Who is deserving?

Sermon preached at Germantown Mennonite Church on March 6. 2016

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32; II Corinthians 5:16-21

My family and I live in the neighborhood of Mt. Airy, just two blocks west of the church.  It has a bit of a reputation–it’s recognized by many civil rights groups as being one of the first successfully integrated neighborhoods in th U.S.  

In the 1950s and 1960s, when blockbusting was taking place all over this city–the practice of real estate agents persuading owners to sell their property cheaply because of fear of other races moving into white neighborhoods–Mt. Airy unified, refused to sell their homes out of fear, and welcomed whoever wanted to buy a home in the neighborhood to come.  

It’s an amazing legacy to move into–and I’m proud to call Mt. Airy my home.  But, the reality of integration is more complicated than all that.  

I live on a working class block–three story twin homes owned mostly by African American families.  They take good care of of their block.  They watch out for each other.  They are strong, proud people, and I’m honored that they’ve put up with me for these 11 years.

My block is wedged between two other very different blocks.  The block behind us–Weaver street–is made up of two story row homes, lived in by poorer African American families.  The block in front of me is Hortter street–a much more middle class block, made up of both black and white families–all good, well educated liberal Mt. Airy types.  

These are three different blocks, right next to each other.  And they all have very real feelings about the other blocks.  On my block when the Weaver street kids come over to play, the families on Sharpnack street families complain that the kids are loud, and “why don’t they play on their own street?”  And when the Sharpnack and Weaver street kids go to the Hortter street houses, neighbors warn each other not to allow those kids into their yards or homes to play with their children.  

Even though many of the kids from all three streets attend school together, there are definitely ideas about who comes from the good street and the bad ones, who is clean and unclean, who is sinner and saint–all based on where they happen to live, where their family can afford to live.  

The religious leaders went to Jesus and expressed outrage that Jesus was eating with sinners.  With the unclean.  With people that the religious leaders wouldn’t be seen with, let alone eat with.  Jesus was eating with the Weaver street families, and the Hortter street families were not happy.  

So Jesus did what he does best–told a story.  He told a story of family–a father and his two sons.  It’s a story as old as Cain and Abel, Jacob and Esau.  Who is the good son, and who is the bad one?  Who is clean and who is unclean? Who is worthy of inheritance?  

But Jesus put a spin on this story–instead of choosing who gets the blessing, as happened in the Cain and Abel story and in the Jacob and Esau story, God, who functions as the parent in this story, offers both children and inheritance, and welcomes both children to the table.

And this is complicated–while the parent is welcoming both kids to the table, we  are casting judgement on both the older and younger kid in this story.  We think the younger one was selfish, and squandered their inheritance.  The youngest ended up living among farm animals, and only returned home out of a vague hope that their parent would treat him as well as the other employees at his childhood estate.  

The older one was at home, working obediently for his parent, when he learned that his younger sibling was back and being celebrated.  And it made this oldest child really angry.

I find myself feeling deeply conflicted about about the younger son, the older son, and the parent.  Perhaps you feel this conflicted feelings too. For the younger son I feel angry that he wasted this inheritance, and angry for the way he treated his parent.  And yet, I feel sad for the younger child who had such little faith in his parent as to think he would be treated like less than a son.

And even while feeling these conflicted feelings about the youngest son, I’m angry with the parent, who didn’t question where the money went, but went straight to celebrating the return of his youngest.  Doesn’t something need to happen before the celebrating?  Doesn’t a confession, or a change of heart need to happen?  

Many of us can relate to the older, obedient child in this story(as the oldest, and obedient child in my family, I certainly can relate) who was furious that his father was setting up a big welcome back party while the oldest was out working in the fields.  

It feels like a kick in the pants for the oldest child to be laboring in the fields while the long lost youngest child, who squandered his riches and ended up working with pigs, came home and was celebrated with a huge party.  

This prodigal story is about a lot of things, but it feels here like Jesus is trying to get us to question our own standards of fairness, our own sense of what is good and bad, clean and unclean.  Jesus wants this story to feel uncomfortable.

And the more we deconstruct this story, the more we encounter our own biases–who we like better in this story, who we have qualms with, wno is right and wrong, good and bad.  

And underlying this story is the bigger question–who deserves another chance?  Who deserves a party and who does not?  Who deserves punishment?  And who is worthy to come to the table?

We all deserve another chance.  Whether we’re the oldest child or the youngest, a sinner or a saint, the clean or the unclean, whether we’re from Hortter, Sharpnack or Weaver street.  We all deserve a chance.  We all deserve a seat at the table. God wants to celebrate each and every one of us.  

If I deserve a second chance, if I am worthy to sit at the table, so are you.  The parent in this story wanted both of the children to come to the table.

And here’s something to note–the parent didn’t ask the youngest child to explain himself or confess his misdeeds before the celebration began.  In fact, the parent interrupted the youngest when he tried to deliver his confession speech.  The parent didn’t care about any of that.  All he cared about is that his beloved child was home.  

Jesus invites us to celebrate with whoever comes to the table.  In Jesus’ story, it’s not about being at the table first.  It’s not about right living, right beliefs, right behavior.  It’s not about the right zip code or street address.  It’s simply about being together at the table of celebration.  

It’s a beautiful image, but it leaves me with a lot of questions.  I wish I knew what happened between the brothers at the celebration.  I wish I knew what happened the next day.  Did the parent and children ever get to talk about their feelings around the return of the youngest child?  Did they reconcile?  Did they see each other as equally deserving of celebration?

I wish I knew.

Jesus certainly didn’t leave us a detailed manual.  That wasn’t his style.  He left us to wrestle and question.  And most important–Jesus left us with this story.  This story that communicates deep love for us, no matter who we are, where we have come from, or what we have done.  And Jesus leaves us the task of loving each other and being ministers of reconciliation.  

The questions are the easy part.  The deconstruction of this story is easy.  The challenge set before us is this:  will we build something new?  Will we create spaces of reconciliation where we are all welcome, without qualification, to receive God’s love and grace?  

I pray that we do.  AMEN.