that the church is yours to run, and it’s important to run things the way you want them.  After all, who will get blamed if it fails?  When the lost show up found, do we get any credit for staying in the flock or herd?  Or are we just supposed to celebrate at the big party where everybody is rejoicing?  Give me a break.  I would rather miss out on rejoicing than sell out on the rules I was taught so long ago.

           Needless to say, my brother and I have not been getting along since the big reunion day.  My father comes to me and says, “You know, I hold you responsible for this conflict growing deeper and deeper.  You’ve decided to moan and complain about the family not going the way you want it to and punishing your brother through your behavior whenever it doesn’t go your way.”  He says I only include people if they follow my rules.

           You know, that stinks because I don’t think I’m the one who made up the rules.  I don’t think I’m the one who decided I was going to run this ranch myself.  So I’m supposed to help and support him with his projects when I have no interest at all in what he’s doing?  I don’t think so.  Just because he is a part of the family?  I don’t think so.

           I think it is high time that people realized there would not be any conflict in this family if I had my say and my opinion mattered.  My father says that that is all that matters anyway because I will subvert anyone’s opinion which is different than mine just to get my way or win an argument.

           Ok, maybe he has a point, but how about all the investment that I have put into this ranch?  Goodness knows, I have been the one who has kept us from going under any number of times.  My father wants me to mentor, teach, show my younger brother the ropes even more than he wants me to get my work done.  I just don’t get it.  He says it’s about family, it’s not about any of the buildings or cattle we have on the ranch.  Ok, but dad, barns and cattle . . . that is  a ranch.   Just like a church is not a church without a church building.  Right?  Right?

           And I have tried to make it feel more like family here.  Those two parties I threw last year really brought people out.  Sure we didn’t do anything about it once we got all those people to come out, but how can I be blamed for that?  If people don’t feel welcome at the ranch, what more can we do?  Plan on throwing a party once a month, every time we have something small to celebrate?  That’s what father would do.  Impractical.  Waste of energy.  Again,  what are we doing for the people who have been faithful from the start?  Is all this party money wasted on the new people?

           Now father is talking about even leaving the ranch in the hands of the servants if we should all die off.  I’m sorry, but these servants come from all over the world.  I’m sure they wouldn’t take care of the ranch the same way we take care of the ranch.  It just wouldn’t be the same—it wouldn’t be our ranch.

           You can make me out to be the bad guy in the story if you want, but just remember that this ranch wouldn’t be anywhere without me.  Father says that if I die, all the work I have done will die with me.  Well, I mean, ok, but isn’t that the point?  Why should I have to spend the time sharing what I know with everyone else when I’m working my fingers to the bone as it is?

           The ranch is the one thing I do well.  So I overwork a little and don’t party with the rest of the family.  But I really like the respect I get from people on neighboring plantations and ranches.  They know that I’m one of the movers and shakers here, and I can’t appear to be sloughing off.

           All this supposed conflict could just be avoided if people around here just listened to me a bit more.  It’s not about conflict, it’s about who’s in charge.  I respect father and will do what he wishes for now, but I mean to tell ya’, when he is gone, there will be some changes made around here.  Maybe that will mean that I’ll have the farm and no family, but so be it.  I’d rather have my reputation than some malcontent sibling any old day of the week.

           You must see the same doggone thing in the church?  Some folks who want to take the church away from everything it is supposed to be?  Some folks who seem to care more about how you open it up to new people than deferring to those who have made it so strong? 

           So go ahead and make me the bad guy if that’s what makes you happy.  Go ahead and pretend that you don’t somehow think that someone else’s sins are a bit more scarlet than yours . . . he was eating with pigs for goodness sakes!  But you know . . . you know . . . that the church hast to be more like me than my father or younger brother to survive.  Just like at the ranch, you want the right people in the pews, and you certainly don’t want people like my younger brother showing up at your door.

           Life is all about being right.  And if you are right, why worry about the rest?  Why worry about those who can’t seem to find themselves included, when you have worked so hard to make your ranch, your church comfortable for yourself and your friends?  Why should you work so hard to make your place comfortable for someone else?  Where is the joy in that?

           Conflict only happens when somebody starts asking questions and pushing those who have been shouldering the load for so long.  I guess what you saw from the story you read today pretty much sums up my viewpoint:  I’d rather go to my grave knowing I was right and responsible, than go to my grave with family members like my brother.  Maybe you end up with no family that way, but the ranch . . . just like any church . . . should be about what’s right and not about shamelessly running out to greet pig feeders. 

           Leave the lost—lost.  Leave the dead—dead.  You start raising the dead in this day and age, and you are bound to find yourself in trouble.  Besides, who really wants a ranch, or a church for that matter, that parties a

Sermon for the Fourth Sunday in Lent, March 13, 2016, "How the Prodigals killed the common."

The Gospel of Luke has a tendency to group the sayings of Jesus under subject headings.  For example, in Luke 18:1-8, the author of Luke tells us that a widow haranguing an unjust judge will finally gain justice for her cause.  Her persistence will carry the day.  The author of Luke groups that under the heading of "prayer."  But is it?  Or is it about one of the primary vulnerable groups in the Jewish triad (widows, orphans, and strangers), showing how justice is achieved even when all the odds are stacked against an individual or community?  The story reveals that persistence is necessary.  Persistent prayer is also valuable, but do we buy that Jesus uses the metaphor of the "unjust judge" to describe God?  I don't buy it.

In the same manner, Luke, chapter 15, is framed as a collection of stories and aphorisms that talk about being "lost" and "found."  So it naturally follows that the story is about what is "lost" and "found", right?  But there is detail in the story which suggests that perhaps this is less a parable (using the common to arrive at a mind-blowing revelation) and more a tale of how the world works.  

We learn that this is a wealthy family--hardly the audience Jesus would have gathered around him.  And this wealthy family seems very content to blow off their responsibility to the rest of the community with cheap grace.  They are caricatures.  It is George W. Bush, snorting cocaine and rising to the level of the presidency with seemingly no idea about what would have happened if he were African-American (you know, the selective war on drugs).  It is Donald Trump, who can use bankruptcy laws to again and again escape his creditors.

As Jewish communities are dissolving all around Jesus, would Jesus really have compared God's love to a wealthy patriarch who seems to be ignorant of how his family robs from the common and fails to recognize how the rest of the community fares as his sons squanders the inheritance in "extravagant living" and selfish greed?  

And so . . . an alternative reading of the Prodigal Son story.  

C Lent 5 (OL4) BFC 2016

Luke 15:1-2, 11-32

March 13, 2016[1]

          The Prodigals had always been a cornerstone of the small Jewish village of Magdala.  With so many other Jewish communities losing their land through tremendous debt and the crush of Roman and Temple taxes, the Prodigals kept so many other Jewish families alive in Magdala just by maintaining their land as a trust for the whole community.  “It is,” Adina thought, “how we, as Jews, look out for one another.”  Though the Prodigals were more wealthy than anyone else in town, Magdala existed because their land provided work, sustenance, and well-being for everyone.  And Adina was promised to the oldest Prodigal son, Melech.  He was a good man, Adina would say to herself, a hard-working man, someone who could provide for a family in uncertain times.  Adina would say this over and over again to herself as a way to overlook Melech’s pompous and arrogant way.  Melech is a good and hard-working man.  Melech is a good and hard-working man. 

His younger brother, Zev, on the other hand, was not only pompous and arrogant but also irresponsible. Adina was glad that she was promised to Melech and not Zev.  Zev had no honor.  He was a rather shameful character who would come out and make fun of his servants or make them work harder by chasing the sheep up one hill and down the other.  Once they were all rounded up, Zev, often half-drunk with wine, would start in again, making a shepherd’s day longer by spooking the sheep over the next ridge.   Melech was never publicly drunk and only made fun of the servants privately.  Adina was blessed that Melech was a good man and a hard worker.  Blessed that Melech was a good man and a hard worker.  While no other families might be able to get away with the shameful ways of the Prodigal family, they all counted themselves blessed that Benjamin Prodigal owned enough land to support the community. 

Adina knew it was an uneasy truce that the community made with Benjamin Prodigal.  Her father liked Benjamin but would mutter about him being a “fool” by the way he let his kids disrespect him time after time.  “Money buys grace, permits disrespect, and condones foolishness,” her father would say, shaking his head as they both watched Zev Prodigal try to kick one of the sheep in another drunken stupor, completely miss, and fall flat on his backside.  Adina was blessed that Melech was a good man and a hard worker. 

News traveled fast in Magdala.  And everyone heard that Zev had come to his father and asked for his share of the inheritance.  When Adina heard the news, she turned to her father, “Is this not a shameless thing to do?  Is he not already pronouncing his father dead by asking him for this?” 

“It is, my dove,” her father said.  “It is a shameless thing for him to do.  It is a foolish and reckless thing for his father to grant him this wish.  This land, this inheritance, belongs not only to the Prodigals but, according to our God, to all of the people in Magdala.  He puts us all at risk by granting him this request.”

“But what is he to do, father?  My understanding is that Zev did not request but demanded his inheritance from his father.”

“According to the Law of Moses, Zev is in no position to demand anything from his father.  He is to honor him and even the request is a form of dishonor.  It is as if Zev is wishing his father dead—the right time for a son to claim inheritance.[2]  But then father Prodigal is to also honor and consider his community in granting such a request.  I cannot say, but I do not think this was even held in Benjamin’s heart or mind.”

Adina drew close to her father and bowed her head, waiting.  Recognizing her request to speak, her father nodded his head.  “So, if I may ask, what do you think will happen now?  Zev must know he holds all of our fortunes in his hands?”

Her father answered, “Zev knows what Zev wants.  He behaves like a Gentile, or worse yet, a Roman.  He eats when he is full.  He drinks when he is satisfied.  He weights the scales so that the poor pay more than their fair share.  He is like them.  I believe he now goes to be them.  And the land?  I suspect the land will now become Gentile and threaten our community.  Melech also dishonored his father by taking his half of the inheritance.  Both boys seem to be interested only in what profits them and not Magdala.”

Still, Adina was glad that Melech was a good and hard-working man.  She was also a good and hard-working girl who knew that God had given the land to her people for the benefit of her whole community.  Her mother had regularly taught her that any good gift she had been given, any fortune or blessing, was given to be a fortune and blessing for her whole community, her Jewish people. Her mother told her that this was the way that the tender fabric of Magdala held together for the Jewish people.  Even with so much poverty and creeping hunger, Magdala would hold together as the Jewish people sought out not their individual wants and wishes but remembered their neighbors according to the Law of Moses.  To not do so, to not remember, her father added, was stealing. 

As she recalled these words, told over and over as she asked about her people at a younger age, she reasoned through the recent turn of events.  Adina held her hand over her mouth as she heard herself say the words, “Zev Prodigal was stealing from Magdala.”  Her mother’s eyes grew wide that her daughter would be so bold.  Her father turned from his food at the table, cocked his head as if to take in her words, and then said, “Tsssscht, these are things better left unsaid.  Come.  I have eaten.  Time for you to eat.”  Adina knew her father well enough that he had agreed to her statement but sought to measure her speaking so strongly.

It was about three months later when Adina was carrying water back from the ancient well along the edge of town when she saw him.   He was lying on his side like so many other times Adina had seen him in Magdala.  But he was filthy, and as she approached, his smell made her eyes water.  It was Zev.  Though Adina would never approach a man, even a known Jewish man without consent, she knew that Zev was in no condition to offer any objection.  He looked and smelled like he was dead.  She bent a knee and lifted his head.  “Drink, Zev.  Drink.”  His lips were dry and split but he had clearly had much wine in the recent future . . . and something else.  He readily received the water as Adina poured, and his eyes open and tried to focus on who was giving him mercy.  “Adina,” he whispered, in between gulps. 

“What is that smell, Zev?” Adina asked, covering her face and turning away.  The stinging in her eyes wouldn’t go away.  Zev’s shoulder’s moved like he was laughing.  “Pigs!” he said.  “They had me feeding the pigs.  The pigs ate better than I did!”

“You became a Gentile?  What happened to all of your inheritance?”

“Oh, Adina, I had a great time, a wonderful time with my inheritance.  You cannot imagine the fun I had.”  His shoulders began to shake in laughter again.  He seemed totally unrepentant.  He said it again.  “You cannot imagine.”  With that, he flashed his eyes at Adina, running his hand up her leg, as if to indicate something lewd and disgusting.  Now it was not the pig rot that Adina could smell.  She dropped his head and turned away. 

She stood up and tried to brush her disgust off her clothes.  “So why did you come back?”

He sat up.  “I got hungry.  And my father feeds the stupid slaves far better than the scraps I was getting.  The pigs were eating much better than me.  So I thought I would ask to come on as one of his slaves.”  He laughed out loud.  Everyone knew what his father would do.  And it wouldn’t be to relegate Zev to servant status.  “I best be going.  My father will be looking for me.  Say hello to my older brother for me.” 

Adina knew that Zev was right.  Father Prodigal would still be holding out hope, keeping vigil, praying that his son might return to him.  And without asking, all would be forgiven.  Zev was without honor, completely shameless.  What was it her father said?  “Money buys grace, permits disrespect, and condones foolishness.”  Father Prodigal would embarrass himself by running from his home to greet this son who had wished him dead.

Adina quickly left the water at her home and went to find Melech.  She knew he would not receive the news of his brother’s return with the same spirit that Father Prodigal would.  And with his inheritance gone, Zev would now be living off the inheritance that was given to Melech.  It took Adina a good portion of daylight, but she found him in the field as Father Prodigal approached him.

She heard Father Prodigal begin, “My dear child, please come to the party to celebrate your brother.” 

Melech refused.  “Father, I have worked my butt off for you here.  Slaved and labored this whole time.  When have you even spared a small goat for me?  When?  But Zev arrives home . . . . Was he drunk?  I’ll bet he was drunk.”

“It is of no matter, my son.”

“He was drunk.  And you kill a fatted calf for him!  Melech snapped back.  “I’ll hand one thing to Zev.  He had the advantage of waiting, watching, and learning how to manipulate you, father.  And he learned his lessons well.”

 “What could I possibly yet give you?  I gave you your inheritance.  It is already all yours.  Please, all of Magdala is here and the party awaits you.  Your brother who was dead is now alive.  Please.”

Melech turned away from his father as Adina arrived.  Father Prodigal reluctantly left Melech in the field and returned to the festivities. 

Adina approached Melech and bowed.  He relented and nodded his approval.  “Fathers should not have to beg their sons, Melech.”  In a fit of rage, took the back of his right hand and knocked Adina to the ground.  She felt him over her, towering, wandering what he was about to do next.  When she looked up, Melech was actively trying to strike her again, but there was a larger figure that held Melech’s wrist and would not let go. 

“Your family has put all of Magdala in grave danger, Melech.”  It was her father. “You think you can act alone in your greed and expect this village to remain for you?  The Law of the Living God has been given so that we might all live in prosperity, shalom, and well-being.  Today you have not only dishonored yourself, your father, but also your betrothed.  All she did was remind you of the Law of Moses.  Honor . . . your . . . father.  So for now, your betrothal is broken.  The stink of your dishonor may cover your family.  It will not extend to ours.”

His voice softened.  “Come, Adina, the sun sets, the day is beginning, and it is time for our prayers.  Let us pray that the Prodigals may remember that no Jew worships alone.  For there is no amount of money that can purchase God’s peace.”

And with that, Adina and her father began the short walk home.  “Perhaps, father, perhaps there may one day come a teacher like Moses, who reminds all of us, not just the Prodigals, that our true inheritance is that we are all one.”

He smiled at his wise daughter.  “That would be a great teacher, my dove.  I pray that we might all see that day.”

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[1] Much of this sermon is based on the scholarship done around the prodigal son parable found in Bernard Brandon Scott, Re-Imagine the World:  An Introduction to the Parables of Jesus (Santa Rosa, CA:  Polebridge Press, 2001) and Bruce J. Malina, Richard L. Rohrbaugh, Social Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels (Minneapolis, Fortress Press, 2003). 

[2] Sirach 33:20-24; Deuteronomy 21:15-17; A rabbinic proverb declares that among those who cry out to God and can expect no answer is “he who transfers his property to his children in his lifetime.”  (Babylonian Talmud, Baba Mezia, 75B).