There is always enough to go around

Luke 15: 11-32

Then Jesus said, ‘There was a man who had two sons. The younger of them said to his father, “Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.” So he divided his property between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and travelled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. But when he came to himself he said, “How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.’” So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. Then the son said to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.”

But the father said to his slaves, “Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!” And they began to celebrate. ‘Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. He replied, “Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.” Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. But he answered his father, “Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!” Then the father said to him, “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.”’

Luke’s parable of the Prodigal Son stirs up much grousing about fairness. We tend to take sides—usually sympathizing with the dutiful son. The older brother has been faithful and made sacrifices for his father; he’s paid his dues. I like to say that he’s “worked the program” his entire life. And the younger brother? The kid is a hot mess. He took and took and took. Then he left and squandered what he took. And now he’s back with his tail between his legs. We know how the rest of the story goes…

…but do we?

Here’s a question we must wrestle with: Can we accept that the Kingdom of God remains open even for a son who has squandered his inheritance, as well as the trust and good faith of those who provided it? When the boy returns home in disgrace, his father doesn’t walk—he runs, with arms wide open, to smother his moral and financial reprobate of a son in a loving embrace. It’s a lovely, even cinematic moment. (Can’t you hear the orchestra swelling on the soundtrack?) In our heads, we know what this parable is showing us: nothing less than God’s Kingdom and the unconditional love that rules it. This vision—of a divine promise made good—ought to assure us mortals. Yet there is a tension inherent in our experience of the story, isn’t there? It’s a tension we bring to the table—the creeping disbelief, or unbelief, we feel in the face of an offer that may be too good to be true. Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we shy away from the divine promise of love and forgiveness that we crave?

I think it comes down to our natural human tendency to think that people should get what they deserve. We default to “I struggled, so you must struggle” and “I paid my dues so you gotta pay yours.” We choose our (earthly, familiar) capitalist ideology over of Kingdom theology. We prefer the balance sheet to grace. The unconditional, extravagant bounty of God’s Love frightens us. When the father in the Prodigal Son says to the older brother, “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours,” he is saying: “Son, in God’s economy there is always enough to go round—and then some.” In other words, even if someone gets to cut in line, or jump to the front of it, it doesn’t mean that the shelves will be empty by the time we get there. This Lenten season, why don’t we let go of the impoverished notion that someone else is going to get something they “don’t deserve”—and the related notion that someone else’s benefit (or grace note) comes at our expense? God is Love. Period. There are no limits; God’s love cannot be overdrawn.

prayer

Love with Wings

There is that Love–
the one with wings,
that neither cages
nor clings,
but lets others in.
I know that Love.

(Written by Betty Vilas Hedblom)