4th Sunday of Lent: Joshua 5:9-12; Psalm 32; 2 Corinthians 5:16-21; Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32
Many years ago, I attended a vestry retreat where the leader, a professor at the local seminary, guided us in a reflection on the parable of the prodigal son, our gospel reading today. We were asked to put ourselves into the story. Given that we were all active members of the church, and were willing to take on service, it is not surprising that all of us identified with the older brother: he stayed home, was responsible, and never had a big party thrown to celebrate him. The father tells his older son that, “you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours”. But that’s not what the older son feels.
I have often thought about that discussion, because the more I reflect on it, the greater the problems are. First, this makes engagement as a layperson in the life of the church appear to be a joyless experience. If that’s the case, the church has failed. Yes, there is work: we fill out reports for the diocese, and the national church; we make sure we have materials for our services; we set things up and we take them down. It can be a lot, especially when you are a small congregation. How do we make this work (because it is work, let’s be real) be to some extent filled with joy? What is needed so we feel we have been celebrated, that we have not been taken for granted as workhorses?
The other problem is that we are all, at some time or other, both brothers. We may not, like the younger brother, have wasted our inheritance on sex and drugs, but we have turned our face from God. Even though we work hard, our confidence in our virtue may be a bit too smug. And maybe, sometimes, we are the father, welcoming a friend, sibling, or other relative who had drifted out of our lives.
Paul tells us that “from now own, we regard no one from a human point of view”, but that seems to me a counsel of perfection. We are all too human, all too often. Many of us often, no matter who we are and what do, feel put upon and taken advantage of: we are the older brother. But if we remembered, like the older brother, that God is always with us, would that make it easier? Would we take some of God’s abundance to celebrate?
Lent asks us to examine ourselves, to be honest about our failings. Even if we are often the older brother, we can think about how we too, like the younger brother, have not always had our eyes on God. We too need God’s mercy.
There’s a corollary, though. If we are the younger brother, we need a big party to celebrate that we are here, we have turned our focus to God. We need to learn to celebrate as we go, so we can embed joy in the work.