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"Rocks in a Box"
St. Mark’s Episcopal Church
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Fourth Sunday in Lent
Joshua 4:19 – 5:12
2 Corinthians 5: 17-21
Luke 15: 11-32
What do you think is inside this box? (Display a box of Triscuit
crackers). Crackers, right? Let me open it and show you. What’s
in it? (Pour contents out). Yes, rocks…found right here
in Glen Ellyn. If I were to show this box to your mother, what
would she say is in it? Now, what would God say? Children who
are 3 or 4 years old answer that Mother would say the box contains
rocks. But 6 year olds have learned, that Mother, like any other
person, could hold a false belief, and they would say that she
would be fooled by the packaging and say “Crackers.”
What would God say? No matter the age, children (who were all
Protestant) predict that God would answer “Rocks.”
Yes, people can be fooled but there is no fooling God. Or is
there? Why do we think that God knows what is in the box?
The purpose of the experiment, conducted by researcher Justin
Barrett, was to show that children are born with a tendency
to believe in all-knowing, invisible minds. What Barrett concludes
is that our minds are hard-wired for “belief” and
that as we grow up, they are filled with specifics of belief,
such as belief in one god, many gods, the Trinity and so on.
Another possible conclusion is simply that our brains are
complicated and that as they mature, we realize that there are
limits to what people can know – even mothers. For some
reason, however, God goes on being an omniscient mother –
perhaps because that is what we teach children. Young children
are told that Santa Claus is omniscient, knowing when you’ve
been sleeping, awake and if you’re bad or good. The tooth
fairy as well seems to have a mystical ability to know when
a tooth has fallen out and to come and go with supernatural
ability – financial as well as physical. If Santa Claus
and the tooth fairy have these abilities, God is far superior
and more powerful. But where do we get the idea that God is
all-knowing? Is it from our Scriptures, prayers and faith stories?
If we read the Creation story in the first chapters of Genesis,
God’s first conversation with the man begins with a question,
“Where are you?” followed by another “Who
told you that you were naked?” and another, “Have
you eaten from the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?”
and another, “What is this that you have done?”
God seems to have lost the man and track of what is going on
in the garden. It could be argued that these are rhetorical
questions and that God really does know the answers. But that
is only if we want to claim that God is all-knowing. We often
begin worship with the collect for purity, which is, “Almighty
God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known and from
you no secrets are hid.” This might imply an all-knowing
God. It is subtle but important that the prayer says our hearts
are open. If hearts are open, yes, we can see into them. It
doesn’t say that God sees through closed hearts. God sees
into open ones.
The parable that we have heard from the Gospel of Luke, and
it only appears in the Gospel of Luke, is often referred to
as the Prodigal Son, although it could be represented by many
titles, including “A man had two sons” or “The
younger son, the waiting father and the elder brother.”
Or perhaps even “The son who was filled with rocks.”
It is an amazing and memorable parable that Luke intends to
reveal the essence of the Gospel message. At the center of the
parable is a moment of great joy – when the father sees
his son from a distance. In spite of poor vision, a fuzzy human
image in the distance, across fields and down the road, yields
enough of a clue for him to know it is his son – the person
whom he has for so long yearned to see and embrace again. How
deep has his hope been for this moment? As wide as the pain
of separation, disappointment, anger, worry and despair over
his son’s fate. The joy is, as the man says, of finding
a son who was dead and now has come to life. It pales in comparison
to the man who finds his lost sheep and rejoices. It pales in
comparison with the woman who rejoices over finding a lost coin.
The father shows his joy by hugging and kissing his son and
by bringing out the best robe, sandals and ring and by throwing
a banquet – with the prized fatted calf. It is the most
wonderful of all celebrations – one that is unplanned,
extravagant and spontaneous. Everyone is invited.
On either side of this joy are two levers that test and teach
us about the heart of the Gospel. There is on the one hand,
a catalyst for joy, and on the other, a challenge to understand
and participate in the joy.
The first of these two levers is pulled when the younger son
has reached bottom. He is among the manure of pigs, being a
pig himself, willing to eat their pods. For Jews who read this,
there couldn’t be a more pathetic, terrible scene. Pigs
were an abomination and to raise them or eat their meat was
an abomination. It is at this bottom moment when the text says
that the son “comes to himself.” Facing death by
starvation, does he come to his senses? Does he discover again
who he is? Does he remember where he comes from? Perhaps all
of these. All of us can identify in some way with a moment like
this – some kind of turning point in a project, relationship
or life. This parish has experienced this. People who are in
AA and other addiction support groups know what it is to hit
bottom and begin a transformation. When we “come to ourselves,”
we experience a moment of grace that is beyond our control,
decision-making or logical explanation. Yet it happens. And
in our Gospel stories, tax collectors, prostitutes, lepers and
sinners of all kinds are literally touched by the hands of grace.
Although the younger son in today’s parable has a script
worked out in his mind of what he will say to his father, it
turns out that the words aren’t important. The father
embraces and kisses his son before the son has a chance to say
anything. Whether or not there are rocks in the box of crackers
doesn’t matter. Here at last is the box, and the father
is overjoyed to have it. The point of all of this, of course,
is that Jesus is equating the father in the parable to God.
God embraces, kisses and celebrates the lost, those who have
squandered their inheritance, those who have violated every
taboo and broken every expectation. This is good news, especially
to those who have hit bottom, keep hitting it or are heading
there fast. One would think that this would be good news for
everyone. Which leads to the second lever of the story –
the invisible lever, what happens after the parable ends. The
elder son represents the response to what is going on. He is
not so subtly a stand-in for the Pharisees and scribes who keep
challenging Jesus about his ministry and targeted audience.
The elder son has followed the rules. He has gone to church,
worked hard in the fields, honored his father and been diligent
in all duties. He says to his father, “I have never disobeyed
your command.” But he is bitter and outraged that his
brother has been treated as royalty. He isn’t getting
what he deserves. It is lucky that the younger son didn’t
encounter his brother first. Quoting again from Genesis: “Cain
said to his brother Abel, “Let’s us go out in the
field.” And when they were in the field, Cain rose up
against his brother Abel, and killed him.” And again God
asks a question, “Where is your brother Abel?””
What does the younger son deserve? What is fair? These questions
don’t seem to matter or be relevant to the father in the
story or to the Father that Jesus calls “abba.”
We are left wondering how the older son will hear the words
his father speaks to him. They are poignant and moving: “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 invisible lever is ours to pull – up or down. Will
the son join in the celebration? Would we if we were in his
shoes, and more importantly, will we when we are invited in?
Many Christians focus on the question about who will be saved.
John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress revolves around
the hero, Christian and his question, “What must I do
to be saved?” Christian carries an enormous burden, full
of the wrongs he has done along with the weight of his fears,
worries and grief. Like the younger son, he is stuck in the
manure of the pig sty. At his moment of utter despair, he sees
Evangelist, coming to lead him to the path that will take him
to Christ to the Celestial City. When Christian makes a wrong
turn, Evangelist turns up to show him the way. This story is
so often the model of the Christian struggle – to make
the difficult journey to Christ, with the constant pressure
and fear of losing the way. It makes us wonder and worry about,
even pity all of those others who aren’t on the path to
Christ – those who won’t be saved. The parable of
the father and his two sons, which was told by Jesus himself,
offers a radically different paradigm about salvation and an
answer to the question, “What must I do to be saved?”
In fact that really isn’t the question at all. It is,
something more akin to, “Will I join a celebration with
prostitutes, tax collectors and sinners?” Will I want
to sit at the banquet table with people who have wronged me
or represent everything that I am not, including those who deserve
to die, those who I know for a fact look like Triscuits on the
outside but are rocks on the inside? Can we stand the thought
that all are saved?
Joy is at the center of the parable and at the center of our
lives. When we celebrate the Eucharist, the Great Thanksgiving,
we taste and see what that banquet will be like, in the fullness
of time. Here, in this church, where all are welcome, we come
to know what it is like to be together and feast at God’s
table. And when we leave after our gathering, we are empowered
to go into the world to see the face of Christ in each and every
person. This is difficult work, but it is the work we are called
to do. It is the work that prepares us to pull that second lever
of the story. It will be our choice whether to move it up or
down – to open the door to join in or close the door and
walk away. In the 1940s, Johnny Mercer wrote the lyrics to a
song called “Fools Rush In.” Perhaps he had the
Christian challenge in mind.
Fools rush in
Where many fear to tread
And so I come to you my love
My heart above my head
Though I see
The danger there
If there’s a chance for me
Then I don’t care
Fools rush in
Where wise men never go
But wise men never fall in love
So how are they to know
When we met
I felt my life begin
So open up your heart and let
This fool rush in
Amen.
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