“We’re Doing What? For HIM???” A sermon based on Luke 15:11-32 Fourth Sunday of Lent March 31, 2019 Trillium United Church

 Preface: The traditional reading of this story says that the eldest is perfect, the youngest is a wastrel, and the "father" is God. But what if this is a story about just regular people in a regular family? What if they are all lost, all prodigal in their own way - and the reconciliation of God is the celebration they have as a family, when they find each other again, and are reconciled??

I looked up the word ‘prodigal’ – and offer it here for you to consider. ‘1. Rashly or wastefully extravagant: prodigal expenditures on unneeded things; a prodigal nephew who squandered his inheritance.  2. Giving in abundance; lavish or profuse:’  - and a synonym - profligate

Years ago I heard my favourite preacher, Rev. Dr. Anna Carter Florence tell the Mary and Martha story as a sibling story, and with this text it I could hear the voice of our eldest commenting that I loved *all* the others more – and how we spoiled the youngest. Erma Bombeck once noted "Even if you carefully measure out every piece of cake, someone will say "He got a bigger piece than I did."
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Now the tax collectors and sinners were all gathering around to hear Jesus. The Pharisees and teachers of the law muttered, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.”

Jesus told them this parable: “There was a man who had two sons. The younger one said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the estate.’ So he divided his property between them. Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. So he hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything. When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired servants.’ So he got up and went to his father. While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him. The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ The father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fatted calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ So they began to celebrate. “Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing. So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on.  ‘Your brother has come,’ he replied, ‘and your father has killed the fatted calf because he has him back safe and sound.’ The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him.  He answered his father, ‘Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. When this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fatted calf for him!’ ‘My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. We had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.”

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“What? Whaddaya mean, you want me to come to a party for that little MORON? Look, Dad, I’ve really had it up to here, ya know? I’ve slaved on the farm year in and year out, done everything you asked without ONCE complaining. Meanwhile that little moron takes all the money he can get, runs off and blows the lot on women and drinking. He’s a totally irresponsible idiot. I told you this would happen, didn’t I? Do you know, you never once offered me even a GOAT, or asked if I wanted to have a party with my friends. Nothing. You’ve just taken and taken from me, like that’s how it should be. And now you want me to welcome him home, act like everything’s OK? It *isn’t* OK. But you and mom always did love him best....the sweet angelic little baby of the family. I TOLD you he’d screw up, didn’t I ???”

Brothers....one older, one younger. Siblings, tied by blood and family, but completely unlike each other. The prodigal eldest - giving all his time and energy, the perfectionist, taking no time for himself but always trying to do what he thought would meet the approval of Mom and Dad. Desperately looking for their approval but feeling as if they never gave him a second thought. Working in the fields long after the regular labourers had quit for the day. Assuming more and more of the heavy work as Dad got older.....and feeling like it was all taken for granted, feeling as if he was *expected* to give all his life to his family, at the expense of his own happiness. Prodigal and profligate with his giving and giving and giving without restraint, wasteful of so many opportunities.

Six years between him and the youngest, and in those six years he had all the attention, all the love, all the little extra good tidbits of food at the table. He was an only child for those years, and while it meant he got the attention, he also felt like he was expected to perform. By the time the younger son came along, he was already a perfectionist oldest who was never satisfied with giving anything less than all of himself to everything. Prodigal and profligate in his giving to his parents, he never learned how to love himself for who he was. He passed up chances with some of the prettiest girls around, because he always felt he had to be at the farm, helping his parents. After awhile it felt like life had passed him by, that he would never have a life of his own until it was too late.

Then the  little moron came along - and in his eyes - all the attention and the extra tidbits  were now going to this ugly little thing which toddled after him, hanging on to his clothes. The one

who could do no wrong as he grew up, the one who never got any discipline no matter what the escapade; the one who couldn’t care less about school, who didn’t worry about Mom and Dad, who just went his own way. ...and for that, Mom and Dad loved him best.

The worst thing he could possibly call his brother, in his culture, was *idiot* and *moron*. His resentment festered.....

“What? You’re having a party, for that useless, wasteful idiot IDIOT?”

Brothers....one older, one younger. Siblings, tied by blood and family, but completely unlike each other. The prodigal youngest - the one who came along after the eldest had a grip on Mom and Dad’s love. The one who always had to follow after the older one, do what he was told. The one who was never allowed to do anything without his older brother. The one who wasn’t quite so smart, wouldn’t get out and work the fields, didn’t like to get dirty. The one who always seemed to have girls following him. Prodigal and profligate in his life, he spent all his time drinking in the local pub, or running around with any woman who would have him. Who just assumed everything would always work out. The one who was sick of that perfect older one, who Mom and Dad preferred because he was so responsible all the time. He always felt second-best, always felt like his parents were saying “Why can’t you be more like your brother? He knows what’s important.” He would never have a life at all on this backwater farm, plowing and working the fields, picking more rocks than crops, smelling like the pigs. No point in trying to impress Mom and Dad, they clearly loved the oldest one best, and probably never really wanted him anyway. Maybe he was adopted, maybe they took  him from a relative. He remembered all the times the oldest said he was really adopted. And the resentment grew. Nothing to do but take the money and run. Grab while you can, live in the moment, the future will somehow take care of itself. Get as far away as possible from that wuss who spends all his time sucking up to Mom and Dad, and live a real life. Out where things are interesting, where you never know what’s going to come next. Take your third of the farm property, sell it off to someone else, take the money, and go find a real life. Living with the best of everything - good wine, excellent food, a comfortable place, lots of parties. Prodigal and profligate, wasteful of so many things, the money slips through his fingers like sand. The more he has, the more he wants, the harder it is to have without becoming a criminal. Famine strikes; the money is gone, there is no more food or wine. He doesn’t feel any better than he did at home, in fact he feels worse. Even the servants at home have more and to spare of daily bread and shelter. Those “friends” who were around him when he had money, not willing to help at all when times are tough. Working in someone else’s fields, even the husks from corn, and carob pods fed to the pigs look good to a hungry person. But nothing feeds the hunger of the soul.

“What? There’s a PARTY for that stupid wastrel? You know he will only do it again, hurt you again, hurt us again, don’t you????”

Brothers....one older, one younger. Siblings, tied by blood and family, but completely unlike each other. Parents, trying to recognise the individuals, treat each of them fairly - take stock of

the needs of each, love them with all they have. Being accused of favouritism, of being boring, having no life, ignoring one and paying attention to the other. “You always loved HIM best!” Both of them, convinced their parents always loved the other one most.

Father gradually growing older, finding it harder to move in the mornings with arthritis. Working the fields, tending the animals - growing enough to feed sheep, calves, and chickens to feed a family. Proud of the eldest who will carry on the farm; worried sick about the youngest who seems to have no sense of direction, knowing he needs to learn about the world, even if it’s the hard way. Yet wondering – what had he done wrong as a parent? Did they spoil the youngest too much? Did he expect too much of the eldest? True, he’d never even thought the eldest might want to entertain his friends – he was just always there, always saying “Don’t worry I’ll do it.” Should they have told him no, go and find your friends and just have some fun??? Had he been a prodigal parent to his eldest son? A profligate with the youngest?

Mother spending most of the day cooking for field labourers for a huge farm, making clothes, washing and cleaning up - looking tired beyond her years. Yes, they had servants but still there was so much work, she didn’t always have time to sit with the children and just talk. Still, trying gently to get her oldest son to ease up, and get the youngest to help more, to grow up.

Father, against his better judgment, giving the youngest son his money and letting him go off recklessly abroad - hoping he learns, afraid of what could happen to him, wondering if he will ever see this wild child again, lying awake in bed at night imagining all the horrible things which could happen to the boy.

Leaning out the window one day in an upstairs room he can see far down the road. A tiny speck in the distance makes him look harder. His child! His child has come home.....

Prodigal and profligate in his generosity and joy, running into the road, yelling to the labourers to go get the calf he has been fattening for market, the perfect calf which would bring in enough money to last a year. Prepare a celebration, the child has returned. Whatever happened, however it happened, doesn’t matter. Racing faster than he’s run in many a year, arthritis forgotten; arms thrown wide open to hug and hold and cry and rejoice. He looks into the sad and now knowing

eyes of this dear child, and hears the words “I am not worthy to be considered your child. Hears himself saying “It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. Of course you are worthy! I love you, you are my child. Welcome home!”

Prodigal and profligate  - maybe even wasteful in his generosity, the calf is killed, the best robes in the house brought out, the farm hands given the day off. The table is prepared and everyone is invited to come and eat, to celebrate the return of the one who lost his way and found it again. Prodigal and profligate in his love, shining out of his very pores, coming alive again because of this one lost child.

“What? You want ME to go to a PARTY for that MORON? I’ve worked and slaved here, always done whatever you asked, never took money, never even had a DATE because I was working

this farm because I wanted you to LOVE me? Because you always loved him best when *I* was the one who was reliable.” Tears now, and an angry stamping of feet. “I’ve completely wasted the best years of my life here, and for what? So you can celebrate that the stupid little brat came home because he had nothing left? Amazing – as soon as the good life runs out somewhere else, he comes back here, and you just get suckered in again. He’s an idiot, taking advantage of you again, and he’ll hurt you again.”

And the father looks into the hurt and resentful eyes of this dear child who was also lost, in his own way, and says “But we’ve always loved you. Everything we have has always been yours, always. Everything is yours, don’t you know that? Your brother was lost...he didn’t realise what that meant. Now he does and he’s come back to us! His return is what’s important. Come and eat, you are hungry too, I know you are. Now I realise how hungry you have been. Now I realise there are so many ways of being lost. My son, I think we have all been lost in this family, but you are as much a part of this family as he is. Come to the table, come to the celebration. We will sit around the table, as a family, and celebrate our new life together. Come, let’s eat, and sing and dance, for we have been lost, and now we have found each other again.”

Mother, sitting quietly at the table, weeps to have all her family together once more. And the boys shuffle their feet and look embarrassed ….

“The Fig Tree” a sermon based on Luke 13:1-9 Lent 3, March 24, 2019

 At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. He asked them, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem?  No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.” 

Then he told this story: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, ‘Look! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?’  The gardener replied, ‘Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, then cut it down.’” 

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Ten years ago, Norio decided he wanted a pear tree in the back yard. Now, the back part of our yard – that part which isn’t flower or vegetable garden – is about 40 feet by 60 feet – and in that 40 x 60 we have two kinds of bamboo, white pine, red maple, spruce, Colorado blue spruce, Alaskan dwarf cypress which somehow hasn’t yet figured out it’s a dwarf, shagbark hickory, purple smoke tree and Korean lilac. In the midst of all these trees, a pear tree gets planted.  Jump ahead three years. I return from Newfoundland to find a complete bamboo grove in the back yard, and the pear disappeared, swallowed up by the bamboo. Norio didn’t like to dig out or otherwise kill off plants.

Well, most but not all bamboo got dug out, and then there was the argument about what to do with the pear tree – take it out, or feed and prune it. Honestly, it looked like something out of “Day of the Triffids”, ready to grab any unsuspecting person wandering by.

The pear tree got pruned, the soil around the roots loosened and fertilised, and the following year produced a bumper crop which fed innumerable birds and squirrels. It was fruitful all right, but we didn’t get more than maybe one pear out of the lot. So we are now, of course, learning about bagging the fruits till they fully develop.

There are two seemingly separate texts put together in today’s reading from Luke, and at first read they don’t seem to relate to each other at all. On second glance, maybe they do. I suspect Jesus has been hearing comments that the Galileans who suffered, and whose blood Pilate had used in sacrifices, were somehow worse sinners than other people. It’s a common human response – they probably did something and deserved what they got, but *we* aren’t like that. Or, says Jesus, those who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them, were they worse offenders than everyone else?

Then he says, unless you all repent, you too will perish as they did. He tells the story of the fig tree. Now, the fig tree was a symbol of goodness and peace, and hospitality. Sitting under the fig tree, drinking the fruit of the vine, eating the produce of the land. Hospitality. So, not tending to the fig tree is a metaphor for not tending to the core of faith – becoming so ‘root bound’ ourselves that we neglect the most critical thing - hospitality.

If the tree is simply left to its own devices, will it produce fruit? 

"Let's tear out this fig tree," says the land owner. "It ruins the soil, the grapes can’t grow. It’s supposed to produce fruit, and it's not even doing that. It’s just sucking out nutrition."

When Norio and I trimmed the pear tree, that wasn’t all we did….every so often, the soil needs to be loosened, and fertiliser put down – otherwise the tree will grow lots of branches, but because the roots get tightly bound and there’s no nutrition, they won’t produce any fruit – everything goes into leaf growth. If the roots aren’t fed at all, the whole tree will sicken and just die.

I was reading a sermon from a colleague, Rev. Heather McCance, who says (paraphrased):  - “Because there are days when I'm sick and tired of the stupid, horrible things we human beings do to one another, there are also days when I completely identify with the harsh punishment line of thinking. There are times when I can understand the story of God flooding the earth, saving only one human family and some animals – and starting again.”

There are days, I confess, when I feel like that too. Some days it’s incredibly hard to carry on believing that every human is a child of God and worthy of some compassion.

Heather McCance’s comments are echoed in the book “The Education of God” by David Bumbaugh. In the chapter called “Noah”, God has kind of forgotten the tiny little planet that was created, but one day when things are boring, She notices the tiny speck, and goes over to take a look. Adam and Eve were sent out on their own, having been booted them out of Eden as a kind of gentle punishment – but when the whole mess which has grown since then becomes apparent, God becomes angry at how the people, in this experiment with this tiny blue planet, have behaved. This was to be a crowning achievement, a jewel in this galaxy, and they all act like complete idiots and jerks. So in anger God floods the earth and wipes out just about everything, and starts over. Noah and his family reach land after the 40 days afloat.  Then Noah, Ham, Shem, Japheth and Yam and others in the family promptly get stinking drunk, pass out, and the whole cycle starts over. Bumbaugh says God learned something from that experience. Harsh punishments don't work.

Let’s imagine we are the fig tree. We’ve been planted in the same place for a long time – and we tend to get root-bound, planted in our familiar garden in our familiar ways of being. I don’t think God is exactly interested in cutting us down and starting over, because there are always second chances with God. I do think, though, that drastic measures happen – digging around our roots, spreading manure, cutting back branches, pushing us to produce fruit; pushing us to be who we are called to be – especially in a world where being compassionate and caring, and kind even to those we believe have hurt us or hurt others, is more and more important.

We are the fig tree, called to produce fruit for the world. The first step is to continue to feed the roots, to take care with the soil, not to let it get so packed down that the roots suffocate and starve. Churches which remain just the same – which do worship just the same, which don’t re-evaluate every so often and check out where they are, which shy away from change and risk, are root-bound and will wither and die. Churches which step out, even when unsure and afraid, are the ones which have a chance.

So, we have the work of working at the roots – loosening and aerating the soil, clearing space around the tree, cutting back branches and working for new growth. The second step is producing the fruit of the Spirit – the fruit which brings peace, and no more fear. Just pruning branches back won’t help a lot. The whole of the tree is important, from the roots to the tips of the new growth. The roots must be fed properly, and watered properly, for the rest to happen. It’s not a quick process, sometime – but it is necessary.

The whole of the person is important; the whole of the congregation is important.  The roots of faith are fed, and the result is the fruits of faith. Paul’s letter to the Galatians tells us “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control." A congregation which works to feed and live these fruits is one which will find a way to fulfill its mission. May it be so.

Sources:

1.      Second Chances a sermon based on Luke 13:1-9 by Rev. Heather McCance

2.      The Education of God by Rev. David E. Bumbaugh. Rising Press Series 1994, Copyright - Reprinted in paperback 2010.  Professor of Ministry, Meadville Lombard Theological School, Chicago, Illinois.

3.      Galatians 5:22-23.

“Hens and Chicks” a sermon based on Luke 13:31-35 Second Sunday of Lent March 17, 2019

“At that very hour some Pharisees came and said to him, "Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you." Jesus replied to them, "Go and tell that fox for me, 'Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work. Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because a prophet cannot be killed anywhere outside of Jerusalem.'

Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often I have wanted to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!

See, your temple is left to you. But I tell you, you will not see me again until the time comes when you say, 'Blessed is the one who comes in the name of God.'"

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Luke sets up this story and its point in an interesting way. He tells us “some of the Pharisees” came to Jesus to warn him about Herod. We can find other parts of Luke where Pharisees  - or perhaps more specifically Caiaphas the High Priest and his minions, are clear that they are not on Jesus' side (Lk 6:11; 11:53). (Lk 9:7-9).

They tell him Herod wants to kill him, and Jesus calls Herod a ‘fox’.  Now, this isn’t the same Herod who was in power at the birth of Jesus – but his son, Herod Antipas, a ruthless leader but apparently not as bad as his father. Since his father had a reputation for killing off anyone he thought threatened him, I guess this one wasn’t so bad.

We do know that not all the Pharisees were against Jesus – some actually did support him, albeit quietly.  Joseph of Arimathea was one who buried Jesus – and there were others.  Maybe the Pharisees are trying to get Jesus to keep a lid on things; maybe they’re thinking the threat of Herod may help them silence Jesus – maybe they are trying to help him, to protect himself.

Jesus, however, won’t have any of it. "Tell that fox that today, and tomorrow I am curing and healing, and on the third day my work will be finished.”  Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem. He knows this is where he needs to be. He makes it clear that he knows where he is heading and will not be stopped in finishing his task. If we go back in the texts about the Transfiguration, Jesus comes down the mountain and sets his face towards Jerusalem.

There is a book by Stephen Covey called The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. Two of the habits he notes are that they are proactive, choosing their direction in life based on what they value. And he says they begin with the end in mind  -  deciding where they want to be when they arrive at the destination. Jesus expresses both concepts in this short passage. He does not let Herod or the threat of Herod or the threat of the Pharisees make his decisions. He chooses a course of action based on his own value system.

And then Jesus says some rather strange things. He says “Today, tomorrow and the next day I must be on my way, for a prophet cannot be killed anywhere outside of Jerusalem.”

Then he says he has wanted to gather them in ‘like a mother hen’ to protect them, but they were not willing.

Then he says, “Your temple is left to you.”

Hmmm. Jesus had a way of being cryptic, but this is head-scratching. What does that mean? That every prophet has to go to Jerusalem to be killed? Does it only happen in Jerusalem? If they stay away from Jerusalem does it not happen? Is Jerusalem the city? Or does he mean something else?
Then the comment about the mother hen gathering the chicks, but they were not willing. This begins, I think, to offer a clue. Jerusalem is maybe the ‘children of Israel’. We know the city of Jerusalem is where the temple is, where the Ark of the Covenant is, the spiritual heart of Judaism – but in this case is Jerusalem the place? Or the people?

Last clue – your temple is left to you. Your so-called spiritual centre still stands, but you have abandoned your faith. You haven’t been willing to look again at God’s law, but preferred your own way. Now you won’t see me again, until you are able to say “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of God.”

And now, for me, his comments about the mother hen and her chicks comes into clearer focus. Rather than come back to God, they (and we) would rather peck the ground in front of us and not paying any attention to our direction – we’re myopic. We don’t see obstacles and dangers before us, but we also might miss something that God has prepared for us.

We are neither proactive nor do we have a long enough range in our vision to see where we are heading. Instead, we react to whatever is pushing us right now or whatever we see in front of us right now. And we haven't a clue as to where our current path will lead us. We are walking in a darkness of our own making, a wilful blindness.

Now, if you’ve raised chickens, you will know that chicks don't necessarily follow their mother around – they’re busy pecking in all directions. In order to protect them, the mother hen uses her beak to pull them under wings. The chicks, however, are too busy trying to peck, and don’t recognise what the mother hen is doing. They have the attention span of a flea, basically.

When we start looking at the stories of Jesus and the disciples, how many times do we hear of them arguing with one another. Who is going to be the greatest among them? Who will sit beside Jesus in the new realm, on his right and on his left. Jesus has to snap them back into focus. In the story of the transfiguration, they get hung up and Jesus has to bring them back to reality. Jesus has focus. The others don’t.

Jesus has seen clearly where he is going. He knows, not through any magic ability, but through astute evaluation of the political and religious climate around him, that going to Jerusalem for the Passover is not going to end well. Yet he knows that’s where he has to be. In the end, he says, God has offered them a way, but they have turned away from God, lost focus, even with the physical temple sitting in Jerusalem.

Jerusalem becomes more than a physical place – it becomes a people who have lost their way, who have become distracted, who go through the motions of building a temple and keeping the tablets of the law there, and then completely ignoring the law in favour of their own way of doing things. Jerusalem becomes an allegory for the children of Israel.

What about us? What about the church today? We come to church on Sunday. Why? What brings us here? We say we follow Jesus, yet we focus on pennies here and pennies there to keep the church open, but what do we want to keep it open for? We come for Bible study, on occasion, mostly for services, and some education. We listen to the scripture, but do we forget that the words written there are meant to shape and guide us along the way? Instead of focusing on the transforming of lives through worship, education, service, we peck at each other. And what happens if we are called back to focus on the Way of Jesus?

Keeping our focus and not going off on different paths is hard work. It means looking inward, and being honest about our motivations and our actions. If we really do know who we are and whose we are, we can learn to be proactive, and keep the destination in mind. Following Jesus has to be the basis of our decision-making. The good news is that we have chance after chance – being called back time after time after time to BE Jerusalem, to BE the people, to be proactive, to discern the way and follow. May we find our way back.

Sources: “Brood of Chickens” a sermon based on Luke 13:31-35by Rev. Randy Quinn