Three For the Price of One

It’s complicated. If we’re going to talk about the parable of the Prodigal Son - as Jesus tells it - that’s got to be the very first thing to say about it. It’s complicated.

I feel I have to be clear that I mean Jesus’ telling of the story as it appears in the Gospel of Luke because it’s one of those parables (like the Good Samaritan) that has made it’s way into general culture. Sort of. There have been a variety of retellings, in different eras and different contexts, and the term itself has come into everyday use. Sure.

But I wonder sometimes, if we don’t use the term out of context and in a simplified way or simply focus on one aspect of the story. Like all the parables of Jesus, this one has layers, but it has many more than most and the characters and their relationships are much more complicated than a simple “return of the one that left” kind of story. 

That’s not to say there haven’t been contemporary retellings of equal complexity. It’s just that either one focuses on a particular aspect of the story or one dives into its complexity. I think that might even be the secret to its enduring popularity: it can speak very clearly, but at the same time offer an opportunity to engage the struggles that we might see in our own family dynamics or in those around us.

The message might at first seem simple enough. A son chooses to leave home and live a “prodigal” life, one that’s extravagant, lavish and reckless. When the money runs out and the first son finds themselves destitute, they decide to return home. The father welcomes them back unconditionally. The lost is found, he was dead and is now alive again, the father says. There’s a big party to celebrate. That seems to be the end of the Prodigal Son Story.

But that’s not where Jesus stops. There’s more. It’s the Resentful Son Story. See, there was two sons and the other one stayed and worked. When the prodigal one returns home, no one bothers to go and tell him, out in the fields where he’s working. He finds out when he returns at the end of the day, exhausted. He’s hurt, resentful and angry. When the father tries to bring him in, he refuses. He tells his father he’s worked like a slave since the other’s been gone and won’t hear the father’s love and joy that his brother has returned. And that’s where Jesus ends it. There’s no indication what that son does now. We’re left to decide.

But I think that’s why Jesus stops there. There’s more. Let’s call it the Unconditional Love Story. Both sons are offered love, each responding to it their own way. One goes, loses his way, but finds his way back. I would say that the other loses his way too. Was he just resentful of his brother when he said that he’d worked like a slave or was there more? Is it just his brother’s return or was that simply the climax of a life of feeling stuck and unappreciated? It’s complicated.

We don’t really know where any of these stories go next. Does the prodigal son stay and live well? What does the resentful son do? And how does the father embrace them both? What we do know is that Jesus tells these stories in a very real context: he’s been spending his time with the lost and broken, the sinners and “tax collectors” - all the wrong people, according to the temple authorities. And when he welcomes those lost and broken home, the temple authorities criticize and complain. They see Jesus flaunting the structures, rules and traditions they’re trying to uphold. All Jesus sees is love. 

I think that’s why Jesus leaves this story hanging. Jesus wants us to wrestle with it. Faced with the practicality of structure and societal norms on one hand and the extravagance of unconditional love on the other, where does the story go next?

Keep Shovelling

I get that we’re all different and we can disagree on things. I get that we’re all different and that can sometimes be scary to people, particularly when we don’t understand the way - or the why - others are different. I get that we’re all different and we’d really like to have our own way.

I think we also know that disagreement ought to be met with discussion and debate, fear of difference should be met with interaction and learning, and our own way should be met with a healthy openness to new ideas.

But it doesn’t seem to happen that way lately.

So often it seems like discussion and debate turns to mean spirited personal attacks, name calling and demonizing, factual information is being replaced with, at best, uncritical opinion and, at worst, outright fabrication, and new ideas are being rejected out of hand, if they’re even allowed to be expressed. It seems like we’re at a whole new ugly level of bitterness and recrimination.

I think we also know that there’s more than a fair amount of, well, what’s a good word? Rubbish, baloney, hogwash, hooey, malarky, crap? Let’s say “stuff,” for now. There’s a fair amount of stuff being offered by politicians, celebrities, corporations and others trying to sell a product or an idea or even someone just trying to get their own way who’ll saying anything, absolutely anything, to convince you to buy/vote for/support them. It’s not just on social media, it’s everywhere.

It’s all, well, one form of manure or another.

I think Jesus would ask you if that’s the kind of manure you want your life to be filled with. More importantly, is that the kind of manure you want to spread on the world around you?

In Luke 13:6-9 Jesus tells a story about a fig tree that wasn’t producing any fruit. The owner of the tree is angry that it hasn’t produced anything for three years so they tell the gardener to cut it down. “Why should it be wasting the soil?” he asks. But the gardener asks him to give it another chance. They’ll “dig around it and put manure on it” - in other words, they’ll care for it and feed it - and if it doesn’t produce, then he can cut it down.

And that’s where Jesus stops the story. He doesn’t say if the owner said yes or no, or if the gardener took care of it and it produced fruit, or if the gardener took care of it and it didn’t. The story ends with opportunity, not result. The expectation of fruit, or lack of it, shouldn’t predetermine our effort to nurture and care for the tree. (Fig trees, by the way, take at least 3-5 years to produce fruit.) In every moment is the opportunity for new life, for growth and for bearing fruit, and we should live into that moment as the story suggests: with a shovel full of manure.

But not that first kind. Jesus means the kind that nourishes, that feeds and restores, that helps us each grow into the best human being we are, the kind that produces a fruitful life. Jesus means grace and compassion, kindness and love, he means what is true and life-giving for everyone, not just ourselves. I think Jesus is asking, what are you shovelling?

Construction Zone

Jesus tells a lot of stories. Parables - those little stories with a big point - are one of his favourite teaching tools. Some are simple, some are more complicated. For us, some might require explanation of first century life and how people of that time understood certain words and images, especially as they related to day-to-day life, but all of them were designed to be readily understood (maybe with a little thought) and all of them illustrate some universal truth.

There’s one parable that we call The Wise and Foolish Builders. Jesus tells this little story about a wise builder who built his house on rock. Storms and floods came, but the house stood firm because it had been built on rock. A foolish builder built his house on sand. The same storms and floods washed it away because it had been build on sand.

It’s a great utility metaphor: a solid foundation is necessary to build anything, whether on literal bedrock or years of study, practice or training. Without a solid base, any structure is doomed to fall, a home or building, institution, business, career, a life. Especially a life.

And that’s Jesus’ concern when he uses it. The story appears in the gospel of Matthew at the end of the Sermon on the Mount and in Luke at the end of the corresponding Sermon on the Plain. Jesus offers this wisdom at the end of a lengthy teaching about how to live.

Matthew, in particular, includes The Beatitudes, teaching about the Law, teaching about moral and ethical issues, prayer and assorted other parables in his sermon. Whether it was one full length sermon or teachings assembled by Matthew that way, it is a key source of Jesus’ teaching. And then, at the end, this mic drop.

I don’t think Jesus means to say the foundation for our lives is just faith in God. Or Jesus. Or even in Jesus’ teachings. It’s certainly not about behaviour. He even prefaces the parable with another one of those great comments about how those who say they believe, use his words and put on a good show of behaving the way they should, just don’t get it. Those people don’t really “know” Jesus. To know Jesus is to live Jesus, that’s the foundation he’s talking about.

Faith needs to be put into more than practice, it needs to be put into life. All those teachings, from the Beatitudes to the Law and everything else, are meaningless unless lived from the heart. We build what we build from the good in our heart: love, grace, compassion, justice - all the things Jesus was just talking about - lived everyday from the heart.

It’s not easy and the world will push back. The house might get hail damage or broken windows, it might need new shingles and a fresh coat of paint, but it will be a home. Being Jesus means being authentic and genuine with what’s in your heart and, according to Matthew, the crowd sees that in Jesus that day. Will others see it in you?

It's not you, it's me

I’ve talked about the parable of the Good Samaritan before. A lot. It’s one of the most familiar parables of Jesus and, even if you don’t know the story itself, it’s pretty likely that you’ve heard someone referred to as a Good Samaritan and you know what that means.

It’s certainly a story worth repeating and the sentiments we often draw from it are certainly true, even if that wisdom becomes a little generic or stale. Sometimes, though, events in the world around us can bring them into sharper focus.

I think it’s important to remember that the parable, which only appears in the Gospel of Luke, is told in a particular context. A person comes to Jesus with a question: they ask what they need to do to gain eternal life. Jesus replies with a question of his own: what does the law say? The person answers that we should love God with all our being and love our neighbour as we love ourselves. Yes, says Jesus, that’s right. What, exactly, is a neighbour, the person asks, and Jesus replies with this story.

A man’s on the road to Jerusalem when he’s attacked, robbed and left for dead, naked in a ditch. The first person to come by is a priest, who walks by on the other side of the road. A Levite comes by, sees the man and does the same. Then a Samaritan comes, sees the man and stops to help him. He takes him to an inn in the next town and pays for his care.

Which one is being a neighbour, asks Jesus. The person who asked the first question answers that it’s the one who showed mercy. Yes, says Jesus, now go and do the same.

Even in the broadest understanding of “be kind to strangers” or “everyone is my neighbour,” we’re already on the right track. But this story isn’t some generic wisdom or universal platitude that we might think sounds great but find easy to circumvent when we’re confronted with it. It’s focused and specific.

The neighbour is us. I’ll come to the characters in a moment, but the question Jesus answers should begin with “you” because the question he asks at the end is “who is being the neighbour in the story?” The person answers the one who shows mercy and Jesus says go and do it, then.

I think we tend to hear this story as meaning everyone is our neighbour, therefore we should be loving, compassionate and kind. But that’s not the point. The Samaritan’s actions aren’t contingent on the other person, they’re his actions. We love because we are being a good neighbour, not because of who we encounter.

That’s the point of Jesus’ character choices. I don’t think it’s just the shock of the true neighbour being a Samaritan, a very personal enemy to Jews for a variety of reasons, but mostly because they were Jews of a different tradition to Judaism. The thing is, the name Samaritan is from a Greek word that comes from an ancient Hebrew word that means to keep safe or guard. They saw themselves as keepers of the Law. A priest and a Levite, a temple worker responsible for ritual and instruction, would also see themselves as keepers of the Law. And yet, which one actually lived the law? Which one was the neighbour? Which one brought the law to life with a chance encounter on the road?

Go and do likewise.

Beginning Thanksgiving

It’s Thanksgiving! The one day we set aside to remind ourselves of something we should be every day: thankful.

It’s not always easy to feel thankful, it isn’t. But it’s an essential practice, one that’s empowering and inspiring, especially when things are challenging.

The Gospel of Luke records a story of Jesus meeting ten lepers on the road. I know, that doesn’t sound like a thanksgiving story at first, but stay with me. They keep their distance, of course, but the call out to Jesus and say “have mercy on us.” Not “heal us” or “feed us” or even “help us,” they ask for mercy. Jesus tells them to go and show themselves to the priests at the temple.

That might not sound helpful to us, but, in Jesus’ day, if you were sick or disabled or something bad happened to you, they believed it was God punishing you for doing something wrong. If you got better or your circumstances changed, you had to be absolved and approved by the priests before you could be restored to society.

I don’t know if the lepers believed they’d be healed, but they follow Jesus’ instructions and, on the way there, they’re healed - “made clean.” One of them turns back and, while the others continue on to the Temple, he returns to Jesus and says something we don’t hear being said to Jesus very often: he says thank you. He praises God and thanks Jesus. In hie response, Jesus points out to his followers that only one returned and that this one was a Samaritan, a foreigner and traditionally an enemy of Jews. His last words to the man are “go your way, your faith has made you well.”

Sure, it’s a classic story of Jesus doing what Jesus does, offering healing to the sick and restoration to the marginalized, regardless of their culture or nationality. But there’s something bigger here, something more rare. There’s thankfulness.

There’s no indication that the other nine, who followed instructions and went to the temple, weren’t appreciative. We don’t hear about them again, but I like to think they did as they were told, the priests went “wow, good for you, you’re restored” and they lived happily ever after, grateful for the second chance.

But physically healed and restored to society are not enough for the tenth man. He needs to acknowledge the gift of new life given to him. Yes, it’s possible he was raised by very well-mannered parents who taught him to always say please and thank you, just to be polite. But it’s not politeness that’s happening here, it’s understanding, it’s gratitude being offered to the source of his new life and it’s faith that it wasn’t just the word of Jesus that was the source, but God, the very Spirit of Life. That’s why it’s this moment when Jesus says “go your way, your faith has made you well.”

This man has been more than physically healed. His gratitude for this gift connects to his heart, mind and spirit, too. His whole way of living has been changed. When Jesus says “go your way, your faith has made you well,” he means the hope of this man’s future: wholeness. Beginning in gratitude offers an opportunity to embrace each moment, appreciate it for what it is and live it fully and wholly.

Every moment is an opportunity to begin.

Simple Beginnings

It’s the simplest things, sometimes.

The National Day for Truth and Reconciliation is September 30, a day also known as Orange Shirt Day. Most Canadians know the story told by Phyllis Webstad about how, when she was a child, she went to a residential school. Her Granny had bought a new orange shirt for her and when she arrived at the school it was taken from her and never returned. The story has become a symbol for all that was taken by the residential school system: culture, traditions, language, families, childhoods, lives. It’s become an inspiration for the sharing of stories and for honouring the experiences of survivors and those who didn’t, their families and their communities, and acknowledging the impact the tragedy has. Every child matters.

A shirt. It was just a simple shirt. Except it wasn’t, it was a precious gift from her Granny who was the centre of her life. It was a connection to the life she knew and loved, a connection broken when it was taken away. And it was just the first of many things to be taken away. Now the orange shirt, and its story, are a sign of the beginning of telling the stories, of sharing the truth that offers the hope of reconciliation.

The Gospel of John tells the miracle story of Jesus feeding a large crowd with only a few loaves of bread and a couple of fish. Then, a short while later, people from that same crowd follow him and ask him to do more to show that he’s the one sent by God. After all, they say, Moses fed their ancestors with bread in the wilderness. Jesus points out that it wasn’t Moses that did that, but God, from heaven. When they ask him to do the same, he tells them “I am the bread of life, whoever comes to me will never be hungry.”

It’s bread. Just plain, simple bread. Except it isn’t, it’s a precious gift from God who is the centre of Jesus’ life. The people were fed, their bodies nourished with the most basic of foods, but there was something beyond that, something that inspired the miracle in the wilderness with Moses and the miracle by the Sea of Galilee with Jesus, there was something that fed hearts and minds and spirits: God.

This is what Jesus offers them. It’s not Jesus pointing to himself, but to the divine spirit that’s in him and, in inviting us to that spirit, to see it in ourselves as well. When we connect with the spirit of life, our minds and hearts are energized with love, kindness and care and we are inspired to those same miracles of feeding hungry bodies. In other words, there is a wholeness to this gift of spirit that feeds the wholeness of our being: spirit, heart, mind and body. This is the gift of the bread Jesus talks about. It’s not just bread, it’s being Jesus, and in being Jesus, we are being bread to each other. 

A shirt that reminds us to listen to the stories of what was taken from others and bread that reminds us of what can be given to nourish them. Bread was not offered. The churches who ran the schools did not offer Jesus. What we can offer now is listening. We can offer truth sharing. It will be a long journey. We can offer bread.

It's there. Look closely.

I don’t know exactly why there’s ten Commandments or why those ten are the ones. It seems to me there are some other things that ought to have been included, but I wasn’t there at the time, so I didn’t have a say. Anyway, I don’t know for sure, but I have an idea.

I also don’t know if they were handed to Moses by God the way the movie “The Ten Commandments” shows it, with the fiery finger of God writing on tablets of stone while Charlton Heston stands trembling nearby. Maybe Moses was inspired by the Spirit to carve them or maybe it’s just a great story about how the people received some really great sayings in a way that prompted them to consider them “cast in stone.” Like I said, I don’t know for sure, but I have an idea.

What’s most prompted my thinking this week isn’t even the perspective of what’s there. Rather, it’s what isn’t. Simply put, I have this question: why isn’t one of the original Ten Commandments “thou shalt not hate?” Seems to me we could use a little direction on that right now.

Thing is, what I do know is that’s exactly what the Hebrews were getting out there in the wilderness, a little direction. To Jews, they’re ten sayings or ten words. They weren’t called “commandments” until the Geneva Bible in the 16th century. Then the King James Version picked it up and it became, as it were, cast in stone and, since then, the common way to refer to them. But they’re not orders or regulations, they’re wise sayings that are about how to live well together. To be clear, they’re not about behaviour, but about living. As will be said many times later, what’s important is what’s at the heart of them.

Life. That’s what’s at the heart. And what gives life: love, grace, respect, kindness, honour, trust, justice. These are the things that give life. Hate is destructive. It breaks things. It breaks people and relationships. It breaks wonder and imagination, creativity and construction. It corrodes living things. So, again, why isn’t there a “thou shalt not hate?”

Well. There is. At the heart of things. Take away all the “thou shalt nots” (there’s a lot of those) and the “thou shalts” and at the heart of things is what gives life. From the very beginning, God gives life. However you know God - God is the name I’ll use - God is the source of life, the spirit of creation. God is the energy of being. God is love and all those other things that bring life. So, right from the start, these ten sayings begin with “there is God” and then speak of our relationship with God. There’s one God, don’t try and replace God with idols, be sure to take sabbath time to rest with God.

Then, what gives life to our relationships with each other and the world around us. Take “you shall not murder,” for example. We can parse that to death and argue about kill versus murder and what’s justifiable and all, but what’s the positive expression of that? It’s “love life, honour it and keep it safe.” That’s the heart of it.

The point of the ten sayings is to provide a framework for a lost and broken people to renew and rebuild themselves into a community, to give them a new life together in relationship with the source of life, with each other and with themselves. Love does that.