Everything Old Has Passed Away

Scripture Lessons: 2 Corinthians 5: 16-21 and Luke 15: 1-3 and 11b-32 Sermon Title: Everything Old Has Passed Away Preached on March 31, 2019 We call this room a Sanctuary. That’s a good word. It’s a word that disassociates this room from places like a court house or an exam room. Do you know what I mean? The word “sanctuary” connotates safety. This is meant to be a place of refuge and forgiveness, which is something that we all need because in so many other places we’re being poked and prodded, feeling examined or exposed. I remember how much I feared the summer time, not because I feared getting out of school. No. What I feared was going to the pool and taking my shirt off in public. The swimming pool can be a scary place that way. Putting yourself out there without the protection of being fully clothed isn’t easy to do, and so the doctor’s office is worse. You have to get on a scale. I don’t like that. Then you have to answer a bunch of questions. A doctor once told me that whatever I told him, he multiplied by three. “How often do you eat fast food?” he’d ask. I’d tell him about twice a week, which he’d multiply by three to get six, which was closer to the truth. The doctor’s office is a place of healing, but it can feel like a place of shame, and sometimes it starts before you even get into the exam room. I once was in the waiting room reading a preacher book, a Bible commentary. The guy next to me noticed, which I assumed was bad, because he just looked like one of those guys I didn’t want to engage in a religious conversation. He started telling me about how he reads the Bible every day. Hearing him say that made me a little nervous, so just as I was preparing to tell him “yes, I have been saved,” he said, “I read the Bible every day because it tells me what God is like and how I should be.” Now there’s something valuable that I might have missed. Many of us read the Bible. We all do, but what are we looking for? Getting to our Second Scripture Lesson for this morning from the Gospel of Luke, according to the great reformer, Martin Luther, we have here “the Gospel in miniature.” The parable of the prodigal son reduces the Gospel to its most essential message, for it tells us succinctly: 1. What God is like. 2. How we should be. First, what God is like. You’ve heard it before, that God is Our Father, Who Art in Heaven. Father can be a perfectly appropriate metaphor for God, so long as we pick the right kind of father. It’s been said that among major league baseball players, when asked, “what part of playing baseball as a kid did you dread the most,” a majority answered, “the ride home with my dad.” The other day I saw a great sign put up at a little league field. It was a set of rules for parents: 1. Remember that they are just kids. 2. And that the coaches are volunteers. 3. Recognize that this is meant to be fun. 4. Leave the umpires alone, and remember that your kids can hear what you say to them. 5. And win or lose, buy your child some ice cream. I like those rules, because I remember standing in Left Field out at Oregon Park, and some dad yelled to his son, “hit it to the kid in left field, it looks like he’s asleep.” If you’re wondering how that made me feel, know that this happened at least 30 years ago, but I still remember exactly what this dad said. The idea of a sanctuary is nice then, because so many places are not like what this place is meant to be. And the idea of having a father in heaven, well, whether you think that sounds great or terrifying depends on what kind of father we are talking about. My dad was most always kind, which I now know is truly a gift, because there are all kinds of different dads. I’ve heard of a father who disowned one of his daughters. Another who returned the letters sent by his son with no response, other than sending back the son’s letter with the grammar corrected. If this is a place focused on a Father in heaven, is it any wonder that some people see this room, not as a Sanctuary where they are safe and protected, but as an exam room where they are judged and condemned? Last Tuesday we were planning for this worship service, debating whether or not it’s best to sit or stand during the prayer of confession. You wonder what your church staff does the week. Well, there you have it. We decided that sitting during the Prayer of Confession was the best, because to sit with your head bowed is a more penitential position than standing, but then we wondered when and how to invite you to stand again. Joe Brice suggested that after confessing our sins he might just say, “Would the defendant please rise.” He won’t ever do that, but this idea gets us to the heart of the matter. If we hear this story of the Prodigal Son, with the guilty young man who asked for his inheritance early, basically saying, “Dad, I wish you were dead, so I could have what you’re leaving me in the will,” then took the money and squandered it all on loose living and so lost track of himself and the standards by which he was raised that he found himself looking longingly at the sloop the pigs were eating, and then in desperation went back to his Father in the hopes of being brought on as one of the hired hands, what do we expect after confessing our sins and hearing the words: would the defendant please rise? Condemnation? Some received that from their fathers. Shame? In some family’s shame was never in short supply. What were punishments like in your house? After wreaking the car at 16 did they ever let you forget it? Did you ever feel like there was reconciliation again? If your earthly father has inspired in you a distrust or fear of God, then hear what God is like, for 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. That’s what God is like. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. That’s what God is like. But how should we be? That’s in this story too. Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. When he found out that his prodigal brother had returned, rather than welcome him like the Father, this older son did what so often we do. He became angry and refused to go to the party. 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 property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!” If we go to the Bible to learn what God is like and how we should be, in this older brother, we hear a warning about how we too often are. We don’t always open the doors of this church wide enough. Too often we accept God’s grace, while failing to pass it on. We take pride in our moral fiber, while failing to recognize that the ones we’ve left out, fenced in, turned our back on, lashed out at, or sent an angry email to is our brother or sister. This is a parable of Jesus that not only tells us what God is like, but how we should be, and how we should be is not like the older brother, for the older brother is more focused on what his brother is getting than what he has received according to the father’s mercy. Sometimes the grass appears so green on the other side, that we fail to see what’s underneath our own feet. Sometimes we focus so on our neighbors’ sin, that we fail to see how we need forgiveness. Sometimes we are so angry that our brother has crossed a finish line that we fail to see how we’ve won the race. Within us all is a prodigal son who needs forgiveness, and an older brother who forgets about grace. The Cherokee said that within us all are two wolves: One is evil. He is envy, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, and false pride. But the other is good. He is love, hope, humility, kindness, and compassion. As they fight within us all, the question is, which one will win? The old Cherokee teachers said, “The one we feed.” That poor older brother. Refusing the good feast of the father to feed on his own resentment. Refusing to drink from the cup of salvation that he might drink his fill of inferiority and false pride. He’s not so unlike us, for the Father would welcome many into this house, that we would look down our noses at. The Father would welcome with open arms many who we still resent, holding close the memory of how they squandered their inheritance and left us to hold things together. But what kind of God do we honor with such behavior? Not the God of Scripture. Not the God of Grace and Redemption. No. When we act so entitled, we are blind to the truth of the Gospel, for in God’s Kingdom Spring has come again, so we must not allow winter to linger on in our hearts. From now on, regard no one from a human point of view; [for] anyone who is in Christ is a new creation; everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! Amen.