Sunday Sermon - "Scandalous Grace"

The parable of the prodigal son is a favorite of many, but if we identify with the older brother, God's love can seem offensive. How far does God's love go? Answered with a little help from the novel, The Shack.

March 14 sermon.mp3

Luke 15:11-32

Scandalous Grace

James Sledge -- March 14, 2010

The parable of the prodigal son seems to be a favorite of many. There certainly is something warm and comforting about it. God’s love for us is tender and kindhearted, willing to embrace us despite our failings. Who wouldn’t like such a parable?

Well, the older brother for one, and perhaps some of the people to whom Jesus first spoke the parable. And maybe even us if we aren’t so quick to identify with the younger brother.

Many of us are quick to recognize and claim the generous grace found in this parable, but for some reason we often miss the offense, the scandal that accompanies that grace. The older brother tries to point it out to us. He stands outside the big party refusing to go in, refusing even to acknowledge that this person who has burned through the family inheritance with prostitutes and partying is his brother. But we just shake our heads at the older brother, hoping that he will somehow come around.

But what if we pressed the imagery of the parable a bit so that we might feel some of what the older brother feels. What if the younger brother is Bernie Madoff and we have lost our retirement in his scams? Should the father still welcome him back with open arms? What if the younger brother has committed terrible crimes, has murdered someone? Should the father still welcome him back? And what if we press this image to the limits of the imagination? What if the younger brother is Adolf Hitler, and as Berlin burns all around him he “came to himself” and says, “What have I done; what have I done!? Father I have sinned against humanity and you.” Should the father welcome him back?

Recently my wife and I took a short getaway to Florida to escape winter. When I go on vacations, I often pack a bunch of books I think I ought to read. Then I usually manage to leave every one of them unopened. And so this time I tried a more modest approach. I took a single book that I’ve been meaning to read for some time. Some of you may have read it. It’s called The Shack.

If you’re not familiar with it, the central character is a fellow around my age named Mackenzie. Mack, as his friends call him, has received a curious invitation to come spend a weekend at the shack where a still-at-large kidnapper murdered his youngest daughter a couple of years earlier. At first he thinks the invitation some sort of cruel hoax, but he gradually becomes convinced that the note in his mailbox is from God.

And so Mack heads to the shack for his weekend with God. I don’t want to spoil it for you if you’ve never read it so I’ll try not to reveal too much. (I highly recommend the book, by the way.) But I do want to share one of Mack’s experiences that particularly moved me. During his strange weekend at the shack, Mack has an encounter with a mysterious, beautiful woman in a long, flowing robe, like that of a judge.

As they speak, the conversation turns to Mack’s hurt and anger over his daughter’s murder, and his questions about how a good God could possibly allow such a thing to happen. As Mack’s anger builds, the woman tells him why he is with her, for judgment. At first Mack thinks he has died, but assured he is alive, he wonders what he is to be judged for, what he needs to repent of, but the woman explains that he will be the one doing the judging.

The idea seems preposterous to Mack, but the woman points out that he has a great deal of experience. He regularly judges the people around him. Mack has to admit to himself that he does indeed judge people all the time. But who is he to judge? “God… and the human race,” the woman replied the woman nonchalantly.

As Mack objects that he does not want to judge anyone, the woman prods him. “What about the greedy who feed off the poor of the world?... And what about the man who preys on innocent little girls? What about him, Mackenzie? Is that man guilty? Should he be judged?”

“Yes!” screams Mack.

The woman presses on, asking about the father of the man who had “twisted his son into a terror. How far do we go back, Mackenzie? This legacy of brokenness goes all the way back to Adam, what about him? But why stop there? God started the whole thing. Is God to blame?” The woman continues to bore in on Mack until in anger he bursts out, “Yes, God is to blame!”

“If you are able to judge God so easily, then certainly you can judge the world,” the woman continues. “You must choose two of your children to spend eternity in God’s new heavens and new earth, but only two.”

Mack objects but the woman continues, “And you must choose three of your children to spend eternity in hell.” As Mack begins to panic the woman calmly says, “Mackenzie, I am only asking you to do something that you believe God does.” The woman goes on to explain that God knows every person ever born much more deeply than Mack will ever know his children. And God loves every one of them out of that deep knowledge.

The woman continues to press in on Mack. If he thinks that God so easily judges God’s own children, surely Mack can judge his. One of them had been very troublesome of late. And what if one were to commit some heinous act? Mack continues to object but the woman will not relent. Finally Mack screams out, “I can’t. I can’t. I won’t!” The woman just looks at him. He looks at her, his own eyes pleading as he asks, “Could I go instead?” He falls at the woman’s feet pleading, “Please let me go for my children, please, I would be happy to… Please, I am begging you. Please…Please…”

And then it is over. The woman smiles at Mack and says, “Now you sound like Jesus. You have judged well, Mackenzie. I am so proud of you!”

“But I haven’t judged anything,” offeres a confused Mack.

“Oh, but you have. You have judged them worthy of love, even if it cost you everything. That is how Jesus loves.” And she explains that Mack now knows God’s heart.

Sometimes we use “child of God” like it’s a biological, innate thing. Biblically it is about God choosing us, adopting us in Christ. But God’s love isn’t just for folks like us. For God so loved the world… Every person is a child God longs to hold and love.

There’s a sign at a nearby church that reads, “Where everyone is a beloved child of God.” Sounds wonderful, but of course that makes us brothers and sisters with some unsavory sorts, criminals, dictators, scam artists, even Adolf Hitler and Saddam Hussein. Hearts recoil at the thought. It is offensive. It is scandalous. Who would want such folk in their family? Who could love such folks? Who besides God?

In his teachings, Jesus frequently uses the image of a great banquet to describe God’s coming kingdom. It is just the sort of party we find in today’s parable with the best food and drink, with music and dancing and celebrating. But in our parable, one person, the older brother, refuses to attend. He will not celebrate with that no-good, scheming, thieving excuse for a human being that his father wants to claim as a beloved son.

None of our hearts is as big as God’s. And so it makes perfect sense that we are offended by God’s grace, that we would prefer God to judge rather than love the most unsavory of our fellow human beings. Surely love must have its limits.

But then again, would I really prefer that God’s heart, God’s love, become more like mine, more constricted, more limited, more conditional? Or might becoming a child of God be about my heart and your heart becoming more and more Christ-like, more and more like God’s so that we can share God’s astounding, amazing, even scandalous love and grace with all who need it, so we can offer that love to those who cannot imagine that it is for them, too.

All praise and glory to the God whose love is offered freely to all, even to me and you.