In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit

 As you might imagine, I get a lot of junk mail that is geared toward churches and clergy.  I received this particular brochure just a few days ago.  It's main message on the front is "God cannot and will not bless a mess!"  It's geared toward tax and financial matters for clergy, and I'm sure most it is fine and good and helpful.  But that statement on the front bothered me the more I thought about it.  "God cannot and will not bless a mess!"  Is that true?  Is it really for us to say what God can and cannot do?  And is that actually the way God operates?  What about those who have made a mess of their lives?  Can God not bless them with His mercy and forgiveness and restore them?  Or do we have to get ourselves together and make ourselves worthy before God will bless us?

 If you believe that, then you're in the camp of the Pharisees in today's Gospel who were upset with Jesus.  For they didn't like the fact that Jesus was in the regular habit of blessing messes.  There He was, eating with such messes as whores and tax-collectors and a variety of other sinners.  He got right down into the mess of their lives in order to bless them with His lovingkindness.  He raised them out of the muck of their sin, turning them to repentance, giving them forgiveness and new life.

 Today's Gospel parable is, in fact, all about how God deals with messes, both those who know that they're a mess and those who think they're rather neat and tidy on their own.  We usually call it "The Prodigal Son," prodigal here meaning "excessive" or "wasteful" living.  But in fact it could well be called "The Prodigal Father" because of the "excessive" and lavish compassion which he shows to both of his sons.

 The younger son tells his father that he wants his share of the inheritance.  Now think about what the younger son is saying.  He's implying that he wishes his father were dead.  That's when inheritances usually come, right?  He's tired of waiting around for his father to kick the bucket.  And so in his impatience and audacity, he makes this brazen request of his father.

 The father could have chastised him for his insolent attitude, but instead, at this point in his son's life, he grants his request.  The father knows that he can't coerce and force love from his son, and so even though his heart must have been breaking, he takes the hurt and lets him go his way, knowing that the son will likely have some very hard lessons to learn as a result.

 God also deals with us in the same way.  For we too have sometimes sought to use Him just to get what we want.  We've turned away from Him by loving ourselves more than Him.  In fact some have described sin as the wish that God were dead, so that we could then live our lives the way we please.  Now God could sternly enforce and extract obedience from us if He so chose.  But He doesn't want slaves cowering in submission; He wants children in His household who receive and return His love.  And so He sometimes lets us go our own way; He lets us mess up so that we can see how barren and empty our life is apart from Him.

 And indeed the younger son's life turned out about as barren as it could be.  Sure he had fun partying with his friends and living the good life for a time.  I'm sure he felt like he was on top of the world.  But when his money ran out, so did his friends.  In the end he was left all alone, and the best job he could find was feeding pigs.  For a Jewish boy, there's nothing lower than that.  That's the way sin always works.  It gives short term happiness and long term pain.  It lives for the moment and sacrifices eternity.

 When the younger son was so hungry that the pig food started to look good, he finally came to his senses.  He had a change of mind.  He repented.  He realized what he had lost by leaving his father.  He realized that even the lowest of his father's servants were doing better than him.  He was sorry for what he did.  He turned around and headed toward home.

 He prepared the confession he would make: "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you."  He would humble himself: "I am no longer worthy to be called your son."  And then, just in case, he had a little deal worked out:  "Treat me like one of your hired men."  It seemed like a perfect plan.  His father could save face and he would at least have some bread in his belly.

 But even with his repentance, the younger son underestimated his father.  For notice where the father is in this story.  He's waiting for his son.  He hasn't forgotten about him or written him off.  He's out looking down the road, hoping that his lost son will return.  It says here, "But when (the younger son) was still a great way off, his father saw him and had compassion, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him."  It must have been some sight, seeing this honorable man throw his dignity out the window and scurry to welcome his son back.

 There are two very important things to notice about this.  First of all, the father goes out to the son, even as God is always going out to us and reaching out to us with His mercy.  Second of all, the father embraces the son even before the son can say a word, even before he can make his confession!  Did you notice that?  Which serves to make an important point: God doesn't receive us back and forgive us based on how well we repent.  He doesn't show mercy to us because of our works of contrition which show how sorry we really are.  God forgives us and receives us to Himself simply because of His grace and mercy toward us in Christ.  His very nature is love.  It's all based on His undeserved and unmerited kindness.  There is the saying that confession is good for the soul, and that is true. But we learn here that absolution is even better for the soul, for it is the true work of God that restores and saves us.  That's what the father is doing here–forgiving and welcoming his son back to the family.

 And you'll notice that it's not just a partial restoration until he proves himself again.  It's not a conditional or probationary status that he's given.  Rather, the Father treats him in the way that only a full, honored son would be.  He puts a distinguished robe on him.  He gives him the family ring with all the authority that brings with it.  He puts sandals on his feet, for only the servants were barefoot.  And the father throws a party, to celebrate that his son who was "dead" is alive again.

 This is the picture of God's passionate and compassionate love for you.  He rejoices over the sinner who repents, and so do all His servants, the holy angels.  His love isn't conditional on anything we do.  He doesn't put us through a time of penance to prove our trustworthiness before we're allowed back into the household.  Rather He embraces us fully as His children with all the blessings that brings, so great is His joy to have us home.

 In fact so much does God want to have us with Himself that He made His own Son to be like the younger son.  When it comes right down to it, Jesus is the real prodigal son in this parable.  Think about it this way: It says here that the father gave to the younger son of his livelihood, or literally his "substance."  Do we not confess in the Creed that Jesus is of one substance with the Father?  Then the Son of the Father goes to a far country, which is to say, the Son descends to earth and becomes man for us.  Here He blows His wealth and His substance consorting with tax collectors and sinners and the likes of us.  He is prodigal and wonderfully excessive in the way He dishes out His grace and mercy toward us.  He loses it all for you, dying in your place as if He were the rebellious son, the whore, the self-righteous Pharisee, the glutton and the drunkard, to win your forgiveness.  Then Jesus arises and returns to His Father, who exalts Him to His right hand, and gives Him the name that is above every name, rejoicing that He who was dead is alive again, that He who was lost for a time to the grave has been found triumphant over sin, death, and the devil.

 Once you were dead and lost.  But God raised you to life in His Son Jesus.  He gives you the robe of Jesus' righteousness at the font and puts His family ring on your finger.  He sets the banquet table of His supper to celebrate the return of his repentant rebel children. There is more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents, than over ninety-nine righteous religious persons who don't see a need for repentance.

 And that, finally and unfortunately, brings us to the older son.  It would be nice if the parable ended with the celebration.  But it doesn't.  There's a party-pooper to deal with.  When the older son hears about his brother's return, he doesn't rejoice.  He refuses to come in.  He doesn't think it's fair.  He wrongly thinks that his place in the family is based on his own loyalty and work, that his father's love is not a gift but something he somehow has to earn.  And so a celebration for the younger son doesn't seem right.  His legalism robs him of any joy and puts him outside of the household.

 And so it is also in the church.  When we think that certain sinners aren't worthy of God's mercy, when we refuse to welcome someone who has strayed away from God but who has returned to repentance, when we won't rejoice with such a one as a brother, then we are being like the older brother.  Then we are putting ourselves outside of the household, which runs solely and exclusively on the love of the Father in Christ.  Only as we repent can we rejoice in the repentance of another.  Only as we see ourselves as lost sinners can we rejoice that Jesus welcomes penitent sinners to His table.  Only as we experience the Father's embrace in our own lives, can we rejoice in His mercy to those around us.

 The Father went out to the older son to urge him to come in, just as he had gone out to the younger son.  For in a sense the older son had also gone far away from home, in his prideful heart.
But the celebration was for him, too.  Everything that the Father had was his.  The only way you miss out on God's celebration is if you think it's beneath you, if you refuse to go in.

 Now the implication of this parable seems to be that the older son didn't join the celebration.  But it doesn't actually say.  What we do know is that there is hope also for older brother types, too, who are lost in their own supposed righteousness.  For that's what the Apostle Paul was, wasn't he?  He was passionately religious and pure, even to the point of trying to stamp out the followers of Jesus.  But God brought Paul to see that in fact he was chief of sinners.  Then Paul came in to the celebration; then he rejoiced that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.

 So whether you find yourself to be more like the younger son or the older son, the invitation is still the same:  come in and make merry and celebrate the Lord's mercy.  Partake of the banquet meal of His body and blood, given and shed for you for the forgiveness of sins.  Rejoice in the truth that this man receives sinners and eats with them.

  In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit