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 Forgiveness in the Family |
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18 March 2007 This time, when I re-read the family story of the extravagant father with two sons, I couldn’t help but think of the Smothers Brothers routine: Mom always loved you best. You know the one. They probably took their cue from Jesus’ parable. It’s a family story through and through. The father Peter has two sons. James takes the inheritance that is due him in Jewish tradition and goes abroad to live the good life, far from the eyes and habits of his father–or his older brother. This is no little thing. “In handing over [James’] portion of the inheritance, [Peter] allows himself to be killed metaphorically.”[1] For a time James lives it up. He lives as though Peter were dead.[1] But disaster strikes. James’ resources are gone, and James, Jew though he is, is forced to feed pigs for the gentiles. That detail would have brought an ‘oy vey’ to every person in Jesus’ audience. And still James is starving. Then the moment of truth: even Peter’s hired hands live better than James does. James resolves to repent of his misuse of his father’s resources, to admit he has no claim to ask for or expect anything more of the father/son relationship, and be taken on as a hired hand. When James returns home, Peter spots him at a distance–how is it that we can always recognize our children, even in a crowded airport?! And Peter runs to greet him. Of course, no man of position and title would ever run–especially toward someone in a less honorable position than themselves.[1] Then James gets it right. He repents first by recognizing that he has sinned against God, and secondly, he has sinned against his father. James acknowledges the truth of what has happened; he doesn’t play down his behavior or its consequences. When I was growing up, family dinners were the norm in our house. Most of the time, they were more than pleasant. The food was always good, and the exchange of stories and sharing of the day’s events often led to meals that took at least an hour, just for the pleasure of time together. But...if one of us kids got out of line, if we had an attitude or displayed some other crime against civility, we were excused from the table. And if it was really bad, our dinner went with us to the bedroom until we could apologize and be accepted back at the table. Those times were agonizing for everyone. The members left at the table would try to continue as before, but every single one of us knew that things were not right, that relationships were out of kilter. On rare occasions, it wouldn’t be until breakfast the next day before the rupture was breached. So when Peter doesn’t even send James to his room, doesn’t demand that James apologize to the extended family, doesn’t set up a repayment schedule, doesn’t do anything of the sort, but puts his best clothes on James, right down to a ring and new shoes, we are left shaking our heads at this extravagant generosity of spirit. Peter refuses to follow the law and extract his pound of flesh, his eye for an eye. He does the hard, hard work of looking upon his son with compassion–feeling with James the shame and grief and desperation that brings him home. Peter makes the clear choice to forgive that is all but broadcast from the rooftops. Because ultimately, forgiveness is a choice. Forgiveness doesn’t ignore the pain of what has happened or pretend it didn’t happen. It simply refuses to get even. And with the lens of compassion, forgiveness looks upon the one who hurt us deeply. But forgiveness may or may not lead to reconciliation, to a restored relationship. That is hoped for, of course, but it may not happen, and Jesus’ parable recognizes this. Because on top of everything, James is welcomed back to the dinner table...but not for mac’n’cheese. James is treated to the kind of banquet reserved for an honored dignitary or for a son’s or daughter’s wedding. James is treated to the kind of banquet that Jesus calls the great banquet. And the Pharisees and the scribes grumble saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” And John, the big brother, is so caught up in his own hurt, is so consumed by his sense of injustice, that he will not forgive, and he refuses to go in, refuses to join at the welcome table. My friends, in a few minutes we will celebrate the sacrament of baptism. Listen carefully to the pledges our baptisand and the baptisand’s parents and sponsors make. They renounce the powers of evil and proclaim their desire for the freedom of new life in Christ. In those simple words, they are making the pledge to be Jesus’ disciples, choosing to take on the hard work – but also the freeing work of forgiveness. In a few minutes they will enter into the faith and family of Jesus the Christ. As they do, we have a responsibility to them. With the exception of the very, very young, there is not a person in this room who has not played the role of John, the older brother. Every one of us has modified our role as disciple; every one of us has at some time weakened the faith and family of Jesus by holding on to our anger, by stonewalling, by refusing to participate, to go inside and gather around the welcome table. And the good news, the very good news, is that the same extravagant welcome extended to James and to John. The embrace of the one does not exclude the other. Instead, it includes every single one of us. We are, each of us, deeply loved. We are forgiven. We are welcomed home. And we are invited to the table and included in the family. Thanks be to God! *** [1] Seasons of the Spirit, March 21, 2004, Logos Productions, page 38. |