Sermon for the Fourth Sunday of Lent (Latere)

Preached at Canadochly and Grace on March 31, 2019
Preaching text: Prodigal Son parable.

Our Gospel lesson today is one of the most familiar, most beloved of all Scripture texts. It’s one of the first stories we can remember from Sunday School and one we revisit frequently throughout our lives. We all know it. We all love it. It’s the Prodigal Son.

There is an old saying, “familiarity breeds contempt.” On one level with this story, that’s clearly not true, since this is a beloved parable of Jesus. But I do believe that on another level, it is. There is a way in which our familiarity and fondness for this text can make us miss a lot of its nuance and detail and full message. We, in a sense, take this text for granted. We know what it means, so we don’t need to study it closely or further.

For instance, it’s title and name. “The Prodigal Son.” Who here knows what the word ‘prodigal’ means?

I didn’t for the longest time and I’d imagine most of us don’t. Because the only place we ever use that word is in reference to this story. For the longest time, I thought it was a fancy old-fashioned word for “runaway” or “absent” or some such. After all, the son does leave his family behind, so it fit.

Others have contended it means “bad” or “betraying” or something like that. Also apt, since the son is hardly a bastion of moral behavior. But none of these are correct.

When I say we don’t use the word “prodigal” in modern language, that’s not entirely true. There is another very closely related word that we do use that gives us a hint at its true meaning. That word is the adjective “prodigious.” Most of us, I think, know what this word means. It’s something big, overwhelming, extravagant. That’s a very prodigious boulder.

Prodigal, it turns out, means extravagant, excessive, over-the-top, shamelessly so. And this, of course, describes the son well. He has the audacity to go to his living father and ask for his inheritance, something he would normally only receive after his Dad had died. In a very real sense, he’s saying to his father, “drop dead and give me what is mine.” He then takes this money and spends it all on extravagant over-the-top hedonistic living. He throws money around like a billionaire on a bender.

However, if that’s the true meaning of the word prodigal, then there is another character in the story to whom it applies. And that’s the father. He too is prodigal. He too is extravagant and excessive and over-the-top and shamelessly so. His son comes to him and says the most horrible thing, and rather than tell his offspring to go pound sand (like he should have), he gives in. He divides his property and gives this obnoxious little brat what he wants.

And then it gets better. The son figures out what a jerk he’s been and decides to come home. He creates this prepared speech about how he rightly deserves nothing and wishes to be treated as a slave and so forth and he heads off. And in the distance, the father sees him and he runs to meet him.

Now, we know from the context of the story that this father is reasonably affluent. He has enough money for slaves and still enough that after he divides his property in half for this ungrateful son of his, he still has a very good living. Thus, one can expect a certain aristocratic aire to this man. He would be dressed in fine robes. Now the sorts of robes a man of his stature would wear would be somewhat similar to the alb I wear on Sunday morning. A lot more decorative, but approximately the same cut and length and style.

Now, some of you may have noticed that I tend to trip on this thing at least once every Sunday I wear it. To run in something like this is nigh on impossible. So in order to run to his son, Dad has to hike up his robes. Only then can he dash out to meet his boy. Now, unlike me who’s wearing a nice pair of slacks underneath, Dad would not have had anything on underneath. So imagine a dignified elite man of affluence yanking up his robe and running with his bare legs (and perhaps much more) showing for all the world to see.

How shameless. How extravagant. How over-the-top this behavior is. It’s undignified. It’s crass. It’s improper. But Dad doesn’t care, because that’s his boy come home and he’s going to get to him as fast as he can.

And this dad’s prodigal nature keeps going. As the son starts into his prepared speech, Dad will have none of it. Bring out the best robe. Place the signet ring of our house upon his finger. Kill the fatted calf and prepare a feast. All over-the-top. All extravagant. All excessive. And all for a son who has done anything but deserve them.

That, of course, is the point.

Jesus is using this story to tell us who God is. All the time, because of our sin, we tell God to drop dead. We turn our back on him. We walk away. Time and again we do this throughout our lives. And despite the fact that he should tell us to go pound sand, he lets us do it. And when we come back to ourselves and realize our mistakes and fault, what does God do? He throws his arms around us in a massive bear hug, puts the robe and the ring upon us, and throws a feast for us. Because the beloved has come home and that’s all that matters.

We worship a prodigal God that loves us so intensely that nothing else matters. Nothing but his love for us. Not propriety. Not dignity. Not the rules. Not what he’s supposed to do with us. Nothing else but love.

And the proof of that is in Christ himself. God incarnate as this man here on Earth does the most prodigal thing ever. He loves us enough to die the most terrible shameful death for us. The death given slaves and traitors: Crucifixion. It’s an excessive death, extravagant in its suffering, and utterly shameful. But none of that matters. All that matters is a fallen humanity that God loves beyond words and that he will pay any price to see us redeemed.

This is our Prodigal God. Who loves you and me and everyone without limit. And this is what he’s done for us. Amen.