|
Finding Home
The Fourth Sunday in Lent (Year C, RCL)
March 18, 2007
The Reverend Paul R. Abernathy, Rector
Home. That place, really, that state of existence where one feels free to be who one is and to become, to discover who one will be. Home. That state
of being in which one dwells secure in the assurance of acceptance in the presence of love.
Home. Earnestly sought, I believe, by all at all times and found, I hope, at least, by some sometimes. And sometimes, it seems, one has to leave – run
away from – home in order truly to find it.
The Parable of the Prodigal – the outrageously profligate, extravagantly wasteful – Son, tells the tale of a son who says to his father, “Give me
my inheritance.”[1] Not a particularly outlandish request, assuming that there was an inheritance to grant. Except for
the fact that an inheritance is a bequest that is given at the time of death. The son, in asking for an early distribution of his birthright, in effect,
wishes that his father were dead. So, this not so nice petition was, at the very least, impolitic and impolite and, at worst, crude and cruel.
Nevertheless, the father, clearly as prodigal – as outrageously profligate, extravagantly wasteful – as his son, agrees. The son leaves home, journeys
to a far country, squanders his inheritance in riotous living, and was destitute.
Jesus told this tale in response to the religious authorities who were scandalized that he welcomed and befriended sinners – the profane other, those
considered impure, ritually unclean, and immoral, ethically challenged. Jesus told this story to proclaim the purpose of his ministry – to seek and
serve those who institutional structures, even the established culture despised as the least, the last, and the lost.
In this light, this story, for me, is a declaration of redemption, a proclamation of restoration to a proper place, a word of welcome home.
In this same light, however, I also see a danger of interpretation. A danger in not discerning rightly – by my definition, inclusively – the process
of redemption. In other words, how does restoration happen?
It is easy, I think, to read this story – particularly the elements of the son’s “coming to himself,” coming to his senses (remembering what he had),
his rehearsed confession, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and you” (defying your will), his added word of contrition, “I am not worthy to
be called your son” (you have a moral right to disown me), and his abject petition, “Treat me like a servant” – as descriptive of a process
of redemption that entails conformity to a rule of life, compliance to a code of conduct external to one’s self. Finding one’s way home, then, involves
the turning around of repentance – discerning, that is, coming to know, and deciding, that is, choosing to submit to a will utterly other than one’s own.
It’s hard not to read it that way. It certainly often is preached that way.
However, I believe that this cyclical – ongoing, repeatable – process of redemption, restoration, finding one’s way home principally involves coming
face to face with one’s self.
First, acknowledging, with the Apostle Paul, that “now,” in this life, “we see in a mirror, dimly.”[2] We often
do not, cannot see ourselves clearly and our self-knowledge, at best, is always incomplete. Then, to search and find, to encounter and
converse with the stranger, our “inner other.” Those parts of us that are foreign to us. Those parts of us that we don’t understand or of which
we may be unconscious. Those parts of us that, if we could, we would disown. Then, to name and claim them as significant aspects, essential elements
of our identity, even destiny, for, often, they point the way in which we are – and need – to go. All toward our coming again to our senses, coming
anew to a fuller consciousness of who we really are.
This is how I interpret the words, “he came to himself.” Therefore, even before the son went home, his first homecoming happened within his
own heart!
This “coming to ourselves” is a decidedly spiritual journey. A journey that may lead to the discovery or rediscovery that home – where we are free
to be and to become, where we are accepted and loved – is primarily not metaphysically external to us, but rather, existentially within us. For
when we do not, cannot accept and love ourselves, indeed, “the other” within us, then, neither can another accept and love us enough nor can
we truly accept and love another.
My twenty-five year old daughter, Kristin, who is wise beyond her years, joined Pontheolla and me in Italy during our sabbatical. During a conversation,
she asked me, “Daddy, why did you become a priest, beyond the ‘I had a call from God’ stuff?” I told her that her grandparents, my parents taught
me that I was only as good, thus worthy of love and acceptance, as my last good deed. So, it didn’t surprise me that I ended up in a vocation where the
work never ends, where it’s 24/7/365, where I have to function constantly, proving my value, my worthiness of love and acceptance – all because I didn’t,
couldn’t love and accept myself. Moreover, I’ve discerned that, in my personal life, I did the same thing to Pontheolla – demanding that she, by her
deeds, prove that she loved and accepted me, thereby proving that I was lovable and acceptable. Unfortunately, inevitably, I could embrace the idea,
the feeling that I was lovable and acceptable only as long as the memory of her last good deed survived. So, no matter what she did, it was never enough.
Sometimes, it seems, one has to journey far to find home. This is an essential lesson and learning of my sabbatical. Leaving you, my community, allowed
me time and distance to see myself, I believe, more clearly. I have discovered that I am lovable and acceptable to me, by me, and for me! I also have a
renewed clarity of vision and, really, a new sense of identity, which, since my return, I’ve shared with you in pieces and now gather into one place.
That who I am and not what I do primarily defines me. That my life with Pontheolla – not my life’s work, although exceedingly important to me – is my
primary center of being. That in my life’s work I have found a cause – encountering and engaging “the other” – for which I am willing to die and
without which I would be dead, living without purpose.
I have come home to myself in my own heart. Now, I truly have come home to you, my community, more true to who I am still becoming.
Even more, this spiritual journey of redemption, of finding one’s way home is not only an individual, but also a communal path.
Our American Episcopal Church, I believe, is a prodigal child. Certainly, from the standpoint of much of the Anglican Communion. We are outrageously
profligate, extravagantly wasteful, squandering the inheritance of “the faith once delivered to the saints”[3] in our
riotous culture-conditioned, not Christ-centered living. Hence, we need to repent, to turn around in confession and contrition and come home.
However, I submit that, yes, we are prodigal, for we have journeyed far from the fold of a fundamentalist faith and have come to ourselves. We have
come home in our hearts. And I pray that we don’t turn around, that we don’t turn away from our identity and destiny, yea, verily, from the faith we have found.
A faith that follows the Jesus who welcomed “the other.” A faith that acknowledges ambiguity and rejects the false savior of certainty. A faith
that, in love and justice, practices inclusivity, for exclusivity is one of the most heartless, faithless words in the English language.
[1] Luke 15.12. The gospel passage appointed for the day is Luke 15.1-3, 11-32.
[2] 1 Corinthians 13.12
[3] Jude 3
|