Based on Luke 15:1-3,11-32
He had recently run a new flag up the flagpole in his yard. Of course I was going to ask him about it, because it was a 101st Airborne flag that he now proudly flew. I discovered that he was a Vietnam veteran. I offered to treat him to coffee and said, “I would love to hear more about your story. I just want to understand more.” He obliged, so we went to coffee. He didn’t really say much about his time in Vietnam. The most he said was, “I did the job that I had to do, and then I came home. That’s about all I have to say about that.”
He clearly did not want to talk about what he had done or what he had seen. After he shared his MOS (Military Occupational Specialty), I guessed that he had seen some stuff, experienced some things, and maybe done some things that he didn’t really want to share with me, and that was okay. I was fine with that.
There are many more like him that I have spoken to in my past 20+ years as a pastor. And now, in the last year and a half as a chaplain, I have heard from you, our nation’s warriors, who have done some things and seen some things. Some of you don’t really want to share.
Then there are others of you who have shared things with me—the things that you have done and the things that you have left undone. And what I can say is that there’s a lot of guilt out there.
The reason I bring this up is because the gospel reading for this coming Sunday is Luke chapter 15, where Jesus tells the story of the prodigal son. Maybe you’ve heard that story before and maybe you haven’t. I don’t want to assume anything, so here’s a quick recap:
Jesus told the story about a son who basically wished his father were dead because he had asked for his father’s inheritance. Beyond conventional reason, the father does this and says to his son, “Here you go. Here is your inheritance.” He split the inheritance up between his son and his brother.
The son then takes his inheritance and travels to a distant country and just completely blows it all on prostitutes, gambling, debauchery, and wild living until he has nothing. He hits rock bottom. He is homeless and jobless, and it’s just a bad situation. He says to himself, I have sinned against my God and my father. I will go home, and I will repent. I will ask my father for forgiveness. I’m going to say to him, “Make me like one of your hired servants. I don’t deserve to be your son anymore.”
But as he is walking home, as Jesus tells the story, the father is watching. He’s waiting for his son to come home. He sees his son in the distance and runs to his son and embraces him, even though the son smells awful and is gaunt and the clothes on his back are like tattered rags and his hair is unkempt.
The son launches into his repentance speech, but the father cuts him off and says, “You belong to this family.” He tells his servants to bring a robe and put a ring on his son’s finger and kill the fattened calf. We are going to have a party, the father says, because “this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found. So they began to celebrate” (Luke 15:24).
Is that you? Do you feel like that prodigal son?
We use that term to describe this parable, but every time I teach this story, I ask people, “Do you know what prodigal means?” and most folks don’t. Prodigal means reckless spender. Of course, the son was a reckless spender. But the story is not about the son, is it? It’s about the father, the prodigal father, the reckless spender of his love. It’s about the fact that he would give his son his inheritance, first of all, but secondly, that he would welcome his son back as part of the family. So reckless was he with his love that he was willing to spend it all on his son because he loved him so much.
This is the story of you and me, isn’t it? It’s the story of those of you who don’t want to share with anybody else the things that you have done. It’s the story of those of you who have shared the things that you’ve done yet feel like that prodigal son, because you have recklessly spent your youth and your morals and your convictions or whatever it is that you have done. You have a prodigal Father. He welcomes you back because of your baptism, when he adopted you into his family. He promises that every time we repent and say to our Father, “I am sorry. I have sinned against heaven and against you,” the Father opens his arms and embraces us and kisses us and hugs us and says, “You are part of the family.”
The Father can say this because he is the reckless spender of his love. He doesn’t withhold anything. He offers up his most prized possession, his own Son, who suffers and bleeds and dies and takes your guilt and mine and nails it to the cross and puts it to death forever. He loves you so much that he does that for you. The Father loves you so much that he is the reckless spender who will say to you every time you come to him, “Yes, you are my son. You are my daughter. You are forgiven. You are part of my family, and the inheritance that I gave you, which is my Son and his life and death and resurrection and heaven itself—all of that is still yours.”
This is the kind of Father you have: a reckless spender of his love. So, my dear friends, go to him. Go to him in repentance. Go to him and find rest and hope and comfort, knowing that your Father is a reckless spender of his love for you.
Prayer:
Almighty God, our heavenly Father, your mercies are new every morning; and though we deserve only punishment, you receive us as your children and provide for all our needs of body and soul. Grant that we may heartily acknowledge your merciful goodness, give thanks for all of your benefits, and serve you in willing obedience.
Lord God, this March 29th our nation pauses to recognize Vietnam War Veterans Day. As we look back to this war, we are reminded of what a horrible thing war is. You know those who carry heavy burdens because of friends lost, friends who still suffer silently, and those who still suffer from moral injuries and physical and spiritual pain. Use us to lead them to Jesus, who bears their burdens, who forgives their sins, and who brings everlasting hope. Amen.
