Trinity Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.)

Sermons 

while I was growing up.

Not for the reason one might normally suspect!

My grades were always just fine,

thank you very much.

In fact, they were better than "just fine."

What never failed to irritate the heck out of me, though,

was my parents’ reaction.

They would glance at my report card,

make some response like

"Mm-hmmm," or "Very nice."

If it were all A’s,

which it was more often than not,

Dad would grin and say,

"Is that the best you could do?"

And then they’d put the card away

and that would be the end of it.

But with my brother,

they would sit down and go through the report card

in every little detail.

"Your grade in algebra went up; that’s very good."

"But your English grade went down; how come?"

"How can you make a C in P.E. when all you have to do is show up!?!"

They gave him the chance to talk about his classes,

his teachers, his homework, his friends …

anything that had anything to do with

school, and his grades.

He got all kinds of attention.

And it burned me up!

You see, I was,

and in many ways, still am,

a lot like the older brother in the story of the prodigal son.

Here I had done my work, kept up with my studies,

showed up on time, obeyed all the rules,

even when I didn’t feel like it.

In short, I had been a good kid,

and what did it get me?

Ignored.

I was not at all happy.

Older brother, older sister …

that’s me.

Chances are,

that’s many of the rest of us as well.

I think that many of us in the church –

especially in the mainline churches –

have a little of an "older brother" streak in us.

Many of us have been churchgoers for our whole lives.

We’ve tried to behave ourselves,

tried to live according to the rules,

done the Lord’s work even when the day was long and the sun was hot.

We can often be suspicious of newcomers to the faith,

particularly those who have

a very powerful conversion experience,

a "born-again" type of thing,

a radical turning around from the way they were before.

For example,

don’t we wonder just a teeny bit

about death-row converts in prison?

Part of us really wants to believe

that this person has repented and turned to Christ.

And yet, another part of us wonders

if they aren’t just hedging their bets,

knowing that death is imminent.

We probably also wonder,

and maybe this makes us worry even more:

what if their conversion is genuine?

Is God going to rejoice, to kill the fatted calf,

for that murderer, rapist, terrorist, whatever?

That hardly seems fair!

And yet, the gospel is clear

that that’s exactly what happens.

Jesus himself says

that there is more joy in heaven

over one sinner who repents

than over ninety-nine righteous who need no repentance.

Now that’s partly a trick saying,

because in fact there is no such thing

as a person who needs no repentance,

even though the scribes and Pharisees

thought they were that kind of person!

But it does make us stop and think …

those of us who at least try to be righteous,

at least on our better days.

We may wonder it it’s worth

all the effort we’ve put into it over the years.

We may be a little jealous of our "younger brothers"

who may have had quite a good time of it

before they turned their lives around

and got straightened out.

I’d bet that every one of us, at some time or another,

has felt the temptation to go out

and squander him- or herself

in some good ol’ loose living!

And that goes for clergy people too!

At any rate,

the temptation then is for us to protect ourselves,

distance ourselves,

by becoming somewhat arrogant and even a little smug.

My last semester in seminary,

not that I had time to do this,

but I took part in a musical that was a great deal of fun.

The first song we sang went like this:

"A mighty fortress is our church,

A bulwark never failing,

Against the changing neighborhood,

Where sin is all-prevailing."

And so on … it got sillier as it went.

But I think it’s partly true …

So often those of us in the church

who are trying our very best to be faithful and righteous,

become entrenched in our "fortress."

We throw up walls to keep others out.

Because, at some level,

we are afraid of knowing that God is not only just,

but also gracious, and merciful.

Now, lest you think I’m being too hard on us "older brothers,"

let me hasten to add that the "younger brothers"

can often be just as arrogant and superior.

Surely some of you have met new Christians,

perhaps "born-again,"

who are quite sure that if you haven’t had

a conversion experience just like theirs,

then you obviously aren’t saved.

Many newcomers to the faith,

as is common with newcomers to just about anything,

seem to start out as if they were

reborn into a kind of "spiritual adolescence,"

a phase where they know all the answers.

We had a few like that in seminary.

I recall one young man

who had become a Christian while he was in college.

Rob was overall a really nice guy,

but every once in a while,

if you said something in class he didn’t agree with,

he’d get this pitying smile on his face,

and say, "Yes, I used to feel that way too."

You know, as if to say,

When you are as spiritually mature as I,

you won’t feel that way any more.

This, coming from the mouth of someone

who had been a Christian for maybe three years.

It just made you want to punch him,

he was so smug about it.

"Younger brothers" can certainly cause problems, too.

But I wonder if the real problem

isn’t that we keep insisting

on making these distinctions among ourselves.

We focus too hard

on the differences between the "older" and the "younger,"

and in the process we forget

that we are nevertheless still brothers … and sisters.

The parable points this out so well …

Late in the story, the older son

is talking with his father about the younger one.

But he doesn’t say,

"My brother" went out and did all those things.

He says, "Your son did this; your son did that."

He refuses to claim any relationship

to that misbehaving creature.

The father sees what he is doing,

and corrects him in the last verse,

"This your brother was dead but is alive,

was lost and is found."

Your brother … like it or not.

And really, that’s what that passage

in Second Corinthians is all about.

From now on we regard no one from a human point of view.

If anyone is in Christ, she or he is a new creation.

God entrusts to us the message of reconciliation.

There are to be no more divisions among us –

everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!.

Through Christ we are reconciled as children of God,

and as brothers and sisters to one another.

During this season of Lent,

we often hear about "giving something up" for these six weeks.

I gave up desserts one year in high school …

not a cookie, cake, pie, or pudding

for six whole weeks!

Since most of you know what a sugar-and-carbohydrate junkie I am,

you’ll see that that was at least something of a sacrifice!

I learned Friday evening over dinner

that my nephews had chosen to give up

Cokes and other soft drinks for Lent.

Some of my friends, though, would choose

to "give up" something like liver and onions, or Brussels sprouts,

which they hated anyway.

I wonder if this year, with what’s left of Lent,

we might begin to give up

some of the feelings of mistrust

that we harbor towards other Christians.

Some of our suspicions about their sincerity …

Some of our feelings of jealousy

over experiences they may have had, that we have not.

Some of our certainty and air of superiority

about our way of doing things.

(You know, our assumption that because "we’ve always done it that way"

it therefore has to be right!)

This year, for what’s left of Lent,

let’s make a real effort to "take on"

Christ’s message of reconciliation …

the message that he died for.

Let’s take on – maybe even take in –

new brothers and sisters in the faith.

Sure, they may be different from us:

they may be brand-new to the Christian faith,

or they may have been Christians

since before some of us were born!

But that’s not what matters.

What matters is our relationship to one another,

because of our relationship with God,

as God’s children.

Older brother, younger brother … who cares?!

Brother, sister …

that’s what we need to care about.

Before I conclude here,

I suppose I ought to answer the question

that I posed in the title to this sermon:

"who gets the fatted calf?"

In the story of the prodigal son,

it’s clear that the younger son gets the calf …

well, really, everyone gets it at the feast,

but it’s killed in his honor.

And yet, we spend so much time

looking at that part of the story

and being indignant about it,

if we’re in an "older brother" frame of mind,

that we overlook some of the father’s words

to the older brother.

"Son," he says, "you are always with me,

and all that is mine is yours."

All that is mine is yours.

Imagine God – our parent –

saying that to us:

All that is mine is yours.

What an incredible promise!

It seems clear that, in the end,

all of us get the calf.

There are still times when this life

doesn’t seem fair, or just …

In fact, sometimes life just plain isn’t fair,

there’s no doubt about it.

And it won’t be,

so long as we humans continue to act human!

But we have God’s promise that, in the end,

all that is God’s is ours.

Even the fatted calf!

Let us continue to live out our lives

trying to be worthy of that great gift.

Amen.

© 2007 Julie Adkins (e-mail: DrJAdkins@trinitypresdallas.org)