Joshua 5:9a, 10-12

After Moses died, God selected Joshua to lead the Israelites. In this reading, Joshua and the Israelites have just crossed the Jordan River and now at long last are in the Promised Land.

2 Cor 5:17-21

Some members of the Corinthian community found it hard to accept Paul's teachings. They challenged his credentials as an apostle because, after all, he did not know Jesus during his earthly life. In this passage, Paul defends his ministry as an apostle.

Luke 15:1-3, 11-32

Bishop Untener's Homily

We have to keep reminding ourselves that this story of the "Prodigal Son" is a parable. That means Jesus composed it, made it up and - this is the important part - he chose the particular details to put in the story. So . . . the younger son doesn't lose his inheritance because of bad investments. He squandered it on dissolute living. You notice that when he later returns, his older brother talks about how he swallowed up the inheritance "with prostitutes." Jesus could have left out that detail, but Jesus isn't soft-pedaling the sinfulness of the people he reaches out to.

Also, in composing the story Jesus could have had him return home for higher motives. As it stands, the younger son says in effect, "I could eat better at home."

Finally, I always wonder why Jesus went and added that final piece of the story. The younger son returns home, there is a great reunion with his father, they have a celebration . . . and that could have been a fine, happy ending. But no. Jesus goes and adds that part about the older son getting miffed.

Remember that this parable was in response to the complaints of the Pharisees and the Scribes that Jesus was welcoming sinners and eating with them. That's us they're talking about - sinners who are constantly forgiven and loved by God. Jesus knows our motives aren't always perfect, and he knows that in this life things don't always work out smoothly. And this parable describes our relationship to God in real-life terms.

What is really interesting is that, when the curtain comes down, the father and the older son are arguing out in the front yard. That's where the story ends. We don't know what happened. Did the older son finally go in? Or did he stay outside and pout?

I once asked some people to whom I was giving a day of recollection to gather in small groups and write the ending. They could write it any way they wished. The results were very interesting, and here are a couple of samples.

• One group wrote: The older son does not go in and join the celebration. The father returns to the feast broken-hearted. Several weeks later he dies of a heart attack. Both sons are overwhelmed with sadness and their grief brings them together, and they are reconciled. [My comment was that this is a tempting conclusion to the story - sort of a "redemptive death" - but it seemed a bit contrived.]
• Another group had a clever ending: "When the father says, `My son, you are with me always. Everything I have is yours,' the older son says, ‘I'd like that in writing.'" [My only response was that, in today's legalistic society, it's not too far-fetched. However, it isn't much of a lesson.]
• One other was very clever. It goes this way: "The older son does not go in. He realizes that he belongs to a dysfunctional family... writes a book... goes on Oprah... makes a million bucks... and throws his own party." [I had no comment on that one.]

Afterward, I decided to write an ending of my own. It goes this way:

The father and the older son are arguing in the front yard and ... the mother comes out. She says to the two of them [now, keep in mind that there's a secret training school someplace where every mother in the world is taught to say this...] she says, "Now I have had just about enough!" She goes on. "You're both acting like children and I'm tired of it."

Then she says to her husband, "You've always favored our youngest, and you know it. You take our oldest son for granted. As a matter of fact, you take me for granted. I hardly ever hear you say 'thank-you' except to the hired hands. It's about time you started noticing the rest of your family."

Then, to the older son, "And you . . . you like to be the martyr. You act as if you're the only one who has ever had to go the extra mile, or do things that go unnoticed or un-thanked. Well, get over it. I have to do it and so does everybody else. You have to learn to swallow hard and rise above the little things in life that are unfair. Stop your silly pouting."

Then, the mother goes inside and comes out with the younger son, pulling him by the ear. "And you," she says, "you're acting like a spoiled little prince. You're in there celebrating with your friends and you never even thought to ask about your older brother, or go out to him and apologize for leaving him to do all the work. It's about time you realized that the whole world doesn't revolve around you."

Finally, she says to all three of them: "Now the three of you shake hands and work out your differences some other time. We've got company in there. Get in the house and start acting like a family. And if you can't do that, well there are lots of other places where you can go and get a job feeding the pigs!"

That is probably a realistic ending in this imperfect world, and I think that given the imperfect tone of the whole parable, Jesus would have accepted it.

What all of us need to do is write an ending - not to this parable - but to the rifts that exist in our own real lives... in our families, among acquaintances, co-workers, neighbors. This is Lent... a time of good works, a time of forgiveness, a time of reconciliation. How can we write an ending to unresolved quarrels in our lives? Again, we can invoke one of those things mothers say to their children, "I don't care who started it. Just stop it." Picture God saying that to us, and then let's figure out how to write an ending to the rifts in our own lives.

Original given on March 25, 2001