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Transformation Through Adversity:

The Prodigal Child

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3/31/2019 Year C, Lent 4

2 Cor. 5:16-21 | Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

Episcopal Church of the Good Shepherd, Berkeley, CA.

Read (PDF): X6b Sermon – Transformation Through Adversity

Listen (audio): (add here)

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(Transcript below):

The Parable of the Prodigal Son.

I wasn’t going to preach on today’s Gospel story. I was actually hoping to talk about pretty much anything other than that to a room where there are easily half a dozen people who know that story and understand it far deeper than I do. I also have a bit of an uneasy relationship with this particular story – not the least of which, I’m sure, has to do with having been a prodigal child. But in an email response to a friend the other day, the topic went to old dogs and new tricks, to finding and honoring talents we didn’t know we had, to personal transformations through adversity… and I really got it about that story.

Parables can be tricky things.

At the beginning of a Godly Play session where a parable is going to be told, the storyteller explains that sometimes a parable can be very hard to get into. Even once we open the lid to the box, and look inside at all the precious things we have to help us tell the story… we still might not get it. And then sometimes we can get a glimpse of what’s inside in such a way that we understand it better.

In the past, I’ve been too distracted by wanting to identify with the role of the “good son” – the one who stayed and worked hard and felt slighted by his father’s lavish reception of his returning brother. I got how unfair it all seemed to him, how he had done all the things he was supposed to do and just wanted his father’s approval, to be acknowledged and celebrated. So before I go further, I want to laud those who did what is expected of them – who worked hard, did what was needed without complaint… the ones who took care of their siblings or their parents, who tended the house, did the errands, ran the business… without that no society can function. People who do this are bedrock; they’re solid foundations. If you are one of these people, you are loved and appreciated – whether you know it and have been told, or not.

For the rest of us… Yeah, I was never very good at doing the expected, supposed to, logical and reasonable things. We are, most of us, taught to do what we’re told, follow directions, not take too many risks (or tick off too many people)… may as well add, “go to the right school, get a good job, make our beds and eat all our vegetables” too. And these are all good things that I hope we strive to do as we are each able.

But there can be a grace, also, in not taking the safest path. And sometimes, we just need to run. I was raised with love and a sense of self-worth, and taught to be independent. I also had fights with each of my parents at various times, left high school early and went through a laundry list of what I’ll call “prodigal child” behaviors well into adulthood, thoroughly pushing against whatever it was I thought I was supposed to do or be. But I was lucky. Through much of it and at the end of it all, each time I turned back I was reminded by my parents and my friends that I was loved. As I am. Queer, damaged, repaired, rebellious, transformed, transgressive, naive, hopeful… and all of it has built me into who I am now.

Somehow, I don’t think I’m the only one here who has been on this kind of journey. And here’s a thing I’ve learned along the way: those of us who have taken the hard road; who rebelled against the rules or our parents, society or even our own best interest; who have made bad decisions or just chosen to live outside of expected norms… we are bedrock and foundation, too. We are worthy and loved.

The message I heard in our parable today was about TRANSFORMATION. And when it comes to transformation, playing it safe often doesn’t do you any favors. Sometimes, we need to be broken, to be broken open enough to change.

One of the things I appreciate about the season of Lent is the call to rest and restoration; to slowing down, reassessing what is most important in our lives, turning back towards the Divine and re-setting who we are and how we behave in the world. To let the pressure of everyday living in a must-do-it-all-now society be what it is and give ourselves permission to ignore it even if only briefly… and to simply breathe. And if we can ignore it even for a little while and be kind to ourselves, perhaps we can turn that towards other people and remind ourselves to honor and acknowledge what they do,
whether it’s for us or for others. Some people refer to this as a practice of gratitude.

The father in today’s gospel responds with love, with an outpouring of himself to his son, his child who had run – who had “been lost and now was found.” He rejoices to see that this child of his who had squandered what he was given and sunk as low as he could go, who had hit bottom… had been transformed and was starting to become whole again.

In his second letter to the church community in Corinth, Paul spoke about becoming a new creation; that “everything old has passed away (and) everything has become new.” Sometimes remaking ourselves is a choice… other times, it is what we do to survive, or even despite our best efforts. I think of people I know and have known who are dear to me, who have struggled with alcohol or drug abuse, with anxiety or depression… and the ones who are still here to tell their stories are by and large the ones who followed the path of the prodigal son… who broke, broke open and reached a point where either they were going to be done with this world or allow themselves to be re-made in new ways, that they probably had never imagined.

The Parable of the Prodigal Child is about becoming a new creation, about transformation through adversity. It is a story of personal demons, hardship, bad choices and sometimes having the need to find out how far one can go before hitting bottom. It is also a reminder to turn back, to re-turn, to reconcile – and a promise that no matter how far we have run, there is always Someone waiting to receive us with open arms and unconditional love.

The journey of the prodigal child is not about where we’ve been, who we’ve been or what we’ve done … it’s about where we are going, and how we choose to get there.