lent 4 Year C

Joshua 5: 9-12 NRSV text
Psalm 32 NRSV text
2 Corinthians 5: 16-21 NRSV text
Luke 15: 1-3, 11b-32 NRSV text

Repentance, forgiveness and restoration: these are the themes of today’s texts from Joshua and Psalm 32. They are different from our New Testament texts, however: the Parable of the Prodigal and His Brother is not a parable of repentance (if you’re not on the Home page of the blog, you will need to go to my detailed study of the parable here. I am presupposing its contents)! The point is that the Prodigal does not repent – and yet is restored! The pattern of forgiveness and restoration following repentance is broken. What we have in this parable – a key parable – is a situation in which the father-son relationship is broken beyond repair. It is not only that repentance seems inadequate: if we read the parable through fresh eyes (rather than through eyes conditioned by decades of “repentant son finds surprising welcome back at the homestead”), we discover that the son doesn’t actually appear to want a restored family relationship. Rather, he wants bed and board in return for indentured labour – and instead, finds a father who welcomes him as a long-lost, infinitely loved and precious son! And if the son is converted, it is this astounding grace that converts him. It is this same grace about which Paul writes – the grace of God in Jesus Christ that breaks the former rules and order, and ushers in what he can only call a “new creation”.

Repentance: the precondition for forgiveness and restoration
Yahweh is a God of grace, forgiveness, and new beginnings. I find it funny that the god I have heard about so often in preaching as I grew up was a god who really battled with human sin! It always seemed incredibly difficult for God to forgive – in fact, do anything other than nuke us. Jesus, thankfully, appeared in this salvation story as a restraining influence against the worst excesses of divine wrath. “God is perfect,” I was told “and demands perfection. Yet we always fall short.” And …? My point is that it is the next sentence that is crucial. What is God’s disposition towards failing, sinful human beings? The answer should be, “… so God provides a way of forgiveness and restoration – time and time and time again!” It has always been thus with God! That’s the point of the sacrificial system, isn’t it? Repent – and there is forgiveness and restoration.

We see the movement clearly in Psalm 32. The Psalm begins with an awareness of sin and of Yahweh’s displeasure (vv 1-2). There’s a bitterness to the “Happy are those whose transgression is forgiven”. That’s not where the psalmist is. The psalmist is “keeping silent” (v3) – ie refusing to acknowledge his sin – and the experience is akin to “wasting away”.

The movement from “wasting, groaning and helpless weakness” to forgiveness and restoration is clear in the pivotal verse of the psalm: “I acknowledged my sin … I confessed … and Yahweh forgave”. The NRSV entitles this psalm as “The Joy of Forgiveness”. That joy is evident in the remaining verses. It issues in praise (vv6-7). The psalmist wants to say, “Listen to me! Learn from me, for goodness’ sake! Don’t be a mule like I was! There’s so much that Yahweh has in store for you!” (vv8-10). Look at v11: there’s no sense in which being “righteous” has anything to do with a sort of pious solemnity or a brave “missing out” on good things for the sake of something higher: the psalmist wants to “shout for joy” – not at the state of his own uprightness of heart, but because of the sheer gracious wonder of Yahweh’s presence and blessings!

And look at the passage from Joshua. Welcome to the rather sickeningly-named “Hill of Foreskins”! Hmm. I think I’ll stick with “Gilgal”, personally! Less likely to disturb my sleep than the picture of a mountain of delicate human flesh, bloodied flint knives and a great many men in a great deal of pain! What on earth has mass circumcision got to do with this process of repentance, forgiveness and restoration?

The context is the arrival of the Israelites in the Promised Land after their wilderness wanderings. Significantly, it is the children of the original liberated slaves who are inheriting the promise here. Those who started out from Egypt had died in the wilderness, because of disobedience. The wilderness wanderings are their time of purification and punishment.

“Repentance” in the Bible doesn’t simply mean regret and remorse. It requires concrete action – usually restitution and reparation. That’s because “sin” is a very concrete thing, and “guilt” is about legal standing rather than an inward disposition. The notion of an individual, wracked with guilt and turmoil, is not unknown in the Old Testament, but the focus is not so much on that than it is on healing broken communal relationships and restoring community. Thus, if I defraud someone, I need publicly to “repent” – to confess my guilt. I need also to give back what I’ve taken, and make reparation – usually a sum of money – to compensate the person I’ve defrauded.

The whole business of repentance, forgiveness and restoration thus has a distinctly public character. Sin breaks down community. Repentance is the sign that the wrong-doer has decided to stop this destructive behaviour, and to make things right so that things can be restored to what they should be. It makes forgiveness and restoration possible.

God on trial – the parable of the Prodigal
We need to keep in mind this public aspect of things if we’re not to misread the parable of the Prodigal. Forget nuclear families and the privacy of closed doors. Forget private conflicts and family break-up while maintaining a good public façade. It wasn’t like that in Jesus’ day. Family business was everyone’s business. It was village business – because it affected common life. This was especially the case over matters of property and inheritance. Fathers had a public, communal duty to ensure that the family land was looked after and remained productive: it affected the whole economy. They had a duty to ensure that the family inheritance remained intact: it would not do for strangers and foreigners suddenly to get entitlement to land which formed part of the whole community. It meant, therefore, that what went on between fathers and sons was quite properly wider business. It was the business of the village elders. If a father had a problem child, and couldn’t sort him out, the procedure would have been to take the matter to the village elders for support.

The context of the story that Jesus tells, therefore, is one of a family tragedy lived out in the full glare of village life. Jesus doesn’t intend us to spend ages speculating about what was going through the mind of the son in the far country, or as he made his way back to the father he’d decisively written off for dead. What we are supposed to be wondering is what was going through the minds of the villagers – particularly the men! For the person on trial in this story is not the son, but the father. The father is the central character – and in him, the character of God.

Have in mind the figure that the father cuts in the village – because this is the point of Jesus’ parable! Remember: this is the third parable is a set – the parable of the Lost Sheep, the Lost Coin and the Lost Son. They are told in response to the accusation levelled against Jesus: “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them!” (15:2). It’s a question about holiness – about god-likeness. “How can we trust this fellow to tell us the truth about God? He does things that God would not possibly approve of – he welcomes prostitutes and tax collectors and other ne’er-do-wells: in fact, he goes so far as to eat with them!” Do you feel the force of what is being said here? We mustn’t forget: Jesus loved outrageous parties! He loved the company of prostitutes. He shared table fellowship with them – enormously significant, because it signified not just a group of people who happened to eat together, but a choice about the people whom Jesus chose to make his closest friends. The implication is that Jesus is behaving in a radically different way from that expected by religious people. And that means he can’t possibly be the Son of God – because God would condemn this sort of association.

In response, Jesus tells these three parables about God’s joy at finding people who are lost. And this third one is the crunch parable. Sheep stray off – that’s just what sheep do! Coins get lost – because people drop them by mistake. But here, in this story, a son effectively tells his father he wants him dead – so much so, that he can’t wait until it actually happens. So he has a proposal: “Let’s pretend you’re dead already. Give me my share of the inheritance, and I’m gone! You’ll never see me again and we can stop this ridiculous “happy families” charade!”

Can you see why this parable would have caused shock and revulsion? This is a son who chooses to cut himself off from any familial tie with his father. Worse than that, he still wants his entitlement as a son! Imagine the villagers hearing about this exchange. You can sense their eyes swivelling to the father, to see what he’s going to do. Of course, they know the answer: call the elders and stone the boy. There’s nothing more to be done. It’s the boy’s own choice.

Now, keep in mind that this is a story about God. The question is, what is God’s reaction going to be to this “sinner”? And here, the father astounds the listeners. He agrees to the deal! He actually not only lets the son get away with (virtual) murder, but actually gives him what he asks for! This is a weak man! He cannot control his children – and he hasn’t the strength of character to do anything other than indulge his child. He’s a wimp – a disaster – and his actions will have disastrous repercussions for the whole village! You can sense them turning away in fury, indignation … and mostly, disgust!

Now the bit that we have been so excited about that we’ve named the parable (“prodigal”) after it – the squandering of the inheritance among prostitutes – is a bit of sarcasm on Jesus’ part: the son goes off and spends his time among the very people that Jesus does! It actually adds nothing to the story: the point is that the son goes away, loses the inheritance … and still dares to come back! Note that he comes back with another ludicrous and offensive proposal: “I’m not talking about forgiveness and restoration here, Father. I know that’s out of the question – and anyway, what I’m interested in is bed and board, not getting back to the bosom of the family! So, if we accept our earlier arrangement (I’m no longer your son, you’re no longer my father) and if I agree to become an employee instead … how about it?”

Here’s the chance for the father to redeem himself publicly – at least, partially. Now’s his chance to tell the son what he thinks of him. Here’s the opportunity to behave as he ought to have behaved from the first. Again, the father is on trial. The eyes of the village are on him. And what does the father do? He blows it – and this time, even more spectacularly! If he’s not going to stone him this time, we might at least expect him to demand the mother of all grovelling and self-abasement from the boy. And yet the father is on the roof of the house, looking out for the son – presumably as he’s done every day since the son’s departure. And when he sees him in the distance, he runs out to meet him. Runs! How embarrassing! And look – before the son can even make his speech, the father is embracing him and weeping with joy over him! And he’s calling for the servants to get the robe and the ring – the signs of paternal blessing and inheritance! And he’s slaughtering the best animal they have, and throwing a party …

This is a sickeningly lovesick father. He’s lost the plot! He cannot see beyond his own, misguided love for a pathetic, ungrateful child to act properly. Of course, at the end of the day, it is not the son who squanders the inheritance, but the father – just as he’s squandering all his love on a child who doesn’t appreciate or deserve it. He’s a David weeping over his Absalom.

The older brother speaks for all the faithful covenant keepers – the religious people who genuinely seek to serve God faithfully. “It isn’t fair! It isn’t right. It isn’t just. It’s playing by different rules!” The exchange between the father and his older son mirrors the conflict between Jesus and his opponents who object to the table company he keeps. “Come and eat! You’re right: it isn’t fair. But then, it’s not about justice and Law and punishment: it’s about love! This is my son – he was dead and is alive; he was lost and is found. What can I do except party?”

The new creation in Christ (2 Corinthians 5: 16-21)
Paul’s theme in this passage is re-creation. God has changed the rules – and that means that the very fabric of the universe has shifted. “Everything old has passed away; everything has become new!” It is a re-creation that happens in Christ. Interestingly, Paul is speaking more widely about reconciliation. How does that happen in Christ?

Paul is clear: “Understand this: however bizarre it may seem, and however difficult to understand in the light of all that God has done in the past, God was in Christ, reconciling the world to himself! Significantly, it is by grace: he chose not to hold their sins against them, but instead, made Christ to be sin on their behalf, so that we might be what Christ is: the righteousness of God!”

This is Paul’s Second Adam Christology. If God raised Jesus from the dead, then Jesus’ death was not a punishment for or result of Jesus’ sin. Paul was expecting the resurrection of the dead – the dead of Israel. Instead, “Israel” had crucified Jesus in the name of God – and what Paul expected for Israel had happened instead to Jesus! His whole understanding of God was thrown on its head. It meant that he’d got it all wrong. It required a drastic re-think. It meant that Jesus, not Israel, was the progenitor of the new humanity in Christ. Somehow, Jesus was representative for all of humanity in the same way that Adam had been.

The point about Adam for Paul is that all humanity shared in Adam’s relationship to God. Adam’s disobedience and rejection of God was not the choice of an isolated individual: it determined the course of human history. Creation as he knew it till Jesus was a history of sin and rebellion and death. But now a new history had been unleashed in Christ through the resurrection. It meant that sin had had its last word – death – and that God still had another word left to speak: resurrection. The resurrection of Jesus is thus for Paul nothing less than re-creation. And to be in Christ is to be part of that new creation! In baptism, we are baptised into Jesus’ death, burial and resurrection. We are filled with the Spirit (the Spirit of resurrection and of power) and already begin to share in the new life which is in Christ on the other side of the tomb.

This, then, is how we are reconciled to God: it doesn’t depend on our choices (which are inevitably self-destructive) or our obedience to the Law: it depends on God’s choices – which are to make Jesus the representative of a new humanity. His choices are counted as ours. It is by grace, therefore, that we are saved – through faith and not by Law-keeping. We are saved by Jesus’ Law-keeping – and by the fact that God elected to let sin run its course and have its heyday in Jesus rather than us.

Grace, forgiveness, reconciliation and repentance
What “saves” the lost son? What makes reconciliation and restoration possible? It isn’t his repentance. He doesn’t repent. He doesn’t return as a lost son seeking reconciliation, but as a slave for hire, seeking shelter and food.

What “converts” the son is not the realisation in the pig-pen that there’s food to be had in the house of his gullible father, if only he plays his cards right, but his father’s embrace. He is a son again because the father embraces him as a son – and declares him to be so! The declaration’s there, loud and clear, for all to hear: “This son of mine was dead and is alive; he was lost and is found!” (Luke 15:24) Here is the Lukan divine voice declaring God’s verdict on the “sinners” with whom Jesus eats: “These are my lost children!”

Here is the great reversal of the grace of God in Jesus: the father clasps the son to his breast and declares that he – the father – is holding a child whom he had thought lost. He hasn’t changed his mind about the son since the day of his birth. Nothing that has happened has stopped him thinking of his son as his son. Nothing the son has done has lessened the father’s love for him or willingness to have him back.

This is different. It’s not the way it has always been in God’s dealings with us. Until Jesus, God has somehow been dependent on our participation – on our playing the game. In Jesus, God is able simply to play by the rules of the divine heart – the rules of love, mercy, compassion and grace.

So what about the place of repentance? Calvin said that repentance was the precondition for grace; Luther said that we receive grace unconditionally and repent as a result. Jesus said that God’s with Luther on this one!

I don’t understand why we have to contrast the old and new things God does in Christ in terms of “no grace-grace”. God has always been gracious! How God has got such bad press is a fascinating question – and ironically, one whose answer stems very much back to Luther himself! The point is that we are to see in Jesus a wonderful, astounding graciousness in God – that takes a radical shift and becomes gracious to the point of ridicule and outrage!

The unheard voice of the mother
What about mum in all this? Here’s a story about men – fathers, sons, and male villagers who are present even when they’re not mentioned! What about the mother who is silent and unseen, watching the drama of her sons’ lives unfolding? What has she to say about it all?

In the text, nothing! She is not there, even by implication, as the village men are. But then, we’ve learned that this isn’t surprising in texts and stories drawn from rigidly patriarchal societies. Patriarchal societies shaped family relationships. Writing children out of the will is far more a “male” thing: it focuses on actions and covenants, rather than feelings and dispositions.

We’ve been made far more aware of the ways in which the whole world of women is elided, obscured and written out of the texts. It requires a careful effort of imaginative listening. Reader Response methods of Bible study that try imaginatively to engage with these unseen voices have illuminated the strong patriarchal shaping of the texts. So, as we read this parable on Mothering Sunday, shouldn’t we be focussing more on the mother? Why pick a parable in which everything focuses on the father, and the mother is startlingly invisible?

“Cutting children off is far easier for fathers than for mothers”, we learn from mothers. “Fathers can walk away from their children far more easily than women can. It is far, far harder for mothers – because these are their children whom they have grown in and fed with their own bodies! No matter what a child does, a mother’s instinct is to say, ‘It doesn’t matter! I don’t care what you’ve done – you will always be my child!’”

Here’s the amazing thing: we don’t have to search in dark corners for the mother’s voice in today’s parable! For this is exactly how the father behaves! Those thoughts and passions are the father’s – God’s! The whole reason why the father is subject to such ridicule in the male world of the village is that he behaves not like a father, but as a mother! This is not yet one more case of men representing women. Jesus’ parable deconstructs our notions of God. This parable is not meant to tell us that God is a bloke who occasionally loses it and acts like a woman: it is to tell us that grace is at the heart of God, and that if we want to understand God’s heart, we need to realise that God is far more like a mother to us than a father. The voice of the mother is not lost in today’s parable. It is spoken by God herself.

Amen.

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