“Commons, Communitas, Communion, Compassion” Easter Sunday 2016

Mark 16:1-10

When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices so that they might go to anoint Jesus’ body. Very early on the first day of the week, just after sunrise, they were on their way to the tomb and they asked each other, “Who will roll the stone away from the entrance of the tomb?” When they looked, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had been rolled away. As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man dressed in a white robe sitting on the right side, and they were alarmed. “Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “You are looking for Jesus the Nazarene, who was crucified. He has risen! He is not here. See the place where they laid him. Go, tell his disciples and Peter, ‘He is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him, just as he told you.’ ” Trembling and bewildered, the women went out and fled from the tomb. They said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid. (Alternate ending) When Jesus rose early on the first day of the week, he appeared first to Mary Magdalene, out of whom he had driven seven demons. She went and told those who had been with him and who were mourning and weeping. When they heard that Jesus was alive and that she had seen him, they did not believe it.

The Gospel According to Mary Magdalene Chapter 5.

When Mary had said this, she fell silent, since it was to this point that the Saviour had spoken with her. Andrew answered and said to the brethren, “Say what you wish to say about what she has said. I at least do not believe that the Saviour said this. For certainly these teachings are strange ideas.” Peter answered and spoke concerning these same things. He questioned the women about the Saviour: Did He really speak privately with a woman and not openly to us? Are we to turn about and all listen to her? Did He prefer her to us?

Then Mary wept and said to Peter, “My brother Peter, what are you thinking? Do you think that I have thought this up myself in my heart, or that I am lying about the Saviour?” Levi answered and said to Peter, “Peter you have always been hot tempered. Now I see you contending against the woman like the adversaries. If the Saviour made her worthy, who are you indeed to reject her? Surely the Saviour knows her very well. That is why He loved her more than us. Rather, let us be ashamed of ourselves, and put on the perfect Man, and separate as He commanded us and preach the gospel, not laying down any other rule or other law beyond what the Saviour said. When they heard this they began to go forth to proclaim and to preach.

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Jesus was put to death on a Friday, before sundown – Jewish law said it had to be done - prepared for burial and moved. They knew he had been laid in a new tomb - Joseph of Arimathea and Zaccheus made sure the body was prepared in the proper fashion. As was the custom, a huge rock was rolled across the mouth of the tomb, to prevent animals entering.

Three women waited with incredible anxiety all through the Sabbath. They could not go on the Sabbath, so had to wait until the next day....as soon as the first tiny rays lightened the sky, they were up. They had not had time to say goodbye properly, so they made their way to the garden where the tomb was, to weep and to grieve the loss of someone they loved so dearly.

They arrive to find the stone rolled away, the tomb empty, and a man dressed in white sitting where Jesus had been laid. As in all appearances of messengers or angels, the man said “Don’t be afraid.” ....but they were, and in the first ending of the Mark story, they ran away and did not tell anyone, because of their fear. The earliest manuscripts do not have verses 9-20 of Mark, hence those verses are known as the “second ending”.

The Gospel of Mary is found in Papyrus Berolinensis 8502. The book (or "codex") is dated to the early 2C, copied and bound in the fifth century. It was purchased in the 1800’s in Cairo and taken to Germany. Its publication was delayed until 1955 because of two world wars.

The story throughout this weekend has made a point that the people who stayed with Jesus to the end, were the women, and two men peripherally. Joseph of Arimathea and Zaccheus did take the body off the cross and look after the burial rites, but they were not at the crucifixion. In every one of the stories, consistently, it’s Mary Magdalene who is there; to pour ointment over Jesus’ feet, and wipe them with her hair. It’s Mary Magdalene who stands near the cross with Jesus’ mother, and Mary goes to the tomb with the others. It’s Mary Magdalene who is considered to be the first believer and the first disciple.

Mary Magdalene sees Jesus; in John’s Gospel she thinks he is the gardener - and then recognises him, and he speaks to her. In Mary’s story, she and Jesus have a conversation about the nature of life and death, and new life. She returns to the others and tells them what Jesus said to her. Andrew says Jesus could not possibly have said these things, as they were just too strange to come from Jesus - hence they had to be Mary’s imagination. Peter accuses her of lying, of making up a story. How could Jesus possibly have said those things to her? He would surely have said them to the men first, wouldn’t he? In other words, why would he say anything to Mary when he said nothing to Peter or any of the others.

Levi steps in and chastises the others, noting that it was nothing more than ego which prompted them to suggest she would fabricate a story. For me this was a beginning – a recognition that there was something more which *could* be found in the here and now. I believe it was that elusive ‘realm of God’ which Jesus talked about so often, and which his followers finally understood after he died. When Mary returned with her story of seeing, not recognizing, then knowing and talking – they did finally understand, and they went out and began to teach what Jesus taught them. They recognized the importance of their community and solidarity.

At the end of the book “Grounded”, Diana Butler Bass focuses the current spiritual revolution into four threads which each build on the one before:

Commons – a place of gathering, such as the dining commons at a college. Tidy little villages with a green open space, a commons. Public squares are a ‘commons’. One of the things I most enjoyed in Denver in Colorado was the number of public places surrounded by small shops or restaurants – I remember sitting and talking to people at the next tables. .  

Out of ‘commons’, the followers of Jesus became ‘communitas’. Communitas is that ‘spirit of community’ which transcends and often forms outside institutions and organisations, and which creates a profound sense of equality and togetherness. Note that Levi manages to stop a breaking of the followers, and brings them back to communitas – and they go out and carry on the work and the teachings of Jesus. The hope we have in our churches is that we form that ‘communitas’,  a spirit which transcends, opens, and welcomes – reaching out to others.

Communion is the word we use to define service, the service Jesus taught to the followers. Communion is the Spirit of Relationship. We do it today – for the sharing of food around a table in memory of Jesus – wherever it may be, is service. We proclaim that this is God’s table, at which anyone is welcome, regardless of who they are or what they believe. What about sitting down at a table with completely different people – those designated by some as outcast, those who don’t believe the same way we do, or in the way Jesus did, and share a meal? Isn’t that ‘communion’? Its where relationship and community are found.

Out of this commons, communitas, communion – grows the most important, compassion.

From the Latin ‘compassio’ – to pity, to suffer with, to endure with another. Compassion is at the heart of every belief system. Compassion, mercy, grace- the gifts of God for all the people of God, of whatever form and colour.

A man is executed as a political criminal. He is buried in a tomb, but the next morning when the women arrive, he is no longer there. They are asked why they look for the living among the dead. Years of arguments and discussion have gone on about what happened, yet no one knows. Yet when the tiny group of followers accepted that Jesus had died, yet somehow was still alive, something else happened. They truly became ‘communitas’, the community; they lived and worked and taught in the spirit of community. They remembered Jesus’ words, remembered things he had done at dinner, and began to do the same – a celebration of relationship not just in memory of Jesus, but in and for the community they had developed. They preached, healed, taught – and grew in compassion and care, and those who knew them grew in compassion and care.

Isn’t that the message of the living Jesus? The Spirit which lives on in the world? To begin with the commonality, see the Spirit move and community grow, work to make community grow, share food and life together around a common table, and in the sharing grow in a life of compassion. Jesus insisted the ‘realm of God’ was near – and it is – available for us all the time. It’s always there for the creating. Communitas, communion, compassion – those are the things which bring about the realm. That for me is the meaning of Easter, the meaning of resurrection – that Jesus does indeed live on. Amen

Sources:

1. “Women at the Tomb” - Mark 16:1- 10 Easter Morning Sunrise Service, Humber United Church, Fran Ota

2. Bass, Diana Butler: ‘Grounded: Finding God in the World A Spiritual Revolution. HarperOne, 2015.

“How Often, How Long?” A Good Friday Meditation 2016

Jesus is dead. The life - the bright promise has been extinguished and his followers stand in darkness. Nothing left but a broken body and the broken dreams of his scattered followers. The Realm of God has not come. The powerful remain powerful: the oppressed remain oppressed -- and where there had been hope there is only despair.

Let's be honest: we already know that this is not the end of the story. We come together today for service with the Easter dress hanging in our closet; the flowers ordered; the brunch planned and the candy ready to go in the baskets. We have some idea how it ends.

Since we know how it ends, why bother? I know a prominent church leader in the US who claimed we should skip Good Friday and go straight to Easter, because people are turned off by the story, and if we preach Easter they’re more likely to come to church. My question was, how can Easter mean anything without the Friday part?

And that’s the point. It’s a story about humanity as much as it is about Jesus – it’s a story of jealousy and violence, and anger and hope. It’s a story played out all over the world throughout the centuries since. Jealousy and anger, violence, fear, and hope amidst that violence.

What do the stories of Holy Week teach us? Who was upset by the Lazarus story? Who was repelled by the teachings of Jesus? Who felt that Jesus was teaching false doctrine? Who wanted this man to "go away"? Who was angry because he got in their face, those who were interpreters of the Law, and told them they were wrong? Who threatened the position of certain people?

It was the righteous; the orthodox; the people who knew how to do it “correctly”. It was the interpreters of the law, and all the convolutions of the law which had evolved since Moses’ time. How can we hear this story and not be brought up short by the sheer weakness, and yes, strength of humanity? The voices who cried "Hosanna" and turned so quickly to the crowd which cried "Crucify Him".

In the story, it was the practice for one person to be set free at Passover. The religious authorities had probably salted the crowd with people who would call for the release of Jesus Bar-Abbas, not Jesus Bar-Joseph. I don’t think it’s any coincidence that the story tells us there were two men both named Jesus. One was a known insurrectionist and one was a preacher of a realm of peace. The insurrectionist didn’t bother the religious and political leaders; the preacher of peace threatened their very existence.

And as Jesus was taken and crucified, the fearful stood by and allowed it to happen. When it comes to taking a stand, we aren’t very good. Racism, bigotry, violence, greed, addiction to power grow in strength. I personally don’t believe in evil entities or sinful entities, but I do believe in evil things, and sinful things; and if there is anything in the world which is truly evil, truly sin, it’s the fear and unwillingness to stand when others are mistreated. Not what’s comfortable or what’s easy – but what’s right. This story of Jesus’ death – a political killing meant to be a lesson, is a story played out through the centuries over and over and over – and we keep asking, “How often, how long?” Dietrich Bonhoeffer was a German Lutheran pastor, theologian, anti-Nazi dissident, and key founding member of the Confessing Church. His writings on Christianity's role in the secular world have become widely influential, and his book The Cost of Discipleship became a modern classic.

He was known for his staunch resistance to the Nazis, including vocal opposition to Hitler’s euthanasia program and persecution of the Jews, including clear genocide. He was arrested in April 1943 by the Gestapo and jailed at Tegel prison for one and a half years; he was transferred to a Nazi concentration camp. He was instrumental in the plot to kill Hitler, quickly tried along with other accused plotters, including former members of the German Military Intelligence Office, and executed in April 1945 as the Nazi regime was collapsing.

Archbishop Oscar Romero was assassinated while offering communion. He commented that when he gave food to the poor he was considered a saint, but when he asked why the poor had no food, he was labelled a communist. He also noted that if we are not speaking a Gospel which disturbs, upsets, then we are not preaching our story.

Another anti-Nazi organizer, who later confessed to anti-Jewish sentiment, but who still opposed Hitler, Martin Niemoller – said this:

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Socialist.
Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.
 

As I was reading for this sermon, I came across this quote:

"Faith is what you are willing to die for. Dogma is what you are willing to kill for."

Jesus spoke on behalf of the poor, the oppressed, the hungry, the sick, the hurting. He was probably afraid, as most would be, but he knew he had no choice but to speak out regardless of cost. History is littered with people who are willing to give their own lives to speak on behalf of the weak. And I want to make a distinction – someone who truly has only the best of the weaker people at heart, is willing to die for that belief but NOT willing to kill for it, nor allow others to kill for it, nor brainwash others to kill for it.

He came with a willingness to die for the sake of the message that the Realm of God is right within our grasp, right now, if we practice inclusiveness and compassion. The reason that realm is not here, is because few, when threatened, are willing to speak up and say ‘Yes, I was with him. Yes, I do know him.”

In fact, it’s precisely because we do know the end of the story, that we can stand in faith not just on Good Friday, but wherever and whenever we face the choice between self-preservation and true compassion. Ideally, what Jesus teaches us through Good Friday is that our faith is to die for: if we kill in the name of faith, it is dogma.

So out of Good Friday we have to proclaim a Gospel that can truly enter into those places of darkness and suffering,  where compassion and solidarity are the only gifts we have to give. It is ours to give, because as disciples of Jesus, we follow where he went. It is ours to give to the gays who are beaten to death, for the black men who are shot just for being black, to the trans people who are discriminated against just because, for the indigenous who sit behind bars, the Leonard Peltiers of the world; Muslims being attacked; our native communities which have been ignored for decades – if we speak and stand with them we stand again with Jesus, and we say “Yes, I do know him. Yes I am with him.”

Sources:

Jesus is Dead by San Pedro Susan Russell  John 18:1-19:42

“Parades!!!” Palm Sunday sermon March 20, 2016 Keswick-Ravenshoe Pastoral Charge

People love parades, don’t they? It’s so easy to get caught up in them, even if that wasn’t your intent. We have Orange Bowl Parades, Santa Claus Parades, St. Patrick’s Day Parades, Easter Parades. It’s a big thing in almost every town at Christmas, to have a Santa Claus Parade and always we have to take the kids.

Then there are other parades – like demonstrations, for example – crowds of people walking for social justice issues, food issues, water issues, anti-war parades. I remember a parade in Winnipeg – called a demonstration but really a parade, opposing the continued war in Viet Nam. As we walked, even the police joined us. Parades – called marches – in the southern US to gain rights for blacks.

There are other parades - military personnel and machinery goose stepping down main streets, saluting and parading machines and weapons. We have all seen pictures of military, in many countries – Germany, Chile, China – as a few examples. Threatening people with might – a pattern repeated through history which has never worked.

A few years ago, at a conference called Epiphany Explorations in Victoria BC, I heard biblical scholar John Dominic Crossan talk about the political world of Jesus, particularly Jerusalem, a city essentially run by the Romans. Passover tended to be the time when insurrectionist movements gained strength, troublemakers came into the city to stir up anti-Roman sentiments. Jerusalem was a huge centre, and in the Passover season, the population swelled to hundreds of thousands. The whole week was an incredibly busy holiday season. If people didn’t have reservations, forget finding anything for the Seder, let alone a place to sleep. Prices would have been through the roof.
Now Jesus was extremely politically astute. I don’t think it was accidental that he sent the disciples ahead, knowing that there would be a donkey available. It wasn’t his first time up that road, so he had likely passed the place before. He staged his entry into Jerusalem – to provide a counterpoint to another entry. So, the story we’ve put together tells us Jesus borrowed a donkey, and rode into Jerusalem, to cheering crowds who waved palms and shouted ‘Hosanna to the one who comes in the name of God!!’ 

So we have to read between the lines, using our knowledge of history and culture. Jesus was a Jewish peasant, entering Jerusalem. Essentially he had been a thorn in the side of the Jewish religious leaders, but not any kind of serious threat otherwise. Yet he knows that some of the leaders want to kill him, and he’s decided that he is going to confront them; he knows it’s become political. He borrows a donkey, and rides into Jerusalem through the north gate – kind of the back entrance where the ordinary people will also be. It’s likely some of the people travelling with Jesus are going ahead, laying their cloaks along the roadway, shouting ‘Hosanna!’, which means “Save us!”. Ordinary people get caught up in this parade – people who have been stepped on not only by the Romans but by the leaders of their own people – Herod and his cohorts, the religious leaders who charge enormous sums in the temple for birds or animal sacrifice. The money changers who are only there to make a shekel or two off the backs of the poorer among them. In comes Jesus, surrounded by scores of people who get caught up in the emotion of the moment. It’s a parade, a joyous one, with a promise of something better.

Then there’s the other parade. The Roman governor Pontius Pilate comes riding in through the West Gate – essentially the front door reserved for the big shots. Normally, Pilate lived in Caesarea by the sea, a quiet life at the beach. But he also knew that at Passover, excited and devout Jews celebrating their liberation from Egypt might also try to get liberated from Rome. They had tried before. So the Roman Governors would put on a display of force, the marching military machinery, the strength of Roman power. Once a year, during the Passover, Pilate and his entire entourage moved headquarters to Jerusalem, just in case there might be some attempts at insurgency. 

The second parade included cavalry on horses, foot soldiers, leather armor, helmets, weapons, banners, golden eagles mounted on poles, sun glinting on metal and gold, drums beating, bridles clinking, marching feet shaking the ground. No ‘Hosannas!!’ here. Pilate led a regiment of soldiers as a show of force, also aware that there were several more battalions of Rome’s finest garrisoned outside Jerusalem in case they were needed.

Mark’s Gospel, written about thirty years later, in fact lets us know that Jesus’ parade was not a spontaneous. Mark, the first Gospel to be written, tells more about preparations. It is made to  seem that Jesus intentionally timed his entrance to be in stark contrast to the Roman display, contrasting the realm of God and the realm of Rome. Matthew written about 70 years after Jesus’ death, has the disciples bring a donkey and a colt and Jesus sits on them and rides them both. The disciples and the people in their group spread their cloaks on the road and some leafy branches, as does Mark. Luke has no branches.

The Gospel of John written about 100 years after Jesus’ death, names the branches as palms. Now, waving palm branches was a welcome for conquering military leaders. For John, Jesus is a conquering hero, while the other three Gospels set it up as the equivalent of a poke in the eye with a big stick to both the religious leaders and the Romans.

In the book, Jesus for the Non-Religious, Bishop John Spong notes that at Passover the only branches around would have been palms. It is also possible that Jesus’ death of Jesus took place  at the festival of Sukkoth, the harvest Festival of Tabernacles . Pilate would have had to show force, and in fact there are some details of the festival that suggest that the crucifixion did not happen at Passover. At Sukkoth, worshippers processed through the city, into the temple, waving branches made of willow, myrtle and palm, and they recited the Sukkoth Psalm 118, “Save us, we beseech you, O Lord.”  Hosianna!!! 

Well, the parallels and differences in the Gospels are fun, and I love looking at their differences, and there is also a point. It is really important to realise that the Gospels were all written in retrospect, and all with a particular agenda on the part of the writers through the lenses of their Jewish beliefs, to show who Jesus was, within his time and his context, and who he became for his followers.

Pastor Dawn Hutchings, at Holy Cross Lutheran Church in Newmarket, in her Palm Sunday sermon, says “So, what are we 21^st century Christians to do with the Palm Sunday?  Well, it seems to me that no matter how you look at the story of this amazing procession into Jerusalem, you can’t help but see the image of a Jesus who offers us a choice between two parades. The attraction of the power and the might of Pilate’s military parade with all its glory and wonder is still there to tempt us. The temptation to use force and violence, military might, nuclear deterrence, shock and awe, is still marching its way into the hearts and minds of so many people.”

We have two parades coming in two different places in Jerusalem. People got caught up in the first one because it was boisterous  - but did they commit? Or were they just caught up?  After sober second thought, do we go with the other guys because they have all the weapons and the might?  Is it safer to go with them in the long run? Who do we choose, when the excitement is over?

This week, one of the Poet Matriarchs of clergy and the church died. Ann Weems was a Presbyterian elder, and author of many books. Her poem “Between Parades” was published in the book ‘Kneeling in Jerusalem’.

BETWEEN PARADES

We’re good at planning!
Give us a task force

and a project
and we’re off and running!
No trouble at all!
Going to the village

and finding the colt,
even negotiating with the owners
is right down our alley.
And how we love a parade!
In a frenzy of celebration
we gladly focus on Jesus
and generously throw our coats
and palms in his path.
And we can shout praise
loudly enough
to make the Pharisees complain.
It’s all so good!

It’s between parades that
we don’t do so well.
From Sunday to Sunday
we forget our hosannas.
Between parades
the stones will have to shout
because we don’t.
Sources:

1.      Parades!! A sermon by Fran Ota, originally preached Palm Sunday 2013.

2.      “Marching in the Wrong Parades” by Rev. Dawn Hutchings, Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Newmarket, ON.

3.      Ann Weems, “Kneeling in Jerusalem”. Westminster John Knox Press 1992.

"Whaddaya Mean, You're Having a Party for That Little Jerk!!????" Luke 15:11-32 Fourth Sunday in Lent, March 6, 2016, Keswick-Ravenshoe United Church

Preface: The traditional reading of this story has always been that the eldest is perfect, the youngest is a wastrel, and the "father" is God. But that's not a human story really. What if this is a story about people - just regular people in a regular family, who get caught up in their lives? 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?? Wherever love is, God is there.

Years ago I heard Anna Carter Florence do the Mary and Martha story as a 'family' (sibling) story, and when I read this text for the umpteenth time back in 2013, it just seemed like I could hear the voices of my own children - we always loved the others best - or as 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." My thanks to Anna Carter Florence,and Erma Bombeck - and to my kids - for the inspiration for this sermon.

 Luke 15:11-32

(The Message) By this time a lot of men and women of doubtful reputation were hanging around Jesus, listening intently. The Pharisees and religious scholars were not pleased, not at all pleased. They growled, “He takes in sinners and eats meals with them, treating them like old friends.” Their grumbling triggered this story.

 “There was once a man who had two sons. The younger said to his father, ‘Father, I want right now what’s coming to me. So the father divided the property between them. It wasn’t long before the younger son packed his bags and left for a distant country. There, undisciplined and dissipated, he wasted everything he had. After he had gone through all his money, there was a bad famine all through that country and he began to hurt. He signed on with a citizen there who assigned him to his fields to slop the pigs. He was so hungry he would have eaten the corncobs in the pig slop, but no one would give him any.

“That brought him to his senses. He said, ‘All those farmhands working for my father sit down to three meals a day, and here I am starving to death. I’m going back to my father. I’ll say to him, Father, I’ve sinned against God, I’ve sinned before you; I don’t deserve to be called your son. Take me on as a hired hand.’ He got right up and went home to his father.

“When he was still a long way off, his father saw him. His heart pounding, he ran out, embraced him, and kissed him. The son started his speech: ‘Father, I’ve sinned against God, I’ve sinned before you; I don’t deserve to be called your son ever again.’

 “But the father wasn’t listening. He was calling to the servants, ‘Quick. Bring a clean set of clothes and dress him. Put the family ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Then get a grain-fed heifer and roast it. We’re going to feast! We’re going to have a wonderful time! My son is here—given up for dead and now alive! Given up for lost and now found!’ And they began to have a wonderful time.

“All this time his older son was out in the field. When the day’s work was done he came in. As he approached the house, he heard the music and dancing. Calling over one of the houseboys, he asked what was going on. He told him, ‘Your brother came home. Your father has ordered a feast - barbecued beef! - because he has him home safe and sound.’

“The older brother stalked off in an angry sulk and refused to join in. His father came out and tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen. The son said, ‘Look how many years I’ve stayed here serving you, never giving you one moment of grief, but have you ever thrown a party for me and my friends? Then this son of yours who has thrown away your money on whores shows up and you go all out with a feast!’

“His father said, ‘Son, you don’t understand. You’re with me all the time, and everything that is mine is yours—but this is a wonderful time, and we had to celebrate. This brother of yours was dead, and he’s alive! He was lost, and he’s found!’”

“What? Whaddaya mean, you want me to come in and join 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 now, 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.

The little moron came along - and then - in his eyes - all the attention and the extra tidbits 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 had to take 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 he let his wife 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? 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 he 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.