ALL SAINTS MARGARET STREET
Sermon preached by Fr. Gerald Beauchamp at High Mass on the Fourth Sunday of Lent, 14th March 2010
Readings: Joshua 5. 9-12; 2 Corinthians 5. 16-end; Luke 15. 1-3, 11b-end
I can remember the first time that I heard the parable of the Prodigal Son. I was five or six years old. It was at Sunday School. I'm seated on a small chair in a circle with other children. Our teacher seemed very grown up although she was probably little more than a teenager. She began by saying (I thought somewhat menacingly) that we were going to hear a story about 'a very naughty boy'. We tensed
A large picture book was opened. We beheld a scene of first century domestic bliss (although it was odd that a mother was absent). Soon, however harmony was shattered by the young son's request. I couldn't imagine what my dad would've said if I'd asked for half the family silver. But amazingly this father said 'yes'. Off the young goes. How exactly he spent his money was somewhat glossed over (given our age 'an all).
The sight of the young man reduced to eating pigswill looked pretty yukky. No surprise then that he came home. My dad would've been really narked even if he'd let me go. But, amazing! The prodigal son's dad takes him back. No questions: throws a party. I wasn't surprised by the older son's reaction. My brothers would certainly have given me a hard time. But it seemed a bit tough on the one who'd done all the work.
The story came to an end. Our teacher gave us a meaningful look. 'So the moral is ...' she said portentously. (In those days Sunday School stories always had to have a moral.) 'The moral is: do not (I repeat 'Do not') waste your pocket-money'.
Now, I've been mulling over this parable for the last fifty years and I can't help but think that there's more to it than that. It's a shame that the later title of the 'Prodigal Son' has placed the emphasis on 'the naughty boy'. It's much richer than a mere cautionary tale.
What would those who first heard the parable thought about? What resonances would it have had hadfor first century Jews? I suspect they would have cast their minds back to Genesis because once you get past the birds and the bees Genesis is largely about fathers, sons and brothers: Cain and Abel, Abraham and Isaac, Esau and Jacob, Israel and Joseph and his brothers.
Let's face it: the news isn't good. Cain murdered his brother. Abraham was prepared to sacrifice his son. Jacob cheated Esau out of his birthright. And Joseph was victimised by his brothers whom he victimised in return. But there are some interesting underlying themes.
Let's begin by thinking about the older brothers. Unlike real life they are the underdogs. Cain had his offering refused by God. No reason is given. No wonder he was angry. Esau was aggrieved by having his blessing stolen. Joseph's brothers were incensed by the favouritism shown to Joseph, the youngest bar one. The older brother in the parable is the inheritor of this dark history but he refuses to hear the lesson from the Joseph saga. You may remember that it was Reuben and Simeon, the oldest of the brothers who in different ways tried to save Joseph.
There's an oldest brother in all of us. At some point in our lives we find ourselves saying 'Life isn't fair. Why me?' Then we have a choice. Either we can murder (literally or metaphorically) or we can try to save the situation. Acting out of our dark side brings grief. Even if we get away with our crime the memory and the anger will not lie buried forever. When Joseph's brothers are jerked around by him in Egypt the first reason that they come up with for the strange things that are happening to them is that they're being punished for their treatment of their long-lost brother (Genesis 42. 21-22). However much we may hide it, there's always that portrait in the attic.
In all of these stories it's the younger who takes centre stage not the older. It's Abel's sacrifice, not Cain's that is accepted. In the case of Jacob and Esau the story is compounded by the interference of the mother but the outcome is the same. The younger son takes possession of something to which he had no right. In the much longer Joseph saga we see the explicit idea that God works redemptively through Joseph. He's the reason that his father and family survive through famine. He provides the explanation as to why the Hebrews ended up in Egypt in the first place.
In all of these stories there is the revolutionary notion that the world's hierarchies are being constantly overturned. Ancient societies as well as our own until recently assumed that succession and privilege was based on primogenitor - the rights of the firstborn son. But in the bible, the father (be he human or divine) reduces this right to nought. The theme is played out again when David, the youngest son becomes king (I Samuel 16. 1-13).
So the key figure in this emerging religious consciousness is the patriarch, the father: God. In Genesis we see God dealing with Cain and Abel in an arbitrary fashion. Anyone with any parenting skills knows that this is not the way to deal with brothers. It only stores up trouble for the future. The same goes for Israel and Joseph.
In the case of Abraham and Isaac we see a God deaf and blind to his own promise. If Abraham was to be the father to many nations, then asking Abraham to sacrifice his only legitimate son was a false call and Abraham was weak in not taking God to task. There is blindness (literally) in Isaac's failure to see that Jacob is duping him. Jacob dressed up in animal skins to smell like Esau. Isaac failed to get a second opinion. Here's a classic portrayal of the blindness that is the curse of being a male. Some years ago a report came out that showed that men on average drive many more miles every year than women. Why? Well, one reason is that men never ask for directions.
The radical shift that Jesus makes is that he preaches a God who is much greater than that of the forefathers. In the Prodigal Son the father makes himself vulnerable. He does not cling to what is his. He doesn't lay down the law. He doesn't tell the lad to get out in the fields and help his brother adding the coup de grāce 'I've got a business to run.' He lets him go. He must have known that the boy would make a mess of it but he also knows that growing up means taking risks. Being an adult means living with a degree of mess. But the father never stops loving his son and with the first sign of a return the father runs to him, embraces him; kisses him.
The father never gives up. He is 'eternal'. He never gives up on either of his sons. He not only goes outside to the young prodigal he also goes outside to the hurting, older son. The father faces the painful truth that his sons only want him for what he can give them: half his estate; a kid to feast with his friends. Neither son loves the father for who he is. This apparently libertarian father has taken the great risk of providing a space for his children to stare into the abyss. They will only become mature when they can know (know not just intellectually but know at the deepest level) that they belong and that they are loved. This father is the human embodiment, the personification of the Creator. We were not made to fail. But the making of us is in our growth through failure: our own dyings and risings.
It's taken me half a century to work out that we've got it wrong calling this parable 'the Prodigal Son'. Instead we should surely call it 'the parable of the Prodigious Father'.