I was a four year old runaway. My cousin Erik and I were tired of waiting on our moms after a full day of preschool - they were talking with other grown-ups or doing something else boring - so we, thinking logically, ran away. We didn’t go far really, as the crow flies, but in the eyes of a small person we went miles. We ran out of the first floor doors of the church that housed our school and dashed down the block to the corner, took a right, then dashed another block - past the front doors of the church - took another right - and more slowly this time - ran another half block to a stairwell and crouched down. We had run to the completely opposite side of the church and it was thrilling at first - the adrenaline running through our veins, the sweet taste of being bad in our mouths, visions of our new exciting lives as runaways dancing though our heads. But as we crouched in the small stairwell, the excitement began to fade. As we sat, the sky began to grow dark, and the light jackets we were wearing were not warm enough to keep the chill of the evening air off our small, huddled, now fearful bodies. We were runaways now, and we surely couldn’t return to our moms without severe punishment - so we shivered, contemplating our fates in a dirty trash-filled stairwell.
I am sure the younger son felt something like this as he sat in the pig sty, surrounded by the mud and waste and slop of the hogs. This place, this stinking, filthy, dangerous place was not where he had intended to end up. It had all seemed like just a game at first - he had never really intended to run off with his share of the inheritance. He was just curious to see what it looked like - and to count it and see what exactly his share would be when the time came. But after he saw the glint of the gold and got to thinking, he began to dream bigger and bigger dreams of all the luxuries he could possess with the chest of money to which he would one day lay claim. Eventually, like so many others, the love of money - or the lust for the potential that money provides - got the better of the younger son and he split with the cash under the cover of darkness. It was thrilling at first - the adrenaline of leaving home for places unknown, the sweet taste of the finest wine and most expensive gourmet dinners, and the visions of all the dancing girls that provided the most willing company money could buy. But soon - too soon - the money dwindled until there was nothing left and the thrill of the new and different place quickly faded. The young man had made many friends with his money, but now that it was gone, he was left all alone, eventually forced into that pig sty, staring at the rotting husks the pigs were gnawing on with a hungry and desperate eye.
It was at that moment, though - the darkest moment of shame and despair - that the son “came to himself.” It was as though up until that moment he had been in a trance: a zombie under the control of the money, or the wine, or the lust, or his pride - maybe all of it - but the sudden awareness of the darkness in which he had been living sparked a need to find a light - a way out. He came to himself and realized exactly where he was: in a muddy pit with a dead-end job, with no friends, no family, and no hope. In coming to himself, he realized that there was little of his old self left to cling to, and so he let go of it all - his pride, his fear, his broken dreams - and resolved to start over as a humble servant for the fairest boss he’d ever worked for - his father. In coming to himself, he let go of himself and returned to his father in humility.
But the father hadn’t forgotten about his youngest son. His dear, darling child had been gone so long, and every night he drifted off to sleep praying that he would be able to see his son one more time before life left his tired bones. It hurt him that he had taken so much of the family fortune - but all of that was in the distant past, and what the father wanted more than gold was to hold his son once again. One bright morning, when he was out surveying his vineyards, he happened to look down the road as had become his habit. But this time, something was different - there was a familiar shape approaching the family home and before he could think twice, the father dropped his tools and ran - faster than he had run in years - towards the figure that he could see now was his long lost son. The son stammered as his father embraced and kissed him- something about being a servant - but before he could even finish, the father shouted in a tear-strained voice - “He’s home! He’s home! Praise God in heaven - my son who I thought was dead is home! Let’s celebrate as no one has ever celebrated before!” And at once the father’s servants brought out lavish things - not the wine and women of the far away land, but the robe and ring of the family, of the home, of the connection and comfort the son had longed for for so long. They broke open the dusty chests that held the family’s musical instruments and struck up a marvelous, joyful tune right there in the dining room in the middle of the afternoon. The sounds of celebration poured out of the windows and doors of the house into the roads and fields all around.
To the tax collectors and sinners gathered around Jesus listening to this story, it must have sounded like unbelievably good news. And for us, who so often come to ourselves to find that we have wandered a long way off from God it is also good news. God is waiting, eager, expectantly watching for us to turn from ourselves to God. And when we do turn and draw near to God, before we can utter a word of confession or even form a thought of repentance, God draws us close, embraces us, and wraps us in hope and peace and love, which surround us like robes and encircle us like rings. In the kingdom of God - that always present, but not yet fully visible state of being present to the Presence of God and God’s future - there is joy overflowing when even one of God’s beloved children returns from the distant land of self-centered struggles. In the kingdom of God, there is dancing and singing and celebration that is contagious and inviting, calling out to all of creation to join in the dance and add even yet richer harmony to the song of return.
A friend of mine is the pastor of a large church in Atlanta, in a part of town that once was a white suburb, but what is now a hodgepodge of struggling folks of all races and nationalities. In fact, many members of the church were born outside of the United States and any church function is filled with the delightful cadences of every accent imaginable. This community has struggled with gang violence for many years, but through God’s grace and vigorous outreach several young men who had been involved with gangs have begun to worship with the church and have even invited others to do so as well. One young man attended for a few months and then began to bring his mother to church - a woman who worked as an exotic dancer. The first few times she came to church, she wore tight and revealing clothing. But the pastor, and others in the church, saw past the outer attire and saw her presence in worship as a move towards God and welcomed her with open arms. On Easter Sunday, she came to the church in a beautiful new dress, and the pastor greeted her warmly. The woman said: “Pastor - what do y’all do with those beautiful lilies that are all around the church? I don’t think I have ever smelled anything so beautiful.” The pastor replied: “Oh, well some folks have ordered them, but I happen to have an extra one that you can have.” The woman teared up - she very rarely had anything green and alive in her home and she had very rarely been given a gift that had no strings attached. She had found herself in a dark place in life where no one gave her anything for free, but here, in a church filled with God’s children from every nation on the Earth, she had been given a gift of beauty. She had been given hope for the future by the gift of a flowering symbol of new life and resurrection. I’m not sure if the pastor heard it - but as the woman took the lily in her hands, there was for a moment the faint but celebratory sound of music and dancing.
But unfortunately for the Kingdom of God, not everyone who hears the celebration joins in. The story of the prodigal son does not end with the celebration. Instead, there is another son, an elder son who had always done what was asked of him. He worked long and hard in the fields, content to do anything and everything his father had asked of him. That is, until he is asked to come into the house to join in the celebration over the return of his long lost brother. This he refuses to do, and sits outside of the house in barely contained rage.
But the father has not forgotten about his eldest son. He notices the absence of his beloved firstborn son and comes out to beg him to join in the celebration. But this time it is the son who interrupts the father - “You know dad, I have done nothing but work my butt off for you and I never disobeyed anything you told me - but where is the celebration for me? This son of yours has been off living it up and now he is back and your first thought is to throw a party? This is the last straw, dad. There is nothing here for me.”
Churches are filled with folks like this elder brother. We do what is asked of us, and it seems like there is very little reward in doing the work of the Kingdom. We often cannot remember, because of the passing of time, the celebration that was made over us when we first turned to God. Sometimes we sound like Martha when Jesus comes to visit - “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work?” We forget that our work is the work of love - it is hard and its fruits are often never seen. And when wayward souls come back to great fanfare, it doesn’t seem right! We have done what was asked and they have not! We had to get up early on Sunday to get to Sunday School after we were up early on Saturday to feed the homeless - when do I get to rest? When do I get to celebrate the fruits of my labor?” But this attitude forgets that the celebration over the lost is the fruit of the labor. The joy and delight and music and dancing of the Kingdom is the reward for the long hard work of faith. The eldest son couldn’t see what was really going on - the party was for the youngest son, yes, but it was also for him. When he refuses to join the party and cuts himself off from the family - he is speaking up for himself, but the self-centered, proud, and bitter part of himself. He cannot see, in that moment, that his fate is eternally linked to that of his brother. He cannot see that everything here is for him, too. It seems that these brothers are dancing a family dance - when one brother is in the center of attention, another feels the need to run away - to exclude himself from the joyful life of the family. The younger brother ran to a distant land and wound up hitting rock bottom before he came to himself and returned home. The older brother ran to the backyard - and the story ends without us knowing what becomes of him. Jesus, the Incarnate Word, had a way with words and knew how to weave a good story. I believe he left us hanging here so that we would be drawn in. We are left asking: “Wait - what happens to the older brother? Does he listen to the pleading of his father and join the celebration? Or does he refuse to listen and remain outside?” This is exactly the point, for us church people. Will we hear the kingdom sounds of music and celebratory dancing and join in, adding our bodies to the cruciform dance and our voices to the cosmic song of celebration? Or will we react to the sounds of the kingdom with bitterness, rage, or even worse - silence?
After my cousin Erik and I huddled in that stairwell for a few minutes, our mothers came rushing around the corner, worried out of their minds. We had only run a total of about 50 yards, but for that brief time, for them it was as though we had run 50 miles. They spotted us, ran towards us and grabbed us, sobbing and alternating between holding us tight and holding us out to scold us. My mom, in between her sobs, said: “Never do that again - never run away from me again!” But I have, and I probably will again. But I know my mom and my dad will not forget about me and I know they will always search after me and wait for me to return.
And our heavenly Parent has not forgotten about us, either. The grace and good news of the words of Christ are for all children, the wayward and the weary and God is waiting, eager, expectantly watching for us to draw near. Whether we are still far off or just in the backyard, God has a joyous party ready and waiting - with good food, music, and dancing. All we need to do is show up and come on in.
