Month: March 2016

My sermon from the Fourth Sunday in Lent (March 6, 2016) on Luke 15:1-3,11b-32.

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Part of the process to become a pastor is to spend some time completing Clinical Pastoral Education – otherwise known as CPE. In some kind of health-setting, we’re asked to serve as a chaplain. So I did. Each morning, I took the A train to Times Square, crossed to Grand Central via the shuttle, jumped on the 6 train uptown for 4 stops before heading east to the New York-Cornell Hospital. Along with a handful of professional chaplains, my seminarian colleagues and I would try to provide spiritual care for the entire complex. Each day, I’d walk into a small hospital room, say hello to someone I’ve never met, and try to discover where their faith is. Some folks were fine. They received a good prognosis and were scheduled to leave the hospital that day. Others were Christian, Jewish, Atheists, Muslim, or Jehovah witness and were excited to talk to someone but not necessarily share their faith. Still more, however, were having terrible days – fearing upcoming surgeries, long hospital stays, or harrowing diagnosis – like cancer. And a few were just silent – stuck in a coma – with their family gathered around them. Part of this process is teaching pastors-in-training how to bring Jesus into a crisis. It doesn’t matter if the person is Christian or if they’re even able to talk. We’re there to bring Jesus – and to discover what healing might actually look like. 

And it’s there, during CPE experience, I learned that healing and being cured are not the same thing. While at the hospital, I saw lots of cures. I met patients who were no longer sick, patients in remission from cancer, and patients who could finally walk again. I met many who left that place with an expectation of healing and being whole. One such patient who was going to be physically fine was a fourteen year old girl. I met her in the pediatric ICU. She had been watching a pickup game at a park basketball court when someone nearby fired a gun – and the stray bullet hit her in the cheek. The surgeries to remove the bullet and repair the damage were successful. She was, eventually, going to be physically fine. When I first met her, she couldn’t speak – a temporary issue during this stage of her recovery. Instead, she communicated to me and her family by writing on a little white board – or sending text messages with her phone. 

One day, near the end of her short stay in the ICU, I walked into her room and met her parents. I had met her mother before but not the father. Her parents were divorced and…they really didn’t get along. They actively despised each other. I never fully understood why – but the love they shared was long gone and only bitterness and anger remained. One would sit against one wall in the room, the other would sit on the other side – and they would just bicker and fight the whole time. I was there, communicating via whiteboard with their daughter, and the snide comments and outright hostility the parents had with each other covered the entire room. Both parents knew their daughter was going to be cured. She was going to recover and, before they knew it, she’d be hanging by the basketball court like nothing happened. With the initial, terrifying crisis over – their old habits kicked in. The old arguments continued. The broken relationship surrounded her and covered her in noise and emotion. That 14 year old was going to be cured but I didn’t know if she would be healed.

Today’s story from the gospel of Luke is full of relationships. A son, young and impulsive, goes to his father and asks for his inheritance early. This son has the guts to ask for his father to act like he’s dead – and just give his money away. The son doesn’t care if his father or the family might need the money later to cover some emergency or problem. The son wants it now.  And the father does the ridiculous thing and actually gives it to him. So with this large amount of cash at his disposal, the son does what we might do: he totally squanders it. He spends it on a very wild nightlife. Before long, he’s broke. He’s got nothing. He can’t even get enough money from his work to get food. Hungry, broke, and miserable, he decides to head home. He dreams up a conversation with his dad – a speech to get his dad to bring him back into fold but not, initially, as a son. Instead, he wants to be a hired hand – receiving a salary from his father even though he’s already squandered his father’s wealth. But the son never gets to give his speech. His father sees him, runs to him, and once he gets his arms around his son, the father just won’t let go. 

Now, there’s an elder brother in the picture too. He finds out what’s going on and he’s furious. The younger brother, who squandered his wealth, is back – and is having a party celebrating his return. And I think buried under the outrage of the elder son’s comment about the catering for such an event, comes a deeper concern. With his younger brother back in the picture, the elder’s son’s inheritance splits. The brother who ran off isn’t only going to get his original share – he’s going to get a piece of the elder’s share too. In his anger, in his bitterness, in his spite, the elder brother addresses his father. And look what he says. Look at the words he uses. He never calls the son who returned, his brother. It’s always his “father’s son.” I remember doing the same thing, when I complained to my parents about something my identical twin brother did – which is downright silly because, when you’re an identical twin, it’s obvious who your brother is. The elder son is just as silly here. But his anger – his frustration – and his fear – is very real. 

So how does his father respond? He says that all that he has belongs to the elder son. He says they had to celebrate because “your brother, your brother who treated his family like they were dead, has returned.” The father points the elder son back to his younger brother. He wants them reconciled. He wants them together. He wants the old grudges, the old arguments, that anger that interrupts the actual living of our lives – the father wants all of that gone. The cure was the younger son’s return but making peace with their past, making peace with their present, and reconciling themselves to each other – that’s what healing looks like.

And that kind of healing takes grace. It’s takes a God who says that we’re worth more than what’s been done to us. We’re worth more than the hurt we’ve caused. Our pain, our fear, that illness, or anxiety, or secret that we think no one else knows – none of that will have the final word. Brokenness doesn’t define us. The wholeness given by Jesus does. This Jesus, who didn’t limit himself to only offering cures so we can go back to living the way we always did, instead, this Jesus brings those he touches back into relationship with those around them. Family, friends, neighbors – and even people we don’t want to be in relationship with, like our younger brother after he comes back from squandering his part of the inheritance – reconciliation is the name of the game. It’s what Jesus grants us when he claims us as his own in our baptism. It’s what God grants us when we’re asked to say hello to a stranger and discover just what their need is. And it’s what the Spirit graces us when we’re in crisis, hurting, and surrounded by a brokenness that might never heal. Healing happens in our relationships – our relationships with those closest to us, our relationship with ourselves, and our relationship with our God. We might never receive the cure we want. The brokenness we see and experience might just be the ways things are. But our reconciliation begins with Jesus – a Jesus who claims us because our hurts aren’t the limit of what God can do. And whatever the future might bring – Jesus has us – we have Jesus – and nothing can take that from us. 

Amen.