Lost and Found

Lost and Found

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

One of the things I never expected to learn when I was a rural pastor was how people became members of a church. I knew in my home church that people joined by the transfer of their membership from other churches, or they went through confirmation classes and then confessed their faith before the congregation. When I got to north central Missouri, however, I was told that people join churches when they are come to the altar at a revival.

So we planned a revival. I trained up pew captains, arranged for special music, and hired a noted evangelist. We advertised in the local paper and put signs up around town. We had a prayer vigil to prepare. And then we held the revival.

And that’s when I learned how people really join a rural church. When we did our follow up evaluation, high marks were given for the preaching and the singing. But I was the only one who noticed that not a single person outside of the church had actually been invited to attend. I also noticed that not a single person came to the services on their own initiative. No one had been invited, and no one wandered in, because the only way to join this rural church, and most rural churches, was either to be born into it or to be married into it.

That piece of information matters when people start wondering why their church isn’t growing. We had a meeting one night when a concern was raised about how it seemed the Baptists in our small town did a better job of attracting young adults than we did. Since everyone around the table was in their 60’s or older, I had them go around the room and answer one question: “Where is your son or daughter?”

I already knew the answer, but I wanted them to say it out loud, so they all could hear it. Their children were coaches at universities, superintendents of school districts, engineers, teachers, and several other professions. They had all sent their children to college, and their children had gotten jobs that were simply not available in our small town.

Then, because it was a small town, we asked the same question about the families in the Baptist Church. In every case, the sons and daughters had stayed home after high school to work the farm with their parents. It wasn’t that the Baptists did a better job of attracting young adults. Their young adults were all born into or married into the church, just like ours had been. We had simply done a better job of educating our children, so they left home in order to find jobs.

That night they realized that, if the church was going to survive, much less grow, they had to break the pattern of only having members who were either born into or married into the church. They were going to have to open their doors and welcome new, possibly unrelated, people into the fellowship. And that was a scary proposition for them, because then the church might change.

This tendency to define the church by our family is a very old pattern, and it is very Biblical – at least, it is very Old Testament. While persons could convert to Judaism, nearly all of the members of the Chosen People were either born into or married into the family. The lines were pretty clearly drawn that distinguished the Chosen People from the Romans, or the Philistines, or the Canaanites, or the Egyptians.

I have shared with you before that part of the culture of the Middle East is that people are defined and identified by their community. The community shaped you, the community defined you, and you had no identity apart from the community. That is part of the reason for some of the laws in the Old Testament.

The holiness laws helped distinguish the belonging “us” from the “not our people them.” Our people eat these kinds of food, but not the kinds of food eaten by “them.” Our people wear certain kinds of clothes, but not the kinds of clothes worn by “them.” Our people identify ourselves by tassels and tefillin, while they identify themselves by territories and tattoos. The Old Testament holiness laws were clear: if you want to be one of us, there are rules you have to follow, and having the right bloodline was one of the most important rules.

It really wasn’t until the time of Jesus, when the major trade routes passing through Israel made exposure to other peoples and cultures more common, that “outsiders” could become part of God’s people. That is part of the amazement of the Day of Pentecost. People from many cultures became part of the family of God through the outpouring of the Spirit of God.

That is kind of a long way around to explain the context for what is going on in our reading for today. For the first time in their history, the children of the Chosen People were being exposed to life outside of the family and community, and some of them were leaving. Instead of accepting and continuing the identity of the Chosen People, some of these children were educating themselves about other possibilities for how to live. Some of them were leaving home in order to “find themselves.” When these children left, they were considered lost to the community.

There were mixed emotions about this leaving and getting lost. On the most human level, fathers and mothers missed their children. There was often shame from the community because a family had failed to “train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it,” as it says in Proverbs. A child leaving was seen as a betrayal of the community. A child leaving felt like an insult.

Still, there were some who were glad to be rid of those who left. And this is another truth we see in our reading today. Behind every prodigal son is an older brother who makes leaving home seem like a good idea.

The community system was stacked in favor of the older brother. The older brother was groomed to take over the family business. The older brother would receive the lion’s share of the inheritance. The older brother had all the benefits of their privileged position as the heir apparent.

If you were the younger brother, you would never be in charge. You would always be dependent on the whims of the older brother. And if the older brother really enforced his privilege, life could be difficult for a younger brother. Which leads us again to the observation that behind every prodigal son is an older brother who makes leaving home seem like a good idea.

That’s the story Jesus tells to the people grumbling about how Jesus welcomes lost people into the fellowship of God. These people whom Jesus welcomed were not part of the accepted Chosen. Many of them were even likely those younger brothers who had left home to work with outsiders.

We know, for example, that the village of Capernaum was established to provide a work camp for Jews who provided fish to feed the Roman garrison. We know that some of Jesus’ disciples lived in Capernaum. We know that James and John left their father Zebedee and his business behind to follow Jesus. We can be pretty sure that at least some of Jesus’ disciples were younger brothers who had left their communities.

Another clue that Jesus is telling the grumblers their own story is the detail of “feeding the pigs,” which might be a thinly-coded reference to feeding the Romans. So while we might traditionally hear this story as the standard parable for revival preachers calling those who have fallen away to come home, this is a story which spoke truth to the people wanting to close ranks to protect the Chosen People – even as the Chosen People are being threatened with irrelevancy in a changing world.

So Jesus tells the grumblers their story. A younger brother, tired of his life, hopeless for the life promised to him, takes what he can get and heads for someplace, any place, where he no longer has to be the younger brother. He’s not sure who he is any more, so he tries on new identities – perhaps even starting with ones as far from his old one as possible. The younger brother is no longer one of us; he has become one of “them.”

And while part of the American ethos is the image of the individual striking out on their own course in order to find health, wealth, and happiness, back then in that culture this was understood as a recipe for disaster. And disaster is what happens to this younger brother, as he loses not only his identity, but also his money and any friends he might have made. The younger brother is reduced to the lowest imaginable place for a Jew – he is a servant feeding the pigs. It is his job to keep the pigs happy.

The irony is not lost on the younger brother. The former child of the Chosen People of God is now lower than the unclean he serves. This is as low as he can go. Sometimes, it takes hitting bottom before you can swallow your pride and admit that mistakes have been made.

The younger son makes a plan as he heads home. He will confess his mistakes, his sin, but he will only ask that he may become a servant. He has no expectation that he can become part of the family again. He fully expects that the wages of his sin is his familial death as a member of the Chosen People.

If we listen closely to the story, we notice that while the father hears the confession, he doesn’t wait for the son’s offer to be a slave. Instead, forgiveness is immediately and completely offered. The robe and sandals are emblems of the master, not the servant. The ring makes the impression in a seal to sign deals on behalf of the father. And the barbeque is a party to share the good news with the rest of the community that the father’s son is home and whole – that he is again, and shall always be, one of us.

This is when we get reminded that behind every prodigal son is an older brother who makes leaving home seem like a good idea. The older brother has not changed. In fact, the evidence is that the older brother feels even more entitled and privileged than before.

If there is going to be a party, he whines, it should be for me. If the father is going to be happy about anything, he should be happy that I am the one who stayed because I am the one who matters. It is not fair, the older brother cries, that the worst among us is celebrated for finally figuring out that screwing up is a bad idea.

The father, who has been aware of the interplay of privilege and persecution between the brothers, says to the older brother, “You are always with me.” We might slide over that, but it may have been jarring for the older brother to hear. It would be jarring because the older brother had reversed that order.

That’s what the grumblers had done. It is not that we have God, but that God has us. That distinction is important because one order leads to the kingdom of God, while the other order leads to a kingdom where we think we are gods.

The older brother’s order leads to a sense of privilege and a false sense of authority – I have God! The other leads to a sense of humility and thankfulness – God has me! The older brother’s order leads to self-righteousness – I have stayed and obeyed! The other leads to confession – forgive me, for I have sinned. The older brother’s order leads to judgment – I should be celebrated while they should be punished. The other leads to discernment – I am not worthy, but I need the Father.

When we get that order right, there is reason to celebrate! We celebrate because, through the grace of Jesus Christ, we can be forgiven. We celebrate because, through that grace, we become part of the family of God. We celebrate because God even forgives us when our sin is our sense of privilege and entitlement.

We are all invited to the celebration of new life which comes to us through the grace of Jesus Christ. So this morning, whether you have been an older brother or a younger brother, the Father has you. Whether you have strayed far and wide or whether you have stayed home, there is a place for you at the Father’s table. It turns out that the only way to become a member of the family of God really is to be born into it, as we die to sin and are raised into our new life through Christ. Let us stand and be amazed!

New Hymn “I Stand Amazed, Lord”