As many of you know, there was a silent retreat which took place last week for the Cathedral community. Several of you attended that retreat, and we can all agree that it was a great blessing for those of us who could make it. Unfortunately, I had to miss the Saturday morning because of other commitments, and it was really most unfortunate, since last Saturday's Gospel reading was the same one as today's: the story of the prodigal son. Apparently, the text and the sermon that was preached sparked quite a bit of thought –people were still talking about it the next day. In spite of the silent nature of the retreat, the participants were strongly moved to share their views on the meaning of the parable out of the experience of their own lives, identifying in many ways with the characters in the parable: the younger son sowing his wild oats, the older son dutifully staying at home, the father running down the path with open arms. Each person saw themselves reflected in one of these characters and were eager to express what the parable meant to them because of this. But the themes of the parable go beyond the personal into the universal. These characters and the interaction between them have formed the basis for many great works of art and literature. Many theologians have meditated on what this parable means in the context of our Christian faith. This text resonates within all of us and gives us a profound message about God's love and about forgiveness, and about our participation in God's desire for reconciliation.
On the face of it the parable of the prodigal son is simple enough: it's one in a series of parables dealing with the question of whether anyone can be seen as being outside of God's mercy. Are there people who are ultimately unforgivable? Jesus has just spoken about the lost sheep and the lost coin. In both those stories, the one which is lost is seen as being precious enough to spend considerable trouble searching for it, and there is considerable joy when it is found. The third parable, the one of the ungrateful and selfish son, is the strongest and most disturbing of them all. Perhaps, due to our very familiarity with the story, we have lost the sense of just how disturbing it really is. In Jesus' day, for a son to ask for his inheritance was almost as if he were wishing his father dead. In the common order of things, no son would receive his inheritance until the death of the father. Asking for it prematurely was insensitive, to say the least. And it didn't end there. The son proceeded to act in the worst way –rather than using the inheritance for an honest investment, he ended up spending his father's well-earned money on debauchery and sin. Even once the money was all gone and the son was desperate, he didn't do the decent thing. He ended up working in the worst possible situation: for Gentiles, feeding unclean animals. In every way possible, the son is portrayed as being unworthy of sympathy or mercy. It would hardly be surprising that the teachers of the Law who were listening to Jesus would judge the actions of this young man harshly. I'm sure that many of us listening to the story today have a negative opinion of him also. Can he be worthy of forgiveness? Surely the father had the right to deal with him firmly.
But the father in Jesus' parable acted very differently than what might be expected from an earthly, ordinary father. An ordinary father might accept the son back, after he had learned a sharp lesson. An ordinary father might have said "I told you so" and punished his son's behaviour. An ordinary father might have stood on his dignity and let the remorseful son grovel a bit. An ordinary father might just have refused to see the boy and let him learn for himself what it means to suffer from his own actions.
But not this father of Jesus'. This father throws away all dignity, all pride. He runs, this wealthy dignified man, he runs to embrace his child. He kisses him and gives him his robe and ring –symbols of his power and authority. He kills a calf for a feast –things which might be expected for a visit from an esteemed guest. How wildly improbable this must have sounded to the people listening to Jesus. How wildly improbable it sounds to many of us! What kind of a father is this?
And then there's the other character in this parable. I think the scribes and Pharisees, along with not a few of us, are likely to have a lot of sympathy for the elder son –the dutiful, rule-following son who feels that he deserves as much, if not more, for his long service to his father. Where is his fatted calf? Why isn't the party for him? Why, oh why isn't his brother being punished instead of celebrated?
Oh, how this parable speaks to us of human nature! And how it speaks of divine nature... It is so much a part of our communal psyche to focus on retribution, on people getting what they deserve. So many of our movies and popular culture have vengeance at their core. When people screw up, we want to see them punished, locked up, killed. We want to see them "get what's coming to them". I'm not quite sure from where this savage pleasure in punishing others arises, but I think part of it comes from a comfortable knowledge that we would never act like that. We are reasonable, good people, and we want that to be acknowledged. There are the decent, rule-abiding people –like us, and there are the others, wild and greedy, wrathful, evil –who need discipline. Correction.
I want to tell you a story about the first day I went to a meeting for an organization that I work for part time –the one that oversees the Bible study I do with the women in Tanguay prison. My name, as most of you know, is Karla Holmes. That's pretty close to the name of a notorious killer who, along with her husband, raped and murdered some young women, including her own sister. The fact that my name is close to Karla Homolka's has caused me a surprising amount of grief. Some people wince when they hear it. Others look at me as if I am somehow connected to her and can't be trusted. It can be pretty uncomfortable. But the reaction I got when I met with the pastoral team from Tanguay prison stunned me. "Karla Holmes!" they exclaimed gladly. "That's like our Karla Homolka, our dear Karla! How wonderful that your name is like hers." I don't know the whole story, but the pastoral team considers Karla Homolka as one of their most profound success stories, and their joy in her repentance is sincere and heartfelt. They don't doubt her repentance, and they have obviously forgiven her. And you better believe I related to the elder son from the parable and to the scribes and Pharisees and to all of those vigilantes on TV. Karla Homolka? Are you kidding me? Forgive her? Surely she is outside God's mercy...
I was at Tanguay yesterday, and we spoke quite a bit about sin and punishment and forgiveness. These are women who know something about guilt and retribution. They live behind bars. People look at them and often the only thing they see is their crime. Even after serving their time, with their record, they have problems returning to a normal life –finding a place, getting a job. People don't trust them anymore. They've crossed the line between being a respectable person and being a criminal and it has real consequences. When they get out, many of them have very few options, and they all too often find themselves back in prison. But anyone who spends a little time with them as I have over the last few months knows that they are far more than just their crime. They are people who want to change their lives. They're people looking for love and forgiveness and understanding. They are trudging up that hill, hoping against hope that their father will let them work as one of his hired hands. And it gives me great pleasure, perhaps my greatest pleasure as a pastor, to tell these women and others like them that their Father is waiting for them with open arms, rejoicing that what dead has come back to life, and what was lost has been found.
Luckily not all of us will find ourselves in the kind of dire straights that end up with us in prison, although many a prisoner has wondered how it is that they came to be there. But all of us have at some time done things that we were ashamed of, things that we know deserve censure. And we all find ourselves at some point hoping for understanding, for forgiveness. Stories like the Prodigal Son show us something about God's capacity for forgiveness, and that can be very comforting, especially when we are personally in need of it! But it also shows us something about what is expected of us as people committed to following Christ.
When we find ourselves angry and resentful at the idea that God loves sinners, loves them as much as God loves us! it doesn't hurt to remember this parable. The father tells the older son that he is always with him. This is already a wonderful gift, and one that was not available to the younger son. How satisfying to do the work of the father, side by side with him bringing in the harvest. How sad that the younger brother missed out! Isn't it wonderful, appropriate for the older brother to rejoice that the lost has been found and to celebrate with the father the return of a brother whose heart has been changed?
In our lives, we may find that we go through periods where we, like the group of retreatants last week, relate to the older brother or to the younger or to the father. We all find ourselves being judgmental, or in need or forgiveness, or ready to forgive. But, in spite of some of the darker areas of our human nature, we know where we are called to go. From this parable and others like it, we know that our God is a God of second chances, of hope, of a generous love. With God, there is always a path towards love, the door is always ajar, if we ask it shall be given us; if we knock it shall be opened. We are called to to do the Godlike work of reconciliation and forgiveness, so that we can in truth be reconciled to God and to each other. Amen.
