March 30, 2025: Fourth Sunday in Lent
Jessica Thompson
The Prodigal Father
Families. We all have them. We were born or otherwise placed in a unit of people meant to care and nurture us as we grow. Yet we know families are messy and complex, each in their own way.
Today our gospel takes us into the iconic story of the prodigal son. The word prodigal meaning extravagant or lavish spending—abundance, not repentance and return, which was the definition I grew up assuming. This is the story of two sons and a father. The eldest obediently works in his father’s fields while his younger brother demands an early inheritance, going off to squander all he had only to return with nothing. And the father who let him go and then welcomed him home with a loving embrace. It’s an iconic story and one most people relate to in one way or another.
For me, I’m the eldest of seven children. I’ve been responsible my entire life, desperately trying to prove myself worthy by hard work and dedication. A party for the younger brother who did nothing more than come home poor and destitute is infuriating to me. How dare the father waste the eldest son’s inheritance on this wayward brother? And not even call him from the fields, invite him to the party?
Others I know identify with the younger brother. Lost in addiction or other disorder, separated from family they wish to come home and are fearful to take the steps. Sitting in a mess of their own making, at rock bottom, will their family even take them back? Or were bridges forever burned?
And last is the father…. The heartbreak at separation, when his son demands his inheritance prematurely which would have been the same as saying “I wish you were dead.” The worry over his wayward son, wondering where he was—is he ok? And then the return—the surprise and relief. A celebration leading to the hurt of his faithful elder son.
Family is messy and complex…
today as much as yesterday.
The role of sons in the first century Greco-Roman world was specific. Sons would grow up to help in and then take over the father’s business. Sons were expected to do the work of the father with the same values that their father had. Jesus is called Son of God because he does what his father does, in the same way God does it. He is the perfect son in that way, calling God Father out of love and also because he takes all his cues from God. From what God loves, he loves. What God endures, he endures. Jesus knows his birthright—both the rights and responsibilities it gives him.
In our baptism we also become members of God’s family. Our catechism declares Holy Baptism as “the sacrament by which God adopts us as his children and makes us members of Christ’s Body, the Church, and inheritors of the kingdom of God.” Through our baptism we become full heirs to God’s Kingdom—which is everything, in heaven and on earth — with both the rights and responsibilities that birthright gives us. Who God loves, we are called to love. What God cares about, we are called to care. Our place in God’s family is irrevocable.
This is a good thing for us because, unlike Jesus, we aren’t perfect adult children always taking our cues from God, doing things the same way God would do them. Time and time again I have taken my birthright—my body, mind and spirit—all the gifts that God has given me, taken and squandered them. I haven’t cared for God’s world, creation and people in the way God desires. I’ve also judged people, called God unfair, refusing to sit down at the table with other members of God’s family because they aren’t like me—they might have different political leanings, different culture, or maybe they worship differently.
Regardless of if we walk away recklessly squandering all God had given us or if we bitterly refuse to sit down at the table prepared for us, our place at the table is secure, a chair is saved and God waits—God waits for each one of us to “come to ourselves.” “Metanoia”—the Greek word “change of mind” and what we call repentance. God lets us go and God waits. God hopes for the day we return. Regardless of what we’ve gotten ourselves into. Regardless of the scandals. Regardless of the defiant stubbornness—when we are ready to come home we will be embraced as a full and complete Child of God. Not a hired hand, a servant working for our keep but one who is fully participatory in all the lavish grace God bestows on God’s children. Our place in God’s family, at God’s table is irrevocable.
Today is our last day together as my year serving and discerning alongside you draws to a close. When I heard God’s call, it was to “bring my people into FULL communion.” Your radical hospitality has expanded my understanding of God’s FULL communion and the broadness of God’s people and God’s Table. Through your hospitality, you live into your birthright of the prodigal God whose family we are adopted into, living out God’s lavish love of all. Everyone who has visited me here at St. Peter’s this past year has noted the extravagant welcome given to all who come through these doors, and I know I have been transformed in our time together. I feel that welcome in my entire body and find myself compelled to share it with others. Through Christ’s Table upstairs and the continuation of that table and fellowship downstairs, transformation happens.
Families—even Christ’s family can be messy and complex. It is when we reconcile to God and one another and then come to the table, bringing all that we have and are to share. Knowing that we all come as God’s heirs, with the grace and responsibility to carry out God’s work in the world. No matter how far we stray, we will always be welcomed back with arms held open. Our place at the table—in God’s family — is irrevocable.