Sermon for the Fourth Sunday in Lent

March 18, 2007

Joshua 5:9-12
Psalm 32
2 Corinthians 5:16-21
Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32
Year C

I.N.I. (In the name of Jesus)


Kari and I had quite an adventure this past summer, out and about on sabbatical for three months after six years of ministry at CtK. As is often said, "it was great to be away, but it was great to come home."

Christians think of Lent as a time apart to deepen our relationship with God and practice our faith in new and renewed ways. This forty day period is compared to the time the Israelites spent in the wilderness, the time Jesus himself fasted and prayed in the desert, and is often described as a pilgrimage or a journey.

Today we get a glimpse of what it's like, after being away, what it's like to come home. Today we get a glimpse of what this paschal or Easter renewal is all about, which is a sort of homecoming.

In today's First Reading, we hear that the Israelites made their way to promised land, after forty years of eating manna. It was great to come home.

In Jesus' stupendous story, the wayward youngest son, after disowning his father, then quickly and stupidly running through his inheritance, after hiring himself out to feed pigs, non-kosher animals, then coming to himself, in the end finally reconciles with his father. It was great to come home.

I haven't been home to stay since I turned 18. I may have been in my parents' house for college and seminary breaks, even for the summer, but by age 18 I had bigger fish to fry. There was a world out there, and by golly, I wanted to take a big bite out of it. For a stretch in my early twenties, I lived in Chicago, then Minneapolis, then back to Chicago, then to Philadelphia, then back to Chicago, all within five years. I discovered deep-dish pizza in Chicago. I discovered lake-fishing in Minnesota. I discovered hoagies and cheese steaks in Philadelphia. I became citified, taking mass transit, using student discounts at museums and concerts, and cooking, cleaning, paying the bills, and all things being equal fending for myself. Since I have become a pastor in my mid-twenties I have seldom been home for Christmas, and only occasionally home for Thanksgiving.

It really is the American way. With planes, trains, and automobiles, colleges competing for students, and the world as our oyster, kids just don't stay home. How many of you have lived in the same town or area as your parents or grown children? How many in the same state? How many in the same region?

On our big adventure this past summer in the Middle East, mostly in Jerusalem, Kari, the kids, and I found a home away from home. We were made part of the Azar family in genuine Arab fashion. We were lavished on, eating glorious prepared food, luscious fresh fruit, and drinking aromatic Arabic Coffee. Kari and I were quickly called Auntie Kari and Uncle Tim by the children, and in walking to the family compound to visit Pastor Ibrahim Azar (who is known to his friends as Barhoum) of the Lutheran Church of the Redeemer in Jerusalem, we would enter the sprawling stone home, walk upstairs and go through his mother Teta Jihan's (grandma's) residence. If she was there, we would greet her with a kiss, and if we didn't stop for a visit and to eat, we would proceed through to the connecting dwelling for her son Barhoum and his wife Nah'la via the roof. On the other side of the complex lived her other son Raouf and his wife Ava. In the neighborhood lived her daughter Sana and her husband Michael. The Azars are what you call a close-knit family, and we were made a part of it.

While in the Middle East, on yet another adventure, we made the trek to Amman, Jordan to see Nah'la's mother, Aida Tartura and her clan, who lived with her son, Andre and his wife, and nearby her two other sons. We were lavished on, eating glorious food, greeted with hugs and kisses. We were given a tour of the city, and shown places that had the best falafel, the best Arabic Coffee, the best shawarma (meat on a spit), the best ice cream, and the best knaffe (pastry). When Teta (that's grandma) Aida inquired about my family, and I told her the same story I just told you about leaving home for school at age 18 and basically never living in the same community as my parents, Aida couldn't believe it! She asked me why I would do such a thing. You see, it would be unthinkable for her that her sons would move far away. For Aida, her sons were her security and comfort. Just having her daughter a few hours away (with the challenges of travel papers and border crossings) just tore her apart. The Tarturas are what you call a close-knit family, and we were made to be a part of it.

My experience of Middle Eastern families helps me understand the shame and distress the younger son in Jesus' parable caused his father. He not only left home, he took his inheritance prematurely, and by doing so it was if he thought his father was better off dead. The father had every right to deny that he had a son, to say to those who inquired about his child that he was dead.

Can you imagine the son's surprise to see his father's arms open wide while he was still practicing his apology? Can you imagine the son's delight to be welcomed back as a part of the family? Can you imagine the son's amazement that after all he did to reject his family, that there would be a Thanksgiving feast just for his return home?

Do you see that the father was merciful to his wayward son? Do you see that Jesus told this story to demonstrate the welcome of God toward wayward children, who write off their families, who are spendthrifts, toward all who seek to recover their identity and place of belonging after squandering it in so many ways?
I haven't been home since I have been eighteen. In truth, through the mercy given in Christ's lavish act of dying for my sins, God has welcomed me and other sinners with arms open wide since my baptism. In truth, since God regularly spreads Christ's meal of reconciliation and forgiveness in the eucharist, with other sinners I find a home away from home here.

When I was in the Middle East, I was constantly aware that I was not from there. I was constantly aware that I was an American. I was regularly aware that for many there were ambivalent feelings about my being in Palestine and Israel.

But when I was with the Azars and the Tarturas, I felt as if I were part of the family. I ate myself silly. I hugged more people on a regular basis than I ever have before. And like the younger son in the story, I was given clothes and gifts like a wayward child returning home, welcomed by forgiving and merciful parents.

Here, this Lent, in the human family, in our cities and towns, and in our congregation, there are people estranged from each other. There are resentments harbored about those who receive mercy when they do not deserve it. And there are many more who live with piles of heaping guilt for broken past relationships.

Here, this Lent, by God's grace, in the community of Christ that lives for renewal and reconciliation, we who are ambassadors for Christ will be known by welcoming sinners and forgiving sins. We will be known for our clothing others with righteousness and feeding others with mercy and love.

Here, this Lent, we will be known as we continue to journey toward Easter, where we eat a little bread and wine like it's Thanksgiving, as we look to invite others to discover joy, where, when we are together, we share peace, work for justice, and by our words and our actions as say to those we meet around this community, "welcome, home."

I.N.I.

The Rev. Timothy J. Keyl, Pastor
Christ the King Lutheran Church
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