“What God is Like”

Luke 15:11b-32
March 11, 2007

St. Paul UMC, Little Rock

Rev. John A. Fleming

Sooner or later it is bound to happen. It might happen when a child climbs into your lap and asks the question. It might happen when a friend who is facing something pretty tough, a real struggle for them, they might want to know. It might even happen to you when your faith is on shaky ground. From age to age, the question is always the same. It is this question, “Tell me, what is God like?”

People in Jesus’ day were no exception to wondering about that. They, too, needed an answer to it. So one day Jesus told a story. Actually he told three stories that were tied together with the ideas of lostness and celebration. By far, the greatest of the three stories was about a man who had two sons.

We know this story. We have come to call it the parable of the prodigal son. It’s not hard to find ourselves somewhere in this story. Sometimes we are the wayward son. At other times we are the son who never left. This morning I would like for us to also know that this is a story about a loving father who is so full of grace that he lavishes it freely on both of his lost sons.

I have said this before. I don’t think the Bible gets any better than it does here in Luke. If you’ve ever wondered about God and what God is like; if you have unanswered questions about the nature of God, then I’d suggest you turn to this story.

So what is God really like? Jesus says that God is like a father who is willing to let his young son go to the far country. You will remember this son’s request. He asked, “Father, give me my share of the estate.” What is remarkable about the request is that the father granted it.

As most of you know my dad is helping out with worship for a few weeks. Dad, can I have my share of the inheritance? Dad is probably more inclined to give it to me at age thirty-nine than if I were the prodigal’s age. Back then my father might have said, “Are you kidding me?” He might have exclaimed, “Dream on!” He might have just given me that look that I have seen for all of my years.

The father in the story gives his son what he would receive upon his death. You need to know this. The request was unheard of in Jesus’ day. It was a slap in the face to this father. It was the equivalent of him saying to the one who raised him, “You are as good as dead to me!” I think there is something in the father that knows better than to give his young son his share. I also think that there is something in the Father that knows his son will be on his way with or without the inheritance. This father, you see, is supposed to represent God. This Father, our God, never pulls back His hand. This God never withholds his blessing. This God never stops considering His children.

The father in our story knows that he cannot compel his son to stay home. He knows that He cannot force His love on his beloved. He knows the pain his son’s freedom will cause both of them. You will know this. God has given us a wonderful thing called free will. We make decisions. We choose paths. Sometimes those paths lead us to far countries. So what is God like you ask? God is like a father who let his son go.

God is also like a father who let his son come home. Things do not go well in the far country. That is often the case. Jesus tells us that the son, “…squandered his property in dissolute living.” Another word for dissolute is immoral. We don’t know what he did. Later in the story, the older brother claims that his sibling spent his inheritance on prostitutes. But we don’t know what the younger son did.

What we do know is that it got so bad that he did what any good Jew would never do. A good Jew would have nothing to do with pigs. This boy not only worked to feed the pigs. He longed to eat what they were eating. It got to be pretty bad. Jesus tells that the son came to himself. Other versions of the Bible say that this son came to his senses (New International Version). What that means is that the young son longed for a home that was not supposed to be his any longer. He thought about settling for something that was second best, for employment as one of his father’s hired hands.

Jesus stretches the homecoming here. Listen carefully, “While he was still a long way off, his Father saw him and was filled with compassion. He ran to his son….” I think you should know that men in that culture did not run. Men were wrapped in long robes. Their running shoes would have been sandals. But this father ran to his son.

Look at what he does when he reaches him. I’ve missed this before. I’ve never noticed his strong affection for his boy. The father ran to his son, embraced him, and kissed him. The father saw him. He saw what he was. He saw where he was coming from. He saw what he had been doing. And he ran to him and embraced him and kissed him.

Contrast that with the son. His head is down. His eyes are downcast. He wonders what his reception will be like. He has to speculate about what his father’s response will be. One look at his son gives wings to this father. He ran to him. He threw his arms around him. He kissed him. We might have kicked him, but then again, we are not God. God the almighty, you see, throws his arms around prodigals, holds on to us, kisses us and reminds us that we are still His children. There will be more rejoicing in heaven over the one son who repents than over the ninety-nine who need no repentance.

Now get this. Not only does he welcome him home. He also restores him as a member of the family. That is what the flurry of activity is all about. Notice the word quick in our lesson. Quick, he says, bring out the best robe. Robes were reserved for honored guests. Put a ring on his finger. It was the ring of inheritance. It said you are my son again. Get the kid some shoes. Slaves, in those days, were the only ones who didn’t wear shoes. Kill the fatted calf, it’s time to celebrate. “This, my son, was lost, but now is found. He has come home!”

So what is God like? God is like a father who lets a son go. And God is like a father who lets a son come home.

Max Lucado tells a great story about a woman and her daughter who lived in a third world country. Their husband and father had died and the two had struggled to make ends meet. But they were doing well. That is until one morning when the mother found a note from her daughter at the breakfast table. “Mother, I have gone to the city to make a better life for us.” The daughter was a teenager. Her mother knew that the only way she could make it was to sell herself. So she did what any loving mother would do. She took all the money she had, bought a round trip bus ticket to the city. When she arrived there, she went to a photo booth, one of those places where you can take pictures of yourself. She used all the money she had. Then she went and posted the pictures in all the places she thought her daughter might see it. When the pictures were up, she went home.

Imagine the surprise of the daughter, that day, when she came down the long staircase of the hotel to see a picture of her mother behind the front desk. She reached for the picture, looked at it, turned it over and read the note her mother had written on all the pictures. It read, “Baby, I love you. Whatever you have done, whatever you have become, I love you. Please come home.” And she did. And she did. How does the song put this? “Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling, calling for you and for me. See on the portals He’s waiting and watching, watching for you and for me. Come home.” God is like a father who lets his children come home.

Now. I guess the real question is that now that we know what God is like, how will we respond? What will our reaction be to that kind of unmerited, undeserved, unending grace? You could be like the prodigal who was overwhelmed by it. Or you could be like his brother who is bothered by it.

Jesus said that there was a man who had two sons. The first ran away, squandered his inheritance, and came home in hopes of being a slave. The other one did all the right things. He was obedient and dutiful. He was law abiding and hard working. People respected the older son. They praised him. They considered him to be a model child. And in the scene painted with words by Jesus, the older son is out there on the porch as mad as he can be. His far country is something called resentment. He is as lost in it as he can be.

Henri Nowen is a great spiritual leader and writer. He wrote a Lenten devotional about the lostness of both boys. These are his words, “Did you ever notice how lost you are when you are resentful? It’s a very deep lostness. The younger son gets lost in a much more spectacular way – giving in to his lust and his greed, using women, playing poker, and losing his money. His wrongdoing is clear cut. He knows it and so does everyone else. Because of it, he can

come back and be forgiven. The problem with resentment is that it is not so clear-cut. It’s not spectacular. And it is not overt, and it can be covered by the appearance of a holy life. Resentment sits very deep in you, in your heart, in your bones, and in your flesh, and often you don’t even know it is there….you’re lost in a very profound way.”

Let me preach a bit by saying today that our churches are full of people for whom this story is for. How do you feel about grace, you who have kept the rules, followed the regulations, been faithful and honest and hardworking all of your days? This is a story about grace.

How does the story end? It’s interesting. It really doesn’t end. It’s full of questions. Does the older son come in and join the party, or does he stay out there on the porch? Does the younger son find his place back in the family and if he does, does he later get resentful and run again? I don’t know. What I do know is that the Father is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. What is God like? God is like a father who loves both his boys. Let us pray.

(The quotation for this morning’s sermon comes from the March-April issue of Homiletics Magazine. The reference is, Henri Nowen, From Fear to Love: Lenten Reflections on the Parable of the Prodigal Son, (Fenton, Missouri: Creative Communications for the Parish, 1998), 13-14).