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SERMONS

The Fourth Sunday in Lent
March 21, 2004

There is a song I heard some time ago entitled "The Violin." It is a song about a young child. The first words that he hears from his father are, "He'll learn to play the violin." As he grows up every day he hears his father say, "His mother and I won't interfere, but we won't be happy 'til we hear him learn to play the fiddle."

He vows that he will never have anything to do with the violin. He goes off to college and he falls in love. But the girl that he loves eventually leaves him to marry a man who plays the violin. The rest of his life revolves around the violin and his resistance to learning to play it.

It's not a very happy song. But it is a song that says a lot about human love, and about the consequences of our love. How many of you have ever heard the phrase, "I love you and ...", with the rest of the sentence being what I expect you to do? "I love you and I expect you to clean up your room"; or "I love you and I expect you to be nice to me"; or "I love you and I expect you to do what I say." Another way this is sometimes said is, "If you really loved me you would ..."

Human love frequently carries expectations. Because I offer my love to another person I expect that person to behave in a certain way toward me. If he does not, then I just may withhold my love. People sometimes react by fulfilling those expectations. They sometimes react by rebelling against those expectations. Sometimes entire lives may be spent in seeking to fulfill expectations or in rebellion against them.

Today's gospel is about love. It is also about our response to that love.

A certain man, the story goes, has two sons. One of the sons-the younger, the rebel-says to his father, "Give me my share of the property." What he is really saying is, "Drop dead, and let me have my inheritance." And the father does. The father's love for the son is such that he is willing to die for him. His love is so much that he gives him what he wishes. He allows him to do as he will; and he allows him to experience the consequences of his actions.

The son goes off to a far country. There he blows the whole bundle and winds up slopping hogs to keep from starving to death. After a while he decides that as much as he hates to grovel, it still beats living with pigs. So he works up a really good apology: "Father, I am so sorry. You were right. I never should have run off. You have every right to be angry. I know that I will have to work to regain your trust. But I will work. I promise. I'll work hard. Just give me a chance. I won't disappoint you again." Maybe, just maybe, the old man will forgive him and take him back in.

So he heads for home. As he is coming up the drive his father sees him, goes running out to meet him, and gives him a big hug and kiss. The son tries to begin his speech about being sorry and everything. But the father ignores it completely. The father is too busy rejoicing in his son's return; and in putting together the coming home party. There's the menu to plan. And decorations, and clothes, and people to invite. He's not interested in excuses. He's just glad to have his son back.

So the party begins. While father and younger son are celebrating, the elder son comes home. He's been out in the field all day, working hard. He hears the band and sees a servant running by with fresh bottles of champagne.

He stops him and asks, "What is going on?"

"A party," the servant replies breathlessly. "You're brother is back and we're celebrating. Get cleaned up and come on."

But the elder brother will have nothing to do with such a celebration. He knows what's right and what's wrong. He has his pride. So he stands outside in silent reproach until his father comes out to him with two glasses of champagne.

"Come on in," the father says, trying to hand him a glass. "You're brother is back and we're celebrating. You're missing all the fun."

"I will not," the son responds, deliberately ignoring the champagne being offered. "This is your son; the one who told you to drop dead. This is the son who took your money and blew it on booze and gambling and prostitutes and who knows what else. And here you are rewarding such behavior by throwing him a party. I, on the other hand, I have always done everything you asked. I have worked like a slave to win your approval. I have never disobeyed you. I have never asked for anything. And this is the reward I get!"

"What do you want me to give you?" the father asks. "You already have everything. Look around you. All of this is yours, every last bit of it. You can have a party anytime you want. I'm always ready for one. In fact I'm missing this one right now. Come on in with me."

And that's the end of the story. We are left with the elder brother standing there on the front porch. And with the father waiting there with him; waiting to see if he will let go of his pride and join the celebration.

God loves. God loves you. God loves me. God places no conditions on that love. God's love carries no expectations. We are born out of God's love. We live in God's love. We die with God's love. God gives that love freely to each of us. No one can take it away.

God loves us freely. And God gives us our freedom. We can respond to that love however we choose. We can accept it. Or we can reject it, as the younger son did. God loves us enough to allow us to experience the consequences of that rejection. But if we return we find the love still there; and we find God still there, ready to welcome us back and to celebrate our return.

But we can't buy it, either through thinking right or through acting right. And we can't hoard it. We can't keep God's love all for ourselves. We can't keep God from loving anyone else, no matter how undeserving we may think that person to be.

To accept God's love is to enter into the biggest party since the beginning of creation. In fact, it is to realize that that party is what creation has been all about all along. To reject that love is to stand outside in lonely dignity.

It may not be much fun. But at least you'll have your pride.

David Christian
The Chapel of the Cross
Madison, Mississippi

Luke 15.11-31