We so often believe we are the problem

March 10, 2024 - Luke 15: 1-3, 11b-32 (NRSV)

The Worcester Public Library in Worcester, MA is running a program this month they’re calling March Meowness.

Got fees for lost or damaged Worcester Public Library items?

Show them a picture of a cat (any cat)* and they will forgive your fees.

Their website declares: “We want you back at the library, so we are offering one month of fee forgiveness for lost or damaged items. Show us a picture of your cat, a famous cat, a picture you drew of a cat, a shelter cat - any cat, and we will forgive WPL fees on your library account.

We understand accidents can happen, and sometimes fees might hold you back from fully using your public library. We hope that you will join us as we celebrate March Meowness at all of our Worcester Public Library locations.”

Maybe you know that Gail Borden Public Library no longer charges late fees at all - only lost book fees if you let it go too long - I do know that from experience.

Is this kind of amnesty fair? What about all the people who are bringing their books back in on time? Are cat pictures really enough to make up for breaking the rules?

This is not the first time we have read the story of the Prodigal Son together since I have been your pastor, and over the years what I have heard from a number of you is how much you identify with the rule following older son.

Truth be told, I do, too. Like many of you, my identity was formed early as a rule follower, a good student, and a compliant member of my community.

I have been guilty, like the Pharisees, of expecting that all my good rule following would make me favored by God and get all the good things I deserve. I have been guilty of thinking if I never made mistakes, kept everyone happy, and met expectations that I would not be hurt.

Like the older son and the Pharisees who are grumbling at the beginning of this chapter because Jesus is eating with tax collectors and sinners, I, too, have been disappointed and even angry when I have learned that God and life don’t work the way I sometimes expect.

In the story, the older brother refuses to join the feast. He’s too angry.

We don’t know if the father’s explanation moves him or not. We don’t know for sure if he ever goes in. Perhaps it’s up to the original hearers, the Pharisees, and today’s hearers, us, to decide what we will do.

All I know, is that when I sit with the older son, refusing to go in, I realize that my refusal to soften my heart locks me out of the party and puts me in the position of the lost.

Like the Pharisees, if I set up a dichotomy in my mind of myself as all good and my brother over there as all bad, I lose sight of our shared humanity and I lock myself out of the party and into a world of hurt.

It’s only when I allow myself to hear the heart of the parent who rejoices in the returned sibling, that I can accept that it’s okay for me to be my own flawed and forgiven self, and it’s okay for others to be their own flawed and forgiven selves, too.

It’s a hard lesson for me and for the older brother to hear: that it’s not my striving for perfection that saves me from that locked out fate. Rather, it’s my acceptance of the healing power of grace for us all that allows me to come to the party.

After all, if we’re honest, I think we all have parts of us that are the younger son, too. We have made mistakes. We have hurt others. Although there are times when we humans can’t even see or refuse to acknowledge our shortcomings, we are also often harder on ourselves than on anyone else.

Destitute and humiliated, the younger son remembers that the nature of his father is to take good care of even the lowliest members of the household. So, he decides to return home and finds himself more than welcome.

This lesson is the one the tax collectors, mistake makers, and social outcasts learn, too, I imagine, when we are welcomed to the table alongside Jesus.

We learn that persistent grace, joy, and festivity are characteristics of the nature of God.

Like the father who sees the younger son coming from far away,

God, too, runs to meet us and gathers us up in warm and welcome embrace, no matter what we have done or where we have been.

I have a friend who tells a story of what God’s grace is like.

She was a young woman then, driving her dad’s car home late one night.

She was out past curfew.

Although she had sometimes been given permission to take the car, this night she had swiped the keys without asking, knowing that her strict father would never approve of her driving to the places she wanted to go.

She planned to have the car home before he ever noticed, and to slip into her room without incurring his harsh wrath.

But something went wrong. The weather was bad.

She was driving too fast for the conditions.

Her mind was filled with the stress and adrenaline of breaking the rules.

She put the car in a ditch. Totaled it.

Before the days of cell phones, a kind stranger came by and a tow truck showed up.

Someone found her dad.

Standing by the side of the road in the rain, she watched him get out of a neighbor’s vehicle.

Her whole body shook and tears sprang to her eyes.

She had surely disappointed him terribly.

Would he punish her?

Could she ever replace the car with her meager part-time job?

How would her dad even get to work in the morning?

Just how angry would he be?

She walked toward him trying to choke out an apology.

But before she could say much of anything at all, he scooped her into his bear hug arms and declared, “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

That was the end of it.

She later shared that her relief that night, and for the rest of her life whenever she thought about that night, felt like a rain shower falling down on parched earth.

This grace was not something she had earned with some kind of perfection. It was life changing for her to know without a shadow of a doubt that she was still loved and cherished no matter what she had or hadn’t done.

So, too, are we loved, celebrated, and offered grace.

We can all strive to transform ourselves and to grow.

We can apologize and ask for forgiveness when we mess up.

What we don’t need to do is punish ourselves for not reaching an unattainable level of perfection.

What we don’t need to do is deceive ourselves into believing that striving for perfection will keep us from harm.

Instead, we can accept that we are loved and that love is entirely good enough.                                                    

                                                                                                       May it be so. Amen.