Fourth Sunday of Lent (Cycle C)

March 25, 2001

by Reverend Herbert Nichols

Our Judeo-Christian Tradition is historically based. Our Scriptures trace the experiences of real men an women with a living God. Last week we heard the cry of the people for deliverance from the bondage of Pharaoh and Egypt. Beside historical realities they are also metaphors for the bondages and oppression which we can create for ourselves.

In today's first reading we find that God has delivered his people as he promised. God declares that the experience of slavery and bondage is over. Forty years have passed since they were ruled by Pharaoh, and now God is delivering to them a new home a new beginning. Gone are the days of wandering, of squeezing a living out of the desert. Here at hand is a dream come true. Here on the brink of a new future the people remember and celebrate their past -- the great Passover.

Christianity also finds parallels in its celebration of nature and the seasonal transformations. Christmas at the Winter Solstice, All Saint's All Souls at the autumn equinox The Feasts of St. Joseph, May 1 and The Assumption of Mary August 15 -- each 50 days before and after the Summer Solstice.

This week we celebrated the vernal equinox, the movement from dark to light and cold to warmth as the sun moves closer. It is a time for the re-creation of the human person physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Today we are at the midpoint of the Church's season of spring called Lent.

Paul reminds us in the second reading that the desert dry life we live without Christ is over and done. In Him, in His death and resurrection we are renewed. Paul pleads with us as he did with the small community at Corinth: Be who you are! -- persons reconciled to God; ambassadors of reconciliation. We are called to rejoice today--not because Lent is half over but because our redemption and forgiveness has been purchased for us.

In the gospel reading today, there is an understandable problem. The faithful and seemingly overlooked, unappreciated elder son, who stayed home and took care of all the necessities for his aging father, and of course his own birthright. Upon hearing of his brother's return, he is in no mood to rejoice.

He begins to grumble and complain and refused to reconnect with his brother who was dead. Now in fact he is the one on the outside disconnected and without life. His younger brother had indeed been arrogant, foolish, some would say deserving of his fate. But remember last week's readings? In this story the Father is clearly a metaphor for the opposite of Pharaoh. He allowed his son to experience his own life and his own mistakes and to welcome him back with forgiveness and mercy. For many of us who strive to live upright lives, it doesn't seem fair that someone who has wronged another should be welcomed with such lavish generosity. Perhaps we too are tempted to feel holier or better than the other person. Jesus concludes the parable without telling us if the elder brother ever joined the celebration because he leaves it up to each of us to decide for ourselves.

If Jesus had continued the parable, perhaps it would sound something like this:

As he stood at the edge of the field, his arms folded, his jaws set, watching the workmen gathering the wheat into bundles; his face hardened as he thought about all those years he had worked like a slave to keep the farm from failing, and not once had the old man thrown a party for him. Squandering the inheritance that could have been so helpful, now the house was wild with welcome for him.

From behind his back he heard: Shalom, brother. The farm looks great. There isn't another farm along the road that looks so good except the one on the hill. My place, he answered curtly with pride. Your’s? Then you must be married. A wife and two young ones. Dad must be really proud of you. Things have worked out for both of us.

You don't fool me, said the younger brother. Dad is getting old. You have worked two farms; perhaps you might use a hired hand to earn a little money. I've made quite a fool of myself while I should have been learning from you. But if you give me a chance to learn, I promise I'll do my best.

The older brother's voice suddenly roared so that all the help in the field could hear him -- You will not work as a hired hand on this farm. You are my brother. Come with me and take a look at our farm. The men will carry on. They have their orders. The day was nearly over as they finished touring the land and buildings. We'll come out again tomorrow before the sun heats up.

I'll give you some pointers on what to do. I know just the crew that will be most beneficial to you. In a short time you'll have a little money.

Pointing across the field he asked: See that stretch of land that reaches out toward my farm, I'm going to ask Dad to give that to you for your own. Eventually you'll pay for it with your work. But it makes a difference when you have something you can call your own. Maybe some day you'll even build house on it and have a family of your own. Who knows?

The door opened and the father came out beaming as he saw his sounds talking; he had been very worried about the elder son's attitude.

The young son threw his arms around his Father's neck saying: Dad I never knew how much you loved me; and my brother too. I didn't think that anybody cared. Tears poured down his cheeks.

And why not? the old man asked, as he held the young man in his embrace. Am I not your Father? Is he not your brother? Are we not all one family?

This difficult business of welcoming the seemingly undeserving and extending forgiveness no matter what the cost is exactly the kind of unselfishness that marks the Christian as ambassadors for Christ -- those who have experienced both rejection and acceptance -- who know the new creation of compassion.