Jesu Juva
“The Faithful Father’s Forgiveness”
Text: Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32; 2 Corinthians 5:16-21; Isaiah 12:1-6
Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father, and from our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen.
Familiarity breeds contempt, they say.
That was certainly true for the younger son in the parable Jesus told today. The prodigal son, as he has come to be known. We don’t know how old he was, but old enough to have grown tired of his father, and more than tired - he no longer wanted to be around the old coot. There was a whole big, wide world out there just waiting for him to explore. It was exciting just to think about. To be free from the restraints of living in his father’s house. Free to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, with whoever he wanted. The more he thought about the possibilities, the more he grew in contempt for his father and the stale, familiar old life he was stuck in.
And it was exciting at first. But soon, it too became familiar and stale, the reckless living. So he had to ratchet it up even more. More exciting, and more reckless. In a world happy to accommodate him. In a world happy to take from him. Until he had no more to give them. Until his money ran out. And then they had no use for him. Those happy to take from him wouldn’t give him anything, not even the pods the pigs ate.
Familiarity breeds contempt, they say.
And after the younger son spent so much time by himself, feeding pigs, he grew to hate himself. Now he had contempt for the life he had been living. The reckless life. The big, wide world and all its fun and exciting possibilities wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. And suddenly, the life he left didn’t seem so contemptible anymore. It seemed good, comfortable, safe. But he couldn’t go back. He had burned that bridge, hadn’t he? Divorced his father. He was no son; no longer worthy to be a son. He looked at himself - I mean really looked at himself, and was disgusted. He now regretted what he had said and how he had left, but the damage was done. Oh, how he hated himself! How could he live with himself?
Familiarity breeds contempt, they say.
And so it was for the other brother, too. The older one. He had grown in anger, hatred, and contempt for his father, too. He didn’t say those words out loud, to his father’s face, like his brother had, but they stewed inside of him. His father didn’t appreciate him, didn’t “get” him. His father didn’t give him what he wanted. He wanted to celebrate with his old friends like his younger brother went out and celebrated with his new friends. But he was stuck in his father’s house. Stuck in the same old routine.
And his contempt grew as he heard reports about his brother, as he grew more familiar with all that his brother was doing. He was jealous. Not that he approved of what his brother was doing, but of his freedom, of his ability to do it. He couldn’t. And that made him even more angry and more filled with hatred and contempt for his miserable, unfair life, for his father, and for the old coot’s other son. He wouldn’t call him his brother. He wasn’t. Not anymore.
Familiarity breeds contempt, they say.
Except for one. The two brothers were different, but really not that different. But the father . . . he seems to have contempt for no one. When his younger son, angry and filled with contempt, demands his inheritance, he doesn’t get angry or lash back - he gives it to him and lets him go. And everyday hopes for his return, waits for his return. Looks for him to come back down the road on which he had turned his back to his father and vowed never to return. Surely he had heard the same reports his older son did, about how his younger son was living and what he was doing. But when this son finally comes back, broken down, defeated, a shell of his former self, with his tail between his legs, looking disgusting and smelling even worse, the father has nothing but love for his son. It was as if what had happened between them had never happened at all. He restores his son to full sonship again. He would not be a servant, even a well-cared for one, one treated like family. No - he is family.
And this was just as true for his older son. After his older son lets him have it with both barrels for the welcome he gave his returning son, the father doesn’t get angry or lash back. Surely he had felt, realized, the contempt and restlessness of his older son all these years, too. But all he speaks are kind and generous words. He begs him to come in and celebrate. His love for him, his older son, was no less. But the older son didn’t see it that way. It was a zero sum game for him. Whatever that younger son of a . . . son of his father got, meant less for him. Less inheritance, less love. So the only more was his contempt.
The father is the only one consistent throughout, the only one we can count on in this story. His love for his sons never wavers. His care and generosity never wavers. He knows his sons. He knows their faults and shortcomings. He receives harsh words and insults from both. Yet his love for them is steadfast.
Familiarity breeds contempt, they say.
Perhaps it is even so in the church. A God who never changes with the times is oppressive, old fashioned, out of touch; even now, for some, a hater, a bigot, unreasonable, or worse. A God who forgives scoundrels, prodigals, people who think they can do whatever they want and waltz in here expect forgiveness! Who wants a God, a Father, like that?
Maybe we don’t . . . until we realize that’s the God, the Father, we need.
Us younger sons who leave this place with the gifts of our Father, His forgiveness and life, and then how do we live during the week? Do we go back to rolling around in the mud of our sins? Doing whatever we want, whenever we want, with whoever we want - our will, not God’s will? Does time in God’s Word and prayer, helping others, and discipline seem oppressive and unreasonable, while you look at the freedom and pleasures of the world, and think: that looks a lot more fun? Until it isn’t. The freedom not all it’s cracked up to be. The world moves on from us. The shine goes off the apple. And you look at yourself, I mean really look at yourself . . . where you’ve been, what you’ve done, who you’ve become . . . oof!
And there are us older sons, too. Who didn’t do that, weren’t like that, but . . . wanted to? Wanted the freedom, wanted the fun. Didn’t want to be the old, faithful son. And so while outwardly looking good and doing all the right things, our hearts get filled with contempt, anger, jealousy, pride, resentment, and a hardness that won’t forgive and doesn’t want to forgive and doesn’t think God should either! Not him! Not her! Not that! . . . Until you look at yourself, I mean really look at yourself . . . and realize: not . . . me, too? What I’ve become? Oof!
And our Father says, Come in! You are welcome here. Most welcome. For you are not like family, you are family. My children. Am I happy with what you’ve done, what you’ve become? Of course not. My heart has ached for you, to see you like that. Knowing how you were hurting yourself. Knowing all the ugliness you were harboring in your heart. Knowing the pain and heartache that were coming. Knowing how the world would chew you up and spit you out, how others in their own freedom and selfishness were going to hurt you.
So I am happy that you’re here. That you’ve come back, come back home. You are most welcome here. I forgive you and restore you. I have not killed a fattened calf for you - I did one better than that: I offered up my only-begotten Son for you. I made Him who knew no sin - no rebellion, no resentment, no hatred, no pride, no jealousy, no reckless living - to become all that; for you, in your place; to suffer all you deserve for all that; to Himself die for all that! For you. So that in Him, you might become the righteousness of God. So that in Him, trusting in Him - Jesus - and all that He did for you - His righteousness, His right-ness, His Sonship - become yours. As your Father, that’s what I want. And as your brother, that’s what Jesus wants.
So come to the feast! My baptism has made you My child, my absolution has washed you clean, and now there is the food you need to live, your Saviour’s Body and Blood. You are a new creation, brand new, really new, to live a new life.
So . . . familiarity breeds contempt? Maybe it is not always so. In sinful hearts, in a sinful world, yes. But in a world filled with contempt, and accusations, and lies and deceit, and recklessness, and lack of forgiveness . . . a world which takes and demands and oppresses and offers a freedom which really enslaves you to itself . . . a world which changes and so accepts you one moment and rejects you the next . . . a world filled with grumbling and complaining . . . a God, a Father, who is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8), whose truth doesn’t change, whose love doesn’t change, whose forgiveness doesn’t change, that sounds pretty good. That’s the God, the Father, we need, and we have. All of us younger sons. All of us older sons. All of us tax collector and sinners, Pharisees and scribes.
And knowing that, knowing Him, breeds not contempt, but love, forgiveness, and praise. For us younger sons and us older sons become one in THE Son, in Jesus, and become like Him. And when we don’t, when we slip and fall back into the mud puddles of sin and into bitterness and resentment in our hearts, you have a Father who is here for you, waiting for you. Who won’t leave you. Who won’t reject you. Who is ready and eager to forgive you, welcome you back, and feast you. Which is pretty awesome.
So come to His feast! All that is His is yours. Celebrate with your equally sinful and equally forgiven brothers and sisters. Celebrate your Father’s love.
In the Name of the Father, and of the (+) Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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