Prophetic Mary Currency

from: http://yobucko.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/rising-cost-of-living1.jpg

John 12:1-8
Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. ²There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. ³Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. ⁴But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, ⁵“Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” ⁶(He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) ⁷Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. ⁸You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, on average, Americans spend $8,003 per year on their cars - buying them, maintaining them, filling them with gas.  According to the American Research Group, Americans spend, again on average, somewhere between $800-900 on Christmas presents each year. Weddings, on the other hand, average around $27,021, according to Reuters. And according to the CNN money calculator, I’m going to need 2.7 million dollars in order to retire at the age of 70.  When my son is old enough to go to college, somehow Dan and I are going to have to find a way to cough up about $240,000 - that is, if he’s ok with going to a public/state funded school and graduating in 4 years.  And just to raise our two kids, not including college, it’s going to cost us about $400,000 (babycenter.com). And that’s just until they turn 18.  

How’s that for quantifying your life? For making it all about finances and figures and economic exchanges? How often does our stress and emotional and even our theological energy concerning our lives involve these financial calculations?  It’s as if we weren’t people, but rather dollar signs walking around, some of us “worth” more than others.

In the Gospel of John, we have some numbers to crunch as well.

In Cana, Jesus makes approximately 180 gallons of wine - way more than could ever be consumed by the wedding party in one night - even if it was Saint Patrick’s Day and they were partying on the South Side.

In Galilee, more than 5000 people are fed.  And there are 12 overflowing baskets of bread and fish left over.

After a night of catching nothing, Peter encounters the risen Christ and collects 153 fish in his nets.

Wine, bread, fish - this is what Jesus “spends” his capital on.

And here, in our passage today, we have a bottle of perfume “wasted” on a pair of tired, swollen, callused, grimy feet - perfume worth 300 denarri - about a year’s worth of wages.

Can you picture the mess of it?  The oil dripping from his feet onto the floor, The eye-opening, overwhelming smell of musk and earth and leather filling the house.  The sensual, almost sexual, symbolism of Mary’s long black hair wiping his feet clean.  This is almost too intimate to watch. Like we are interrupting a tender moment between lovers.  

This is strange currency indeed.

John’s Gospel presents us with a new currency.  Not one of practicality and dividends and sequesters and trade deficits, but a currency of extreme extravagance.  The Gospel of John shows us a budget in the red - of overindulgence - of waves and waves of “too much” - culminating in Jesus’ very life itself.

But in all of these examples of extreme extravagance, in all this fish and bread and wine and grace, there is only one time where the expenditures go in the opposite direction.  It is in this simple and yet scandalous act of Mary that we see an example of extravagance not going from God to us, but from one of us back to God. 

This time, Mary gives “too much.” Here, Mary is the one to respond with an outrageous love that is irrational, irresponsible, radical.  

Mary has poured what is likely her entire inheritance upon the feet of Jesus. She’s blown her endowment. She’s burned up her retirement.

Not only that, but she has poured her entire identity over him - an identity not of a Jewish woman with some element of social status, but as a servant, humbling herself to do what only servants would do - wipe the feet of the guests who come into the home.  

And she has poured her whole body upon him, kneeling before him, using her hair - said to be “a woman’s glory” - to wipe his feet. She has poured her reputation out in front of all of the guests watching her as she performs this physically and emotionally intimate, scandalous, vulnerable act for all to see.

Mary has rejected a calculus of reasonable currency, and has embraced the currency of God - the currency of ridiculous abandon, of illogical trust, the currency of a bottle of perfume poured upon tired, dirt-crusted, callused feet.

And Judas immediately jumps in to criticize, saying what I have often said in judgement about how others - individuals and organizations - use their money.  

I criticize them for poor choices - why invest in those homeless drunks who are going to spend their money on booze and gambling?  Why do they feed this jerk who left his last temporary housing situation because there were too many “blacks” living there?  Why do they give this woman yet another chance after she has returned to the halfway house past curfew and reeking of pot smoke?  Why expand food stamps and cash assistance to those who keep having babies for the sole reason of getting even more assistance? Whose idea was it to offer parenting classes to the parents who have a history of abusing their children? Why “waste” this money on perfume, or a family vacation, or the Deacons Dinner, when we could have given it to the poor?

We think in the currency of the kingdom of “us”.

But Jesus, thinking in the currency of the Kingdom of God, responds to Judas, saying, “leave her alone. It was intended that she should save this perfume for the day of my burial.”

“Leave her alone. It was intended that she should save this perfume for the day of my burial.”

A bunch of things are going on here in this simple statement.  

According to Jesus, Mary hasn’t squandered her perfume; she has saved it, for this exact moment.  

She is offering her whole self to Jesus.

And this offering is in preparation for Jesus’ burial.

But what gives?  Jesus isn’t dead yet.  How is this in preparation for his burial if he’s not dead?  Why rush to the sad ending?

I think that this is a prophetic offering.  She knows, at some level, what will happen to Jesus.  And strangely, she knows that this death is worth an entire bottle of pure nard, her entire inheritance, her entire self. Somehow she trusts that this ending that is the worst of all endings is worth it. She is prophesying.

So often, we think in “Judas currency.” We think of what is practical, what is logical, what makes sense to us in or particular situation, and what seems like the “safe” choice. We do this with our money, yes, but we also do this with our emotional, personal and relational investments.  

It is easier to write a check to the food bank than it is to volunteer a few hours on a Saturday and actually look someone in the eye as you offer them a box of food.

It is simpler to stay behind the counter and poor soup into bowls at the soup kitchen than to go out to the people, to talk to them, to risk the awkward silence, the misunderstood gesture, the “offensive” odor of their clothes or breath.

It’s easier to collect socks and blankets and drop them off at the shelters than it is to brave the cold to bring lunches and conversation to the people living under the Birmingham Bridge.

It’s simpler to maintain your close relationships with a few friends, never reaching out to someone who may have a different perspective on life than you.

And this is not to say that writing check and serving food and collecting socks and maintaining friendships aren’t important - all of that is.

But I think we are being called to think in “Mary currency.” To think in “prophetic currency.” 

What would a “prophetic ministry” that uses “Mary currency” look like?

Mary currency is a currency of vulnerability and heart.  It’s a terrifying currency. An extravagant currency.  A currency with unpredictable outcomes. A prophetic currency that involves our entire selves.  A currency that puts its trust in things that don’t make sense - that puts its trust in the soon-to-be dead feet of a Jewish peasant who proclaimed the coming of the Kingdom of God. 

Isn’t this the kind of currency we think in when we decide to get married, or have children, or quit our jobs to go back to school for a more fulfilling career? This currency involves terrifying risk, terrifying trust. Imagine if I gave up on life, or if I didn’t have my child because it “costs too much.” Life, real life, always costs too much.

But we do these things because they are an offering of who we are. We do them because we know it’s worth the risk, even if it fails.  We do them because it is a true expression of who God made us to be.  It’s an offering of our whole selves, our whole lives, and an offering that commits itself to the hope that no matter what death may come from it, new life will spring out of it.

Isn’t this the kind of currency we think in when we choose to live a life of faith - a faith in a God we can’t seem to see or touch or directly experience in an absolute way? 

It’s the kind of currency that says it’s not about “fixing” the poor or solving a problem, or squirreling money away in a rainy day fund, but a currency that gives its whole self to the one who served, identified with, and ultimately gave his life to the poor. It is prophetic currency that trusts in a Jewish peasant with a questionable background whose death would somehow, strangely, paradoxically, give us new life.  This is a currency that fills the entire room with the beauty of its fragrance.  It’s a currency that is potent and intoxicating and a little bit scandalous.

For this prophetic, Mary currency and the courage to use it, we say, 

Thanks be to God.

Prodigal Tea Cups, Prodigal Family

image from: http://www.ikigaiway.com/2010/wabi-and-sabi-a-brittle-beauty/

11 Then Jesus^* said, ‘There was a man who had two sons. ¹²The 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. ¹³A 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. ¹⁴When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. ¹⁵So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. ¹⁶He would gladly have filled himself with^*the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. ¹⁷But 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! ¹⁸I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; ¹⁹I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.’ ” ²⁰So 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. ²¹Then the son said to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.”^*22But 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.²³And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; ²⁴for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!” And they began to celebrate.

Luke 15:11-32

25 ‘Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. ²⁶He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. ²⁷He replied, “Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.” ²⁸Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. ²⁹But 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.³⁰But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!” ³¹Then the father^* said to him, “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. ³²But 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.” ’

My grandmother was the most frugal person I know. Heck, maybe she was the most frugal person on the planet.  As the oldest daughter responsible for raising her many siblings during the heart of the depression, she came by this frugality honestly.  She’d pile cleaned and reused sheets of tin foil on her refrigerator.  At Christmastime, she’d carefully open her gifts with an exact-o knife, and then later iron out the creases in the thin paper.  Sure enough, the next year, our gifts from her would be wrapped in those all-too-familiar patterns of poinsettias and red-cheeked Santas. She never bought anything new for herself, and as kids, we all rolled our eyes and laughed at the bright red dress coat with wide spotted fur collar that she would wear to every special occasion, year after year.

Her entire life, at least as far as I knew, was a series of carefully calculated adjustments of give and take, exchange of goods, feelings, emotions, never giving too much, never keeping too much, never risking much. Always together, always in control.

There is much to be admired about my grandmother’s frugality.  She was strong.  She was independent.  And she certainly never wasted a dime.  

But there is also much that makes me sad about it. I wonder, did she ever just treat herself to a giant banana split, stuffing her tiny self, only to realize she couldn’t finish it all?  Did she ever give a homeless guy 50 cents and not wonder if he was going to spend it wisely?  Did she ever tell her children - not through sacrifice or duty, but through an extravagance of emotion - how very very much she loved them? In her stubborn refusal to never give up, in her shear will to survive, did she ever let it all go and just be?  I never got to see that side of my grandmother, but I wish I had.

We call our very famous lectionary passage today, “The Prodigal Son,” but I think that this is really the story of The Prodigal Family.  Prodigal is one of those old-fashioned words that means “wasteful, squandering, lavish, recklessly extravagant.”  And this is the story of three different ways we can be recklessly extravagant.  This is the story of the prodigal family.

Jesus is getting flack from the Pharisees and scribes because of who he’s hanging out with.  He’s spending time teaching and eating with the reckless, the wasteful, the rejected in his society - the prostitutes, the tax collectors, the unwanteds.  So, in response, Jesus tells the story of a typical family. A family of dysfunction, misunderstanding, and hurt. A family that many of us are quite familiar with.

First, we have the younger son, who recklessly squanders his inheritance.  

He goes up to his dad one day, and basically says, “Dad, I wish you were dead, so that I could get what’s coming to me.  Just give me my inheritance now, so I don’t have to work anymore.  “Dad,” he says, “I’d rather have money than be your son.”

And strangely, illogically, the father gives him what he wants. MORE than what he wants. The son asks for his share of the property, his οὐσίας.  But even though the NRSV translates it as property, what the father really gives in response to this request is his βίον, his “life.” His whole self.

And in fact, the inheritance, or more accurately, the father’s life, is split up between the two of his sons. 

Both the elder and the younger son get their inheritance early. Why?  No father at this time would do this. No head of the household would just hand over what is still rightly his.  Children were to serve and respect their parents, and here is a son who blatantly, outrightly, recklessly, disobeys the fourth commandment to “honor thy mother and father,” and then goes even further to essentially wish for his father’s death.

Why in the world would a father agree to this? Has he gone crazy? Senile? 

Is this guy a moron?

And of course, as we all could have probably predicted, the son squanders his money, and finds himself in the worst of all predicaments - he’s slopping food for pigs, an especially dishonoring job for any Jew, who would be rendered unclean by even touching a pig, and for whom, to be forced to eat a pig would be a fate worse than death.  But here is the son, not even wishing he could eat the pigs, but the pods which the pigs are eating.  He’s so lost that he begins to identify himself with the pigs themselves.

At this point, I picture the Pharisees and scribes smirking, rubbing their hands together, excitedly anticipating the horrible fate of this prodigal son. This kid is gonna get his just desserts.

But once again, Jesus spins us around, leaving our expectations in those muddy fields with the pigs and the slop.  

The son comes to his senses and finally decides to come back home, to offer himself as a hired servant in his father’s house. 

And as he walks home barefoot and in tattered clothes through miles of muddy fields, there’s that ridiculous father again.  He sees his son from a distance, and throwing all caution and sense of propriety to the wind, hikes up his robes, reveals his spindly legs for all to see, and runs out through those muddy fields to meet his son.

Clearly, the father has gone mad. 

Honorable fathers do not hike up their robes.

Honorable fathers do not enter muddy fields.

Honorable fathers never run.

Honorable fathers never show such extravagant, reckless outbursts of emotion to such an extent that they kiss the necks of their sons with tears streaming down their faces.

But this father does.

This father doesn’t even let his son finish apologizing. 

Instead, the father throws him a party. A party for the whole community.  

And now, the Pharisees and the scribes are experiencing some whiplash from the shock of what Jesus is saying.  It is the shock of the unexpected outcome.  It’s the shock of disgust that someone gets something that he doesn’t deserve.  It’s the anger we feel when we find out that our coins dropped into begging cups have been turned into cigarettes and alcohol.  It’s the frustration we feel when something that was so hard for us comes to someone else so easily.  It’s the sense of betrayal we feel when someone else’s son survives the car accident or cancer or the drug overdose, but ours didn’t.  It’s the pain we feel when someone takes something from us and never has to suffer the consequences.

This is the pain and the hurt and the betrayal of the elder son. He doesn’t even know what is going on.  He doesn’t hear from his father what has happened; he instead must go to a servant to hear the news.

And when he hears what has happened, he is furious. It is simply not fair.  What his reckless, extravagant, naive father has done is simply infuriating.  Not only is this simply not fair, it’s poor parenting, it’s poor management of his finances, and it’s irresponsible and insensitive to the needs of the rest of the family.  

The father comes out to this elder son, coaxing him to come inside, to join in the celebration, to share in the joy.

But the son is too bitter. Too hurt. This response to his brother’s return is just too much, it’s too unfair, it’s the final straw that breaks the camel’s back.  

The elder son cannot share in the joy because he is too busy hoarding it, just like he has hoarded the inheritance he has received from his father. He is too busy holding grudges and keeping tallies that he cannot see the miracle that is right in front of him.  If the younger son is reckless and wasteful with his inheritance, the elder son is reckless and wasteful with his joy. The older son squanders his joy by hoarding it. Like a bushel of perfectly ripe cherries that are saved for that “perfect” occasion, only to be found rotting in the back of the refrigerator, joy has a shelf-life.  If you don’t grab it, embrace it, celebrate it when it does happen, it’s gone. And the elder son wastes his chance in bitterness, hurt and anger.

But the father is still recklessly trying to reach his elder son.  Although his son is surely a grown adult, the father addresses him as τέκνον - child or son - clearly a term of tender endearment, and then says, καὶ πάντα τὰ ἐμὰ σά ἐστιν - “everything of mine is yours.” The father has just recklessly confessed how much his son means to him.

The father has squandered everything - his pride, his faith, his hope, his rejoicing - by spending it.

He lavishes it upon both of his sons. No matter the cost. 

The story is left open.  We don’t know if there is reconciliation between the two brothers.  But I don’t think that’s the point.  

The father will continue to welcome his young son back with rings and robes and fatted calves, even as the son will probably continue to recklessly waste what has been given to him.

The father will continue to embrace his elder son, giving him everything he has, tenderly calling him his child, even amidst his bitterness and anger and his hoarding of his joy.

Again and again and again the father will do this.

The father’s love is reckless, and embarrassing, and extravagant, and from most of our perspectives, it’s wasteful. It’s a heartbreaking love that will disappoint him and break his heart again and again and again.

What if our faith was like this?  

What if our faith was 

A reckless faith

An embarrassing faith

A faith that doesn’t make sense.

A faith that makes you look like you are out of your mind.

A faith that looks a little bit like...God?

This is not practical

This is not sustainable

This isn’t provable, or logical faith

This isn’t about belief or unbelief - it’s not about believing the “right” things, or confessing, or doing anything.

This is ridiculous, reckless faith

What if our Christianity looked like this?

What if our relationships looked like this?

If we tried to do this on our own, 

We’d be eaten alive.

We’d be up there hanging on a cross with Jesus himself. Because that is how Jesus lived - with this radical, relentless, prodigal love and faith for this broken humanity, for both the elder and the younger son, for all of us.  

But the beauty of the resurrection is that even as our ridiculous, radical, prodigal love for others is what will break our hearts over and over and over again, God doesn’t leave us there.  God’s love is not a limited commodity.  God is never frugal, as if there won’t be enough wrapping paper or tin foil for next year’s Christmas celebration. God will pick us up, clothe us in God’s best, and invite us into the celebration.  

How can we learn to be a little more prodigal, not by wasting our money or our resources, not by hoarding of our love or our joy, but prodigal like the father - prodigal like God - prodigal with our love, our faith, or relentless refusal to give up on even the most lost among us?

When my grandmother died, we all gathered at her house, reminiscing, going through old recipes that used canned pineapple and jars of vegetable shortening, sifting through instructions on how to can green beans and save the bacon grease for lentil soup.  And I discovered something I never knew about my grandmother.  She collected tea cups - beautiful tea cups with matching saucers and silver spoons.  Highly impractical tea cups with gold inlay and hand-painted flowers.  I have one of those now, and I cherish it.  Not because it reminds me of who my grandmother was to me, but because it causes me to imagine a woman who lived so extravagantly as to collect impractical tea cups, simply for the beauty, the recklessness, the prodigality of it.

May our faith in God and our love for one another be full of impractical tea cups.

Thanks be to God.

Micro-Premies and The Prodigal Son: A Message to the Women of the 22nd Graduating Class of the HOPE Program at Allegheny County Jail

image from http://www.growingyourbaby.com/2012/05/23/tiny-baby-born-weighing-9ozs-almost-ready-to-go-home/micro-preemie-kenna-moore-weighing-1-pound/

Luke 15:11-32

11 Then Jesus^* said, ‘There was a man who had two sons. ¹²The 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. ¹³A 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. ¹⁴When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. ¹⁵So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. ¹⁶He would gladly have filled himself with^*the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. ¹⁷But 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! ¹⁸I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; ¹⁹I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.’ ” ²⁰So 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. ²¹Then the son said to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.”^*22But 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.²³And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; ²⁴for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!” And they began to celebrate.

25 ‘Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. ²⁶He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. ²⁷He replied, “Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.” ²⁸Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. ²⁹But 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.³⁰But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!” ³¹Then the father^* said to him, “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. ³²But 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.” ’

At 28 weeks pregnant, I have officially compiled a list of things NOT to say to pregnant women.  

So here are a few:

1. Are you sure you’re not carrying twins? (YES, my doctor, my ultrasound technician and I are all sure it’s just ONE baby in there.  Trust us.)
2. You’re huge!  You look like you’re gonna pop! (Um, I have a lot farther to go!)
3. Has your doctor told you to go on a diet yet?
4. You don’t look as fat today as you did last week. (Well, that’s helpful...)
5. You need to put on more clothes; you need to hide that belly. (This belly ain’t goin’ away anytime soon...!)
6. You know, that belly isn’t yours anymore... (Then she proceeds to reach across the counter to rub my stomach!)
7. Stop working!  What are you doing here? You really should go home. (I’m pregnant, not sick!  I’ll never be this strong again in my life!)
8. You’re having another boy?  Oh, well, I guess you’ll be ok.
9. Whoop, you’re getting bigger! (well, duh, that’s kinda the point...)

Some people, though, have actually said some pretty helpful/nice things:

1. You’re looking really good
2. You look healthy
3. Can we bring you a meal when the baby comes?
4. Do you need any supplies?
5. How can we help?

It’s that “How can we help” that means the most to me, because I’m once again reminded that we can’t do this alone.  Raising a child is tough, exhausting work, and it really does take a village.

But the thing is, I don’t think we ever “grow up” to the point where we stop needing each other.

If my son were born today, at 28 weeks, he’d be considered “viable.”  Through the miracle of modern technology, he has a good chance that he’d survive. He’d be one of those “micro-preemies,” maybe 2 pounds, and rushed off to the NICU as soon as he came out.  But he would need a lot of help.  Due to underdeveloped lungs, he’d need to be on a ventilator.  Because he doesn’t have enough body fat, he wouldn’t be able to regulate his own temperature, and so would be put in an incubator. He’d have an underdeveloped “suck” reflex, and so would have to be fed with a feeding tube.  Due to his underdeveloped eyes, he’d be too sensitive to light, and so would need to wear patches over them.  He’d have to stay in the hospital for at least twelve more weeks.

But, with a lot of help, A LOT of intervention, he’d likely survive. But not without the doctors and the nurses and the technology and the parents, and the prayers and the community who loves him surrounding him and supporting him.

But not much will change once he’s born, really.  Sure, he’ll be able to breathe on his own, and he’ll be able to swallow, and his eyes won’t be so sensitive to light, but he’s still going to need a lot of help.  He’ll need to be fed, cleaned, to have his diapers changed, held, comforted, and loved.  He’ll need lots and lots of love.  And not just from me, his mom, but also his dad and his grandmas and grandpas and his church and his teachers.  He’s going to need lots and lots of help from others.

It’s so obvious when we look at an infant to see how much we rely on each other.  But when we get older, we buy into this illusion that we can do it all, all by ourselves.  We start to think that we are independent and can solve all of our own problems. We start to think that we’re weak if we ask someone for help.  Or, we’ve been hurt so often by others, we start to think that other people are only out there to take advantage of us, to hurt us, and so we never let anyone in.

This is where our story of the two brothers comes in.

Jesus, surrounded by the rejected in his society - the drug addicts, the prostitutes, the mentally ill, the poor - is telling stories.  And the Pharisees, the so-called “people who have it all together” criticize him. Why waste your time on “these” people? On the wasters and the failures and the lost?

In response, Jesus tells them this story:

There once was a man with two sons.

The younger son comes to the man and says, “Dad, I really want to party and play and not do any more work. Really, I just wish you were dead so that I could get my inheritance now, and not have to worry about working anymore. I’d rather have the money than be your son anymore.”

For strange, unknown reasons, the father gives him the money, his inheritance, early.

And what does this young son do with the cash?  He wastes it.  He spends it on booze and drugs and prostitutes, until there’s nothing left.  And now he’s lost and hungry and far away from home.

He’s so lost and hungry and far away from home, in fact, that he goes a step further in rejecting who he is. He starts to work at a pig farm.  Now for Jews at this time, this is as low as you can go.  In fact, for the Jewish community, it was better to die than to eat or even touch a pig.  But here he is, at a pig farm, so hungry that he wishes he could eat the food the pigs eat. And no one is around to help him.

The kid has hit bottom.  

And then, the text says, “he comes to himself.” He realizes who he is.  Who he really is.  He is not a drug addict or a prostitute or an alcoholic.  He’s his father’s son.  And yet.  He still doesn’t get what that means - He decides that if he just goes back to his father, maybe he could be a servant - at least that’s better than being covered in pig slop and sleeping in the fields.

So he heads home.  He finally realizes that he can’t do this all alone.  He needs help.

And he’s afraid and ashamed and embarrassed and nervous.  Imagine that long walk home.  Imagine what is going on in his mind as he prepares to confess his failures to his father.

And then imagine his face, imagine his emotions, as he sees his father, running towards him, hiking up his fancy robes, slipping through muddy fields, out of breath, until he finds him, and kisses him, embraces him, puts his coat around him, his ring on his son’s finger, his shoes on his son’s feet.  Imagine that astonishing scene.

The father sees his lost son again, and throws him a party.

But this is still the story of two sons.  I wish it were as easy as a lost son returning home and being welcomed with a party.  But it’s not.  There are people who have been hurt by what the son has done. People who are angry.  People who don’t understand.  People who are not yet ready to forgive.  

This is the case for the elder son.  

He’s done everything right.  He’s followed all the rules.  He’s done what he is supposed to do.  But it’s his reckless, drunk brother who gets the party.  What gives?

Like the the younger son, the elder son thinks he can do it all all by himself.  For all of these years, he’s done the work he’s supposed to do.  He’s obeyed the commands and been responsible for himself.  No, he hasn’t squandered his fortune, but he has tried to do it all on his own.  And because of that, he doesn’t understand forgiveness.  He doesn’t understand that he, too, needs others.

But the father embraces this son, too.  He calls him, “my dearest child.” And he tells this son that everything the father has is his.  

The father invites this son, too, into the party, into the community, into the family of folks who need each other in order to survive.

The father embraces both of the sons, not because they’re perfect or because they have it all together, but because it is exactly the opposite.  The father embraces them because they need to be embraced.  They need each other.  They need to be invited to the party and to be re-instituted into the community.

But the question is, a question that we are left with and the story doesn’t answer: will the two brothers accept each other?  Can they mend the hurt that has occurred between them?  

We don’t know. The story doesn’t say.  Jesus leaves it open.

What do these two brothers need to do in order to love each other again?  So much hurt and pain has occurred between these two, the gap between them seems so far apart that no bridge could ever connect them.

Maybe they need a little time.

They need some healing.

They need to process what has happened to them.

And mostly, they need a father who can bring them together, who can help them see how much they need each other.

You all have learned so much during your time with the HOPE program.

You all have changed and grown.  All for the better.  

You’ve been working so very hard.

And more hard work awaits you as you leave this place.  You’ll be tempted to go back to your former ways of living.  You’ll encounter lots of “older brothers” who will be so hurt and afraid and alone that they will judge you.  You’ll get tired, and you’ll feel like running away again.  But remember there is a God here for you, embracing you, kissing you, giving you the greatest gifts - the only gift - you really need - to know that you are loved, exactly for who you are, exactly where you are.  You’ve come to your senses; you’re returning back to who God made you to be - back to your beautiful strong self. But you’re going to need others.  We’re all tiny infants in the arms of God.  We all need lots and lots of help and support.  We need to know that we’re not alone. And some of us will need more help than others, and that’s ok. What’s important is that God works through the people around us.  Real community is one that enables you to be your best self, the self that God created you to be.  

So when you leave this place, for some of you that’s very soon, and for others, not for awhile, remember that we’re all about 28 weeks along in our birth journeys.  And we need lots of help. We need people to help us eat, people to help us breathe, people to help us find homes and jobs and people to help us get our kids back.  And each person that comes and helps is like a kiss from God, right on your neck.  That person is one more exclamation of God, “my child was dead, but is alive again!”  It is one more invitation back to the party. And maybe, when we’re back in the party, we’ll see opportunities to reconcile with those whom we have hurt.  But that’ll take some time, and some healing, and some guidance from the Father of us all.