March 17/18, 2007

It's Lent . . . and it's Mardi Gras

Last night following worship we had our 2nd annual Mardi Gras celebration at FOC. We had a lot of fun while supporting our youth in raising funds for their summer mission trips. The youth were amazing in the talents they shared for the variety show. It's out of the ordinary to have Mardi Gras' in the middle of Lent, but the snowstorm the end of February forced us to reschedule. Although it is still true that the original date set was the first Saturday after Lent began. Normally, Mardi Gras' celebrations culminate with Shrove Tuesday, the day before Ash Wednesday. The reasoning by some is that since Lent is a time of spiritual discipline and repentance and serious reflection, Mardi Gras' provides one last fling marked by partying and wild behavior.

Yes, it may seem out of sync to have a Mardi Gras' celebration in the middle of Lent. Sort of like Family of Christ's version of Lutherans gone wild! But then again, I have a trace of Irish blood in me. And I guess some were not too concerned about keeping a Lenten demeanor while celebrating St. Patrick's Day either. So whether or not you celebrate St. Pat's or Mardi Gras, the contrast between festive behavior and the solemn days of Lent is apparent.

In today's Gospel, we read Jesus' story of a man and his two sons. If someone wants to know what the heart of the Gospel is - if they ask what is the message that Jesus brought about God? - you can point them to this story. Some say it is the finest short story in literature. Charles Dickens, the great English author, called it "the greatest story ever told." The Good Samaritan and this parable are the two most widely known stories by people inside and outside Christian faith. This story sums the central message of the whole New Testament. It is the gospel in a nutshell.

It's important to understand the context for this parable. Jesus is keeping some questionable company. He is dining with the tax collectors and sinners. The tax collectors were the known cheaters of the day - despised by the Jews as traitors and by the Romans for skimming money off the tax collections. Sinner was a more general term for those who didn't follow the law.

The Pharisees - the religious perfectionists of the day - are deeply offended by the company Jesus is keeping. He is hanging around with the wrong crowd - and the religious leaders who tried to do things the right ways - the proper way - are not impressed. In fact, they are incensed. In response, Jesus tells some stories.

First, he describes a compulsively crazy shepherd who has 100 sheep but is missing one and will not rest until it is found. When the shepherd finds the lost sheep, he returns back home and throws a party. And, he says, there is more joy in heaven over one person who comes to his senses than over ninety-nine good people who don't see their own sinfulness. "Do you get it" he asks the goody two shoes? Apparently not, so he tries another parable. There is a woman who has ten coins and loses one. She searches carefully until she finds it - and then, just like the shepherd, she calls her friends and neighbors and invites them to a party. And there is more joy in heaven over one person who comes to her senses than over ninety-nine good people who don't see their own sinfulness.

On one hand, we can identify with the woman who searches for her coin, assuming it was worth more than a few cents. It's frustrating when we can't find something we're looking for, and it's a great feeling when we finally find it. But on the other hand, unless it was something that was incredibly valuable, who ends up throwing a party to celebrate?

Apparently the listeners think it's crazy too, so he tells another story. Traditionally it's been called the story of the prodigal son, but a better descriptive title could be the Waiting Father or the Forgiving Father.

There are three main characters: a father and two sons. The younger son comes to his father and wants his share of the inheritance. This is not simply a case of someone wanting to find himself, or going on a search for the meaning of life, or even sewing his wild oats before he settles down to find a real job. This is more than that. In effect, he is telling his father to legally drop dead. The Son wants his cut of the estate early. The Father complies. The Son goes off to his own version of Mardi Gras. He makes really poor choices. He blows his cash. He ends up eating with the pigs. This was not just unsanitary; it flew in the face of all proper religious practice. He was a Jew. Ham and bacon were not supposed to be part of the diet, let alone dinner companions.

It's a new low for him. No money. No future. No life. Everything gone - nothing left. It is when he hits bottom that the son starts to "come to his senses." He begins to ponder: "Life was better the way it was back at Dad's place. At least I had a decent place to live and eat. Maybe I'll go back." And he begins to formulate a plea bargain in his head: "I'll ask if I can work as a servant - after all, I don't have any money left. Maybe if I do that, I will be forgiven, and allowed back on the homestead."

Maybe of the three characters in the story, you identify most closely with this one who messed up. You look at your life, and you realize there have been some really lousy choices you made. Things you are not proud of. Maybe this occurred recently or maybe a long time ago. Maybe you are still paying the consequences and you long for forgiveness and reconciliation and a new start.

In a small town in Spain, a man named Jorge had a bitter argument with his young son Paco. The next day Jorge discovered that Paco's bed was empty - he had run away from home.

Overcome with remorse, Jorge searched his soul and realized that his son was more important to him than anything else. He wanted to start over. Jorge went to a well-known store in the center of town and posted a large sign that read, "Paco, come home. I love you. Meet me here tomorrow morning."

The next morning Jorge went to the store, where he found no less than seven young boys named Paco who had also run away from home. They were all answering the call for love, each hoping it was his dad inviting him home with open arms.

We want to know that we can go home again. We want to know that we are forgiven . . . that we are accepted, even when we've run away from our responsibilities or promises and have hurt others in the process. I know there are times in my life that I've messed up. Said or done things that I shouldn't. More times than I'm even aware of.

But for the most part, I haven't had Mardi Gras' experiences - literally or figuratively - that have caused major disruption to my life or to others. I've been a faithful husband, tried to be a good parent, lived responsibly, worked hard, and have tried to help others. Very, very far from perfect, mind you, but nothing like the son who ended up living with the pigs.

Or even then, do I have blinders on? What if we thought of the prodigal son not as an individual, but collectively as a symbol for our society? Don't we demand to spend our inheritance now, using a disproportionate amount of the world's energy and resources? Aren't we robbing our children and grandchildren by building roads and financing war with borrowed money while propping up our own lifestyles? Although I don't want to admit it, maybe I'm more like the younger Son than I care to admit.

And because of those blinders to my own sin, I often have the perspective of the older brother - the responsible one. The one who did what he was supposed to. The one who wondered why, in heaven's name, a party should be thrown for his careless disrespectful brother. Why give him the time of day?

And, you see, that perspective is a problem. Because in Jesus' encounters with others, he spent time with anyone. He included folks with bad reputations, some which were well-deserved. He included second class citizens, such as women and children were normally treated in that culture. He included people who were physically or mentally ill, those whom others reasoned must have done something wrong to have their condition. Jesus loved them all.

But the people who made him mad were the self-righteous ones. Those who thought they were better than others. People like the older brother, who weren't even aware of many of their blind spots. . . people like me and maybe like you. I need forgiveness.

Those of you who read the part of the older brother know that indignation doesn't feel very good. Comparing ourselves to others, favorably or unfavorably, does not satisfy. Both sons needed their father's love and it was there for both of them. Parents do not love their children any less if they have another child. It's not a zero sum game where their love has to be divided into smaller portions. By messing up and returning home, the younger son discovers this.

As he heads toward home, walking down the road, there is his Father, waiting to greet him. No, not waiting, running to meet and embrace him. Mind you, this occurs before the son has a chance to suggest the plea bargain.

"Father I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son." He never gets to the part about coming back as a servant. He knows he doesn't have a leg to stand on. Nor will the Father hear of it. From the Father's perspective, it's no time for groveling, it's time to party. In essence, the older Son argues that this is serious, that it's Lent. That may be. But the Father claims that it's also Mardi Gras. "Bring the best of everything. Let's celebrate. My son is back!"

Although she appeared to be fine, Sarah Vogt was troubled as a teenager She did well in school, liked to play sports, thriving on competition, and didn't do drugs. But in her own words she writes, "I was a manipulative, lying, acid-tongued monster, who realized early on that I could make things go my way with just a few minor adjustments. . . a few nasty comments here, a lie or two there, maybe an evil glare for a finishing touch, and things would be so grand. Or so I thought. . . Since I was perceptive enough to get some people to bend my way, it amazes me how long it took to realize how I was hurting so many others. Not only did I succeed in pushing away many of my closest friends by trying to control them; I also managed to sabotage, time and time again, the most precious relationship in my life: my relationship with my mother.

My mother, who gave birth to me at age 38 against her doctor's wishes, would cry to me, "I waited so long for you, please don't push me away. I want to help you!" I would reply with my best face of stone, "I didn't ask for you! I never wanted you to care about me! Leave me alone and forget I ever lived."

As she sees it looking back, Sarah didn't really want to die, when she said that or even later when she tried to jump out of a vehicle going 80 mph. After that, in her hospital room, she came to realize that she was tired of inflicting pain on others by inflicting what was really inside of her - self-hatred. Self-hatred leashed on everyone else.

She writes, "I saw my mother's pained face for the first time in years - warm, tired brown eyes filled with nothing but thanks for her daughter's new lease on life and love for the child she waited 38 years to bear. " . . . unconditional love. What a powerful feeling. Despite all the lies I had told her, she still loved me. I cried in her lap for hours one afternoon and asked why she still loved me after all the horrible things I did to her. She just looked down at me, brushed the hair out of my face and said frankly, "I don't know." The forgiving father loved both of his sons - careless and careful, prodigal and self-righteous. I don't know why God loves us so much, but that love doesn't depend on how good we are - nor how we compare to others. Today God embraces us again as we come to the celebration he has prepared. It is Lent . . . but it's also Mardi Gras. Amen.



Stephen J. Olson

Helmut Thielicke, The Waiting Father, 1959
Robert Farrar Capon, The Parables of Grace
Alan Cohen, A 3rd Serving of Chicken Soup for the Soul, p. 78 ed. Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen
Insight from Beth Sanders, Living by the Word, The Christian Century, 3/6/07 Sanders
Sara J. Vogt, Unconditional Mom, Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul, ed. Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Kimberly Kirberger