4 Lent, Yr C (2025) The Rev. Karen C. Barfield
4 Lent, Yr C (2025) The Rev. Karen C. Barfield
2 Cor 5:16-21 St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church
Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32
In the name of the one, holy, and loving God:
in whom we live, and move, and have our being. Amen.
As I was growing up,
every Thanksgiving and Christmas
my extended family on my mother’s side
would gather at my great uncle and aunt’s house for a feast.
The festivities would begin following church and last late into the afternoon.
While everyone brought something for the feast,
there were still plenty of preparations to be done in the kitchen…
a place I learned that I could retreat to nibble on little delectables
when my stomach began to rumble
and it was clear that we would not be sitting down at the table for hours.
So, feigning an interest in helping,
I would find my way into the kitchen and grab some goodies
before stealthily disappearing back into the crowd in the living room.
My great uncle was one of five children,
and those children brought their children (my mother’s generation),
and then there were all of us actual kids.
Also, at every holiday gathering, there were people I had never seen before…
people who were friends of my great aunt’s…
mostly folks from Mexico or Central America.
One particular woman my brother and I always kept our eyes out for.
Her name was Zinnia (a beautiful name now that I am an adult!),
but, at that age, a woman we would have preferred to avoid
because every time she saw us,
she would run over and place each of her hands on the sides of our heads
and smother us with kisses.
It was embarrassing,
overwhelming,
and not proper in our reserved Southern culture.
It seems to me that our gospel today is all about feasting…
It is about a yearning for and an offering of “home,”
a place of deep welcome and loving embrace.
Everyone in the gospel story is seeking Life.
The youngest son has wanderlust
and collects his inheritance
and spends it far off in “dissolute living” – whatever that may be.
Whatever it is, he wakes up one day to realize that he has nothing –
and no one…
he has no Life.
The elder son works dutifully in his father’s fields
but apparently has missed out on the Life he has sought as well.
Both sons are caught in a world governed by a “counting” --
much as our culture forms us today.
The youngest son wanted a reckoning of his inheritance…what he was owed.
The eldest son wanted a reckoning of his duty…what he gave.
Wealth and work were the currencies of their worth.
I think our culture is often caught in valuing the same currencies.
We value people (or not) based on their wealth,
their education,
their skin color,
their nationality, religion, gender, job
even how they use their free time – or whether they have any!
And we often blame others and feel resentful when they don’t do their fair share.
We are told that the youngest son wakes up one day and “comes to himself.”
Although there is debate about whether he is truly repentant
or merely making his next play,
he decides to go home.
He realizes there is more to life than what he has at the moment.
The elder son, however, can’t see how he limits his own enjoyment of life.
He is missing the opportunity to join the feast because he is focused on counting:
“For all these years I have been working for you…”
“I have never disobeyed your command.”
“You have never given me even a young goat…”
“This son of yours...” (not my brother) “devoured your property.”
Almost everything he says is an accounting…
and a resentment.
There is no room in his heart to see anything else.
He doesn’t see that his father actually divided his property between his two sons,
meaning that the elder son has already received his inheritance too.
He, too, has freely chosen the path he was going to walk.
As their father said,
“[My child], you are always with me,
and all that is mine is yours.”
The eldest son could have been nibbling in the kitchen all these years!
All that is mine is yours.
But, my other child…don’t you see?
He lost his way.
It’s not that he squandered my stuff…
It’s that he lost his way…
He lost his home.
He had no place of belonging,
but now he has come home!
He has come home,
and that is worth a celebration.
It is worth my acting a fool and running down the road,
kicking up dust on my dinner robe,
making a spectacle among my neighbors
so that I can fling my arms around him,
shower him with kisses
and welcome him home!
My friends, it doesn’t matter what path we’ve taken in our lives.
And – truth be told – each of our lives are filled with many different legs of the journey.
Sometimes we go down a path that we think will lead to life,
and it doesn’t.
Sometimes we find ourselves in a desolate place, not of our own choosing,
and feel far from home.
Sometimes we quietly work our fingers to the bone,
wondering if anyone will ever notice.
The good news is that God loves us all:
fiercely,
recklessly,
courageously,
vulnerably,
endlessly…
whover we are…
wherever we are.
We are all invited to the feast.
And not only are we invited to the feast,
we are called to extend the invitation to others.
God’s Kindom is not a kingdom of counting…
It does not matter how much money one has,
or how much education,
or where one lives or comes from,
or one’s physical or mental capabilities,
or whether one has wasted opportunity
or worked over-zealously.
All are welcome at the Table.
It is God’s Table where all are welcomed,
fed,
and showered with kisses.
And for this,
let us give thanks!
Amen.
