|
September 16, 2007 Rev. Steve Gehlert Everybody knew, everybody said, he's not a bad person. But he'd already made some choices that had given him a taste of the fast life. Being young and fun-loving, he liked what he tasted. He wanted more. So he was restless, eager to do his own thing. But that wasn't possible if he was living at home. Oh, he could sneak out for booze or dope once in a while, or maybe sneak it in. But that was no fun; he didn't want to have to watch what he was doing or worry about the consequences if he was caught. That's why he began to think about finding a place where he could be totally free, do whatever he wanted, and not have to answer to anybody. Well, there were places where he could do that. Problem was he needed money to be able to enjoy them. Because, even though his family crimped his style, they did do one thing; they provided what he needed - a roof over his head, food, and clothes. On his own, he'd have to buy all that himself. If he was going to be able to make it one his own, he'd have to get some money. Then he had an idea. My family's doing alright. That means when my parents die, I'll inherit plenty of dough. But why should I have to wait? I'll tell Mom and Dad, "I don't want to wait for you to die for my inheritance. I want to be free to spend and enjoy it while I'm young. I want it now, to do with as I please. Besides, you guys are a drag; I want out of here." He talked to a few people about this plans, even, surprisingly, his Rabbi, who he told that things just weren't working for him at home, and he was thinking about moving out and finding a place with-out the tension. To which, the Rabbi, who knew him pretty well, added, "so you can party all you want." He admitted that was right, saying "I don't intend to do that forever, but I'm young; I want to have fun." Even though those words were hard for the rabbi to hear, he thought no evil of him, for he also knew that, he's not a bad person. He told a few friends, too. Though they all knew he was leaving to find a place where booze and drugs, were free and easy, where he could party all he wanted, that's not what he talked about. He covered the real reason by talking about how unfair his parents were. And though they all knew what he'd been doing, and intended to do, they didn't say anything. They didn't want to challenge him, because, after all, to do that might imply that they didn't believe that, he's not a bad person. So, convinced that the way to be happy was to "take the money and run," that's what he told his parents he wanted to do. Which, self-focused and insensitive though it may've been, is not to put him down, because everybody, even his parents in their pain, knew, he's not a bad person. What could they say? What could they do? He was saying that having a good time was more important to him than they were. All they were, was in his way. Though it scared them and broke their hearts, they didn't argue with him. They gave him what he wanted: his share of the inheritance; half of everything they had, right then and there, before they died. Yet, even though his heart had already gone somewhere else, they still loved him, because they knew, he's not a bad person. That's what everyone knew and still believed. That's why they all loved him: family, friends, and rabbi. Loved him before he left and afterwards, too. But they it in very different ways. The rabbi prayed for him and tried to talk about his decision with his friends. He hoped they could help him see how his decision had hurt the people who loved him most and how it could end up hurting him as well. The rabbi believed that you can love someone and know that they're not a bad person and still worry about the choices they make. In fact, he believed that if you love someone you have a responsibility to challenge them if they make hurtful choices, even they might get angry. That's what love's all about. That's your obligation, because you know that, he's not a bad person. His friends saw things differently. They talked about his right to make his own choices and repeated what he'd said about his parent's strictness. They were afraid of sounding judgmental, as if any disapproval of his choices would suggest they thought he was "bad." That's why their first response to the rabbi's concerns was, "But he's not a bad person." "Of course he's not," said the rabbi, "but we have to help him see that he's made some bad choices." They refused to hear it. They preferred to be quiet, and so give their silent affirmation to his choice of drugs and booze over family. In fact, they were upset that the rabbi tried to talk about it, "what if he knew we were talking about him; he'd never want to come back! He might think that we've forgotten that, he's not a bad person" To them, love's about affirmation, about not being challenged, but rather told, or at least allowed to think to think, that you're just great, that everything you're doing is just fine. To them, friendship means being allowed to be autonomous – which literally means to make your own rules. If you never question anything he does, he's got to know, that you know, that he's not a bad person. So though his parents had questioned his choices and his rabbi had commented on his true motives, his peers, who would've had the most influence, said nothing, nothing to make him feel challenged, unaffirmed, or bad. They let him think his choices were fine. His decision to keep getting high, his valuing booze and drugs over family, his showing his parents that by leaving, was all just fine with his buds, that's the only way they thought they could show that, say it for me, he's not a bad person. So, off he went, feeling quite justified, thinking he'd convinced his friends that his home was intolerable, and so why not go somewhere where he could enjoy himself. Off he went, with all he'd been given, to a far away country, not necessarily so far away in miles, but to a place that he could live in a totally different way than he'd lived at home. His parents watched him go with sad and broken hearts, because no matter how foolish, insensitive, and selfish, he was being, they knew better than anyone that, (say it, again), he's not a bad person. What a sad commentary on friendship! His so-called friends, are as lost he is (at least in regard to friendship. They don't know what it is. They think it's all about affirmation. They can't imagine that being a friend might mean challenging someone. They're too shallow, cowardly, to be real friends. Maybe you could call 'em fans. All a fan does is approve and cheer. Maybe that's what everybody wants. That's why you can create your own "My Space," to show yourself off and how many friends (or should I say fans) you have. You can even rank your fans (intimidate them a bit, to keep them from crossing you). That's why school pictures have become such an industry, with all kinds of glamour posses. That's why girls dress provocatively at ever younger ages. It's also why kids can start to cheat, smoke, drink, do drugs, or be promiscuous, and hear nothing from their peers. But we don't need fans, we need friends. We need people who will do the hard things for us: question, challenge. But when friendship is seen as being a fan, nobody has the courage to do that. So, with his peers responding to him as fans, not friends, he soon found himself in that new place, free to make his own rules, (which meant none), doing what he'd left home to have the freedom to do. He partied hard, got stoned when he wanted, hung with kids who did too, whose parents didn't care. He didn't think about school or work, or anything other than what felt good at the moment. But even a generous inheritance doesn't last forever. Not when you waste it in reckless living. And while saying that is not meant to challenge what I affirmed all along, that he's not a bad person, it does describe how he lived, and the result. He wasted himself and his money. But when his money ran out, the only job he could get was looking after some pigs. There, in the filth of the pigpen, something happened. "He came to himself," found himself. He reconnected with who he really was. He was not a bad person. That meant that he not only didn't belong in a pigpen, he didn't belong in the party crowd either. He belonged at home. At home where he was loved by people who really knew that he's not a bad person but who also, because they knew that, expected something of him, which was to live his true identity and worth. People who knew that anyone who is not a bad person can still get lost, knew that he was, and cared enough to grieve for him. Home is not where you can do what you want and be accountable to no one. It's where you're loved for who you are and expected to be who you really are, but where you're also loved when you are less than that, even when you make mistakes or do hurtful things. Home's where people love you enough to say hard things, that might make you angry, or challenge you to think about what you are doing. Home's where love is real and trusted enough that people'll do what's not easy. It's interesting, isn't it, that when "he came to himself" and left the far country, he didn't come back to his fans (er friends) who'd been so afraid of hurting his feelings, careful not to sound judgmental, unwilling to say that his choices might be wrong, hurtful, or destructive. No, he came back to the people who'd said hard things, set boundaries, had expectations, and held him accountable. He came home, because he'd finally discovered that real love is not about being told what you want to hear but what you need to hear, even if you're not going to like it. Home is about people really knowing that you're not a bad person, not just because they think nobody is, but because they know you deep down, know you are a child of God, and so they want to help you live like one. That's why his homecoming really meant something to his parents. They knew that what he'd done meant something. That though he was not a bad person, he was lost, and his coming home meant that he'd found himself again. They didn't pretend, as his so-called friends did, that what he was doing, where he was living made no difference; it did. What he did had consequences, stood for something, so did where he lived. That's why the Father couldn't control his joy when he saw him coming home. For the friends, who denied that his going away meant anything, it was no big deal. Thank God, that even if his friends were too shallow and cowardly to speak up, he had parents who knew difference, They were willing to bear the pain of standing for something, hoping to help him choose the right way, and mourning when he turned from it. But that meant that now they could know the joy, the real joy of his turning back. Because they knew that he had been lost and now was found. His peers, who called themselves his friends, to whom nothing really mattered, had no concept of that. They didn't see that you don't help someone whose lost by pretending that they're not. If you let them go on pretending, why should they try to find themselves, or find the way home? This young man, whom we've all affirmed, is not a bad person, came to himself and came home. Other people, each of whom, is not a bad person, never come to themselves, never come home. How many had friends who were content to be fans, who said nothing about their choices, because the only way they could affirm their essential goodness was to say everything they did was OK? Thankfully our God is not like that. Thankfully, the One who came to us, to put a human face on God, was not like that. Jesus got in trouble for his graciousness toward people who'd made big mistakes, people who were lost. But he didn't deny that they were lost; he knew that wouldn't help them. He didn't pretend that they didn't need help. He knew that they did. So that's what he did; he loved them, helped them find their way home, and welcomed them when they did. That's what he had the courage to do. That courage is terribly lacking in many who call themselves friends today. Grace is not pretending nothing's wrong; its loving anyway, and, dealing with what's wrong. In the story of the prodigal son, the Father (God) grieves because the son, who he knows is not a bad person, is lost. That's why he's so full of joy when the boy finds himself and comes home. Thank God for those who have the courage to love like that. How great it would be if we all did. |
More Sermons |
Return to Main Page |
|