Text: Luke 15: 1-3; 11-32
It’s true … I’ve been away for 3 months having the time of my life, living pretty free and easy, responsibilities left behind … indulging in staggering beauty, rich foods, memorable encounters with people and other creatures.
And -- it’s time I returned.
So in case you’re thinking what a coincidence that of all the stories from scripture we could be attending to today … well -- it’s not a coincidence! And not because “what happened in Ireland stays in Ireland,” for there is so much to share with you. I’ve deliberately chosen this passage, it having been suggested by a chapter in one of the few books I brought along with me --a chapter entitled The Practice of Beginning Again, which I read just a couple of weeks ago. It came along at just the right time, when I was thinking about what it means to return … to my life in Victoria, and to my life with this congregation, with this neighbourhood.
“Beginning Again,” I wrote in my journal. “why does that theme so connect? what does it stir? what’s it saying to me?” I found myself responding and further writing in my journal:
“It is the moment I’m in; returning after being away for 3 months.
It’s the opportunity of this time -- to return and move forward rather than returning to former habits that don’t serve me or others well.
It’s an opportunity for freshness.
It’s an opportunity to remember “we dwell in possibility”
It’s an opportunity to re-enter with intention, awake, with deliberateness.
It’s an opportunity for some newness -- in what I do, how I am, what I see, who I meet.
It’s an opportunity to be curious.
It’s an opportunity to experience and cultivate some shifts” (which I go on to name for myself out of the experience of this sabbatical time).
Beginning Again ---I’ve come to appreciate these are powerful words … not just for me at this place where I find myself. Always there is the invitation to begin again from wherever we are, whatever our circumstance … whether that’s a crisis of one kind or another, or having come into a new place or phase in our life, or even from that well worn path from which you never imagine there would or could be any variation. Always there is the invitation to begin again.
That’s what begins to come to light through lingering with each of those figures in Jesus’ story … the younger son, the father, the older son. As different as their circumstances are from each other, there comes to each of them the invitation to begin again. And so my thought is that this week and over the next two weeks we would stay with this story, opening to what wisdom there might be for us about beginning again from wherever we are, through paying attention to how the Spirit is moving in us as we encounter each of the characters in the story.
Today and for this week, what might it be for us to find ourselves coming alongside the younger son, in dialogue with him, listening to him as we meet up with him on the road home.
He’s not in a hurry but you can tell he’s made up his mind … his steady stride even as he goes over the ground of these months:
“When I left, I never thought about coming back. That never occurred to me. I was just out of there, ready for something else. It was about springing free … being my own boss … no one telling me what to do or when or how. Just me living my life … my life. It was pretty bold. I see it now. Boy do I see it now. And naïve. But what did I know then? Truthfully --if you care to hear my truth-- it’s been hard. Some stuff I wouldn’t trade for anything. But it never was what I thought it would be. I’m not even talking about the worst of it. And I’m not going there … I’ve been there. Except for the fact that it’s the reason I’m here, I’m leaving that chapter behind.
So now here I am … making my way home … as though there is one! That’s pretty bold, I know. But it’s bold in a different way, and coming from a different place in me than when I left. This time I’d call it courage … maybe because I’m not so presumptuous or starry eyed … I‘ve learned some things about myself, about the world … and yet I’m eager enough for another chance at life, albeit on different terms, that I’m choosing to step out even at the risk of being told it’s a no go.”
Here he is, making his way home on new terms … terms he’s so certain are required if that door that surely has been slammed shut would ever be opened. “Father,” we hear him say, “I have sinned against you and against God. I’m no longer worthy to be called your son. Treat me as one of your hired hands.” We hear him rehearsing that moment of meeting over and over, living it before he ever gets there, paving the way for those terms to begin to lodge themselves in him … define him and his destiny.
And yet … and yet!! for all his certainty, for all his hoping against hope, that’s not the way it went. It went in a way far more gracious than he could ask or imagine. Far from anger or rejection or disappointment, there is pure joy at the wonder of his return. There’s this stripping away of judgment, of presumed disowning, and clothing instead with unthinkable tenderness, with honour, with wholehearted welcome. There is the invitation to begin again in the shelter of one another … to allow the liberating love of his father -- who he doesn’t really know -- to restore his place in a relationship that has yet to be experienced, where there is so much room for discovery, for deepening.
It may be a bit of a leap from where we are right now … but I can’t help but hear this moment in the story inviting us the to wonder what more awaits us in our life with God, in God’s life with us?
What maybe have we convinced ourselves about God that is waiting to be broken open if we allowed ourselves to engage, to re-engage? to begin again?
And here's too what I wonder: Is there a story, or a perception about ourselves that we keep rehearsing, that holds us back or in a place that doesn’t serve us well or anyone else anymore? A story or perception that may even have basis in truth, but it’s time to let it go in order to begin again … to make room for a true beginning.
What names, what images do we carry that rob us of the ability to see ourselves whole and wholly loved? It takes some courage and commitment on our part to enable this letting go … but remember that courage comes from the heart, and we are always welcomed by God, the Heart of all being.
One last question for now that surfaces through lingering with the younger son …
What have we gathered up from where we’ve been, from what we’ve lived, that informs our life, our commitment for the way forward?
How, even with what has been regrettable, even with the harshness, how might it be offered back to us in a way that contributes to our growing, our becoming beautiful all over again?
To begin is one thing. To begin again is quite another, isn’t it. Especially if we’ve decided were done for … or if somehow that’s been decided on our behalf. And yet one of the things I can’t help but hear Jesus saying through this story is that even and especially in those dead end places, Mercy awaits us. Before we ever pick ourselves up, Mercy is already moving toward us -- Mercy … that compassionate presence that takes us unawares by the unimagined goodness she bestows upon us, ignites among us.
When beginning again seems impossible, beyond our reach or what we deserve or what we want, what if we took to heart Jesus’ urging: remember Mercy … come back to Mercy … open up to Mercy.
Let Mercy have her way with you.
