Sunday, March 30th, 2025: "Full to the Brim: Prodigal Grace"

Watch the Sermon here

 The First United Presbyterian Church

“Full to the Brim: Prodigal Grace”

Rev. Amy Morgan

March 30, 2025

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.”

So he told them this parable:

“There was a man who had two sons. The younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of the wealth that will belong to me.’ So he divided his assets between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant region, and there he squandered his wealth in dissolute living. 

When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that region, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that region, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. He would gladly have filled his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, and no one gave him anything. But when he came to his senses he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.” ’ 

So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. Then the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his slaves, ‘Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate, for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!’ And they began to celebrate.

“Now his elder son was in the field, and as he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. He replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf because he has got him back safe and sound.’ Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. But he answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command, yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your assets with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!’ Then the father said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.’ ”

The sinners and tax collectors were coming near. The first image in this story sets up the theme of distance. The undesirables of society are drawing close to Jesus, and that proximity makes the religious leaders nervous. For them, sin was like a contagious disease. If you got too close, you might catch it. A rabbi who allowed sinners and tax collectors to cozy up to him was a matter of concern. And so, they keep their distance with grumbling and condemnation. 

Then Jesus tells them a series of parables. In the first two, which we did not read today, a sheep runs away and is brought back into the fold and a coin rolls away and is swept back into the pocket of its owner. Precious things go far away and are returned. 

This parable about a man with two sons continues to develop the theme of distance. It starts with the family all together. Then the younger son takes his inheritance and travels to a distant region. When his money runs out and a famine comes over the land, he is sent even farther afield, into the fields of a pig farmer. 

Then he comes to himself. He draws near to his own senses. This propels him to go back to his father, and he sets off in that direction. But – and this may be my favorite line in this text - while he was still far off, his father runs out to wrap him in his arms and shower him with kisses. 

And then there is the other brother, who is out in the fields, distant from the homecoming party. As he approaches the house and finds out what’s going on, he refuses to go in. But, the father goes out to his other son, this other son who is also far off, and assures him, “you are always with me.” 

The language of physical distance and proximity is prevalent in this story, but it is also a story about emotional separation and intimacy. How heartbreaking it must have been for the father when his son demanded his inheritance. It would have been like the child saying to his dad, “you’re dead to me.” And then the added pain of the son taking not just money from his father but taking himself away as well. And the older brother was clearly resentful of the younger son’s behavior, creating an emotional rift between them. 

But the father maintains his emotional connection to each of his sons. As soon as the younger son returns, he is overwhelmed with joy and gratitude. He pleads with his older son to join the party, to repair his relationship with his brother, to make the family whole again. 

Each of the sons in this story creates distance from their father in different ways. The younger is selfish and demanding and reckless. The older is resentful and pious and proud. They distance themselves from their father and from each other, both physically and emotionally. 

It’s an interesting exercise to explore this story from the viewpoint of each character, seeing which of them we identify with. But the two sons are simply two examples of the many ways we distance ourselves from God and from each other. Prodigal living and perfectionism are not the only possibilities. We distance ourselves with fear and apathy, with anger and greed, with despair and self-reliance. Any number of things can send us far afield or keep us from coming closer.

And eventually, we find ourselves starving. Our world is experiencing a severe famine in the form of a lack of basic humanity, kindness, connection, and compassion. We are starving for love and affirmation, for community and joy, for relationship and hope. We long for even crumbs, even leftovers, to satiate our spirits and help us survive the loneliness, cruelty, inhumanity, and apathy that drains us of life. 

The first step to getting the nourishment we need may be to come back to ourselves. The prodigal son in the story comes back to his senses, but in Greek it says he came back to himself. We have to stop pretending we’re fine, stop faking it till we make it, stop buying things and posting things to curate an image we want the world to see. We have to come back to ourselves. And then, maybe, we can find the path back home, back to relationship, back to love and wholeness. 

Many of us were taught that the only way to approach God, to restore our relationship with God, is to humble and debase ourselves like the prodigal son. We were told we have to admit to all the terrible things we’ve done, like parking in a handicap spot or yelling at our dog or filing our taxes late. We have to bow down and declare we’re not worthy to be called a child of God, but if God would just keep us from starving, we’ll do whatever God wants. 

It's clear from this parable that what God wants is not for us to be penitent slaves. God wants us to be children who feel loved, celebrated, and cherished. 

And that goes for those of us who feel like we have done everything God wants, or at least everything it’s fair for God to expect from us. The older brother in this story is starving in his own way. His commitment to obedience and righteousness have deprived him of joy and gratitude. He’s famished for fun with his friends and resents his father for not giving him a goat they can enjoy. What he misses is that the goat, like everything else, already belongs to him. It’s his inheritance, and he refuses to accept it. 

The really beautiful and hopeful part of this story is that the father keeps moving toward his sons. Whether they have wandered away or refuse to come in to the party, the father goes out to them, runs to them, embraces them, pleads with them, even. What the father wants most of all – more than obedience, more than responsibility, more than repentance, more than security – is to be in a loving relationship with his children. He wants them to be near. He wants them to be celebrated. He wants them to be whole and well. He does everything in his power to close the distance his sons have created. 

And this is what God does for us, too. 

God keeps moving toward us, no matter how much distance we’ve put between us and God. No matter what has driven us away from God, no matter why we’ve wandered off, no matter if we refuse to draw near – God comes running out to us, God pleads with us to be close by. What God wants most of all is to be in a loving relationship with all God’s children. God will do anything to close the distance. 

There’s this fancy theological term called “the ontological divide.” It refers to how completely, fundamentally “other” God is from the creation. God exists on a whole different plane of existence. Our differentness from God creates this divide between us. The ontological divide creates an infinite distance between us and God. 

But even that did not stop God from coming to us. In Jesus, God is able to run out to embrace us, while we are still far off. In Jesus, God goes out to us when we refuse to come in to the party. In Jesus, God closes the distance. 

The really strange part about this story is that we don’t actually know how it ends. Did the prodigal son live a respectable life, pay his father back for the inheritance he squandered, apologize to his brother for taking off on the family? We don’t know. Did the older brother finally relent and join the celebration, reconcile with his brother, and feel grateful for his father’s love and trust? We don’t know. 

Because ultimately, that’s not the point of the story. The point is not whether or not we change our ways. It’s what God does, regardless of the outcome. It’s about unreasonable, extravagant, reckless, prodigal grace. 

God celebrates our nearness, whether it comes out of desperation or obedience, recklessness or righteousness. Whether we’re society’s undesirables or its most upstanding citizens, God rejoices and celebrates when we come near. And God is always ready to meet us more than halfway, always trying to convince us to join the party. 

I think maybe that’s what worship is supposed to feel like. A big party where we celebrate all of us sinners and prodigal children, all of us pious, self-righteous folk, drawing near to God. Maybe it does feel that way, a little. We may not have a fatted calf, but we do feast together. We may not do much dancing, because a Presbyterian with rhythm is an anomaly, but we make music, and we laugh and smile and hug each other. We pray for each other and rejoice with each other. 

We may not always recognize it as such, but Sunday mornings are a celebration. They are a celebration of coming near to God and God running out to meet us in Jesus Christ. They are a celebration of the new life we get to live every time we come home to God. They are a celebration of the resurrection joy that erupts every time someone who is lost, who has wandered away or cut themselves off, returns to God and is alive again in Christ.  

God is ready to celebrate with us. While we are still far off. And God is always with us. God wants our family, our human family, our whole creation family, to be together with God, to be whole and well. 

So let’s celebrate. Let’s party! And let’s take the party out into the world, inviting everyone to join – those who are still far off and those who are refusing to come in. Let’s go out to them as God comes out to us. Until every child of God knows God’s extravagant love, God’s prodigal grace. 

To God be all glory forever and ever. Amen.