Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32 “Lost in Unforgiveness”
Forgiveness is difficult.
That’s why it made front page news last fall when the families of 5
slaughtered girls in an Amish school in
Forgiveness is difficult. There are different kinds of forgiveness that we struggle with throughout our lives. And they are not all the same. It is one thing when your sister always tattled on you. It is another thing entirely when your alcoholic father abused you. Some forgiveness is very, very difficult.
This parable from Luke’s gospel that we just heard -- familiar to many of us -- is often known as the story of the Prodigal Son, or the Forgiving Father. It’s the story that symbolizes God’s forgiving love for us. It’s the good news that even when we are lost -- in our mistakes, our failures, our greed, our pride, our addictions and sometimes our own self-hatred-- God is always still waiting for us to return, to come home. With the gift of God’s forgiveness, we are never lost forever. Twice in this parable, the father says, this son of mine, this brother of yours was dead and has come to life, he was lost and is found.
With all the focus on the younger brother and his joyous homecoming, it is easy to overlook the other characters in the story. But is the lost younger son really the only lost one in this story? What about the older brother, sometimes known as the Unforgiving Brother? What about him? Wasn’t he lost in his own way? Someone once said, “Unforgiveness confines us to a hell of our own making.” And that hell is a lost and lonely place.
Although we first meet the older son at the beginning of this parable, when we hear “a certain man had two sons,” we only really get to know him at the end of the story. And what we learn is not too flattering. He is so mad. So angry, so jealous, about this party for his brother, that he refuses to go in.
Can you hear the pride, the competition with his brother for his father’s attention? “Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and you’ve never let me have a party - not once!”
His father - who had probably once tried to talk the younger son out of leaving, couldn’t talk this older son into staying - not even for a party. He tries to convince his older son: This brother of yours, this son of mine, he was lost and is found. But now it looks like he’s found the younger son, but lost the older one. Lost him to a bitter place of anger, resentment, and hurt feelings over his sense of pride and entitlement.
That’s where we’re left, at the end of the story, with this poor father trying to explain his gracious heart to his oldest son.
At least that’s where Luke ends the story. Sounds like it should’ve had a “To be continued” tacked on the end. If we could fast-forward the story into time -- one year later, five years later. What would happen next? What would that story sound like? Let’s listen.
“It was a year later. The party was long over and the man who had two sons seemed to have aged 10 years in the last year. The elder son had grown increasingly resentful and rarely spoke to his father.
When the family ate together, which was rare, the table was largely silent, except for a few sarcastic exchanges or sniping comments between the two brothers.
From the older brother to the younger brother: “You’ve wasted our father’s life savings, you know.
It’s your fault that we can’t pay all the hired hands this year.”
Or from the younger brother to the older brother.
“You’re always right, aren’t you? You’ve got all the answers, don’t you?” And whatever was on the table for dinner always tasted bitter.
Five years after that, the older brother and younger brother had moved out of the house, into separate homes, still on the father’s property. It was right after the father’s funeral that all communication really broke down as the two brothers tried to settle the estate. Originally they had thought their father’s money was gone. But they had discovered a new will, which left very little to the brothers and most to local charities. Now everything was frozen, assets, and lives and hearts, as lawyers for the two brothers tried to work out some compromise. Their story is to be continued. And it doesn’t sound like a happy ending.
Unforgiveness is born in a moment, but takes time to grow up. Sometimes it begins with a few harsh words. Or a careless conversation. A failure to swallow pride and apologize. Or not saying “I’m sorry” about that small slight.
Where did it start for this older brother? Was it when he heard the music and the dancing? Or was it earlier -- when his father gave away the inheritance -- not at all in the proper order or at the proper time.
Or was it even before this, as the younger brother seemed to be able to talk his dad into anything --
a new car, an extra $20 as he ran out with his friends. Or was it before this -- as the younger brother seemed to get away with doing hardly anything to help out while his older brother picked up the slack.
It’s a familiar scene in many households. Here, help your brother, he’s younger. Go on, do the dishes. You’re older. You need to set a better example. You’re the oldest.
Unforgiveness is born
in a moment but takes time to grow up.
But when and where does it stop?
What if we went back to the party, and the story -- with its to be continued ending -- had a different ending? What would this story sound like then?
“As the party continued on inside, and after this angry exchange between the father and his oldest son,
the father was filled with compassion; he put his arms around him and kissed the young man.
“Let it go,” he urged his son. “Let it go. You know I love you.”
After a time, a long time, but still arm-in-arm, the two walked into the celebration. The younger son, noticed right away when they stepped through the door, and he hurried over to them, wondering,
worrying about what his brother would have to say.
But before he could say anything, his older brother spoke. “You’re back.
We’ve missed you,” he said.
For a moment, the younger brother was silent. And then he said to his brother, “I think I owe you an apology too.”
Is this just a happily ever after ending? Or is it real? Can we really go back and undo the damage of unforgiveness? Stop it somewhere?
Only if you believe
that God has forgiven you. Only if you
believe that you need God’s grace.
Only if you believe
that you are to be a channel of God’s grace to others. Only then can real forgiveness start.
Real forgiveness starts with a decision. A decision not so much to forgive somebody else, but a decision to free ourselves from the anger and hurt and resentment of unforgiveness. Forgiveness frees us from this lost and lonely place, this hell of our own making. Real forgiveness is hard work. It’s a journey that takes time and prayer.
The road to forgiveness has some basic steps. We are going to look at a handout that outlines these.
The
first step is to recognize the
hurt. Are we willing to place our hurt
in God’s healing arms?
The
next step is to revise the way we
think of our offender. Can we look
through God’s eyes at the person who has hurt us?
The
3rd step and one of the hardest is to release or let go of revenge and pray for the offender.
The
last step is to revisit. To repeat as often as it takes.
Forgiveness does not happen all at once.
It happens over time, as part of our life’s journey.
But there are some roadblocks that can stop us on the road to forgiveness.
Reconciliation
is not possible. Our offender has died,
or won’t change. Getting around it: Even
when reconciliation is not possible, we can choose to free ourselves from
unforgiveness.
Forgiveness
seems impossible. Getting around it:
Even if we are not ready to forgive, we can pray for the desire to
forgive. It is possible to pray for
someone without feeling anything. “God,
wrap your arms around John, who is also a child of God.”
Real forgiveness
starts somewhere.
There is another story told - of two different brothers. These brothers didn’t live so long ago. But they had farmed together, on adjoining farms, for 40 years, sharing machinery and trading labor and goods as needed without a hitch. Then they fell into conflict, the first serious conflict in their long partnership together. It began with a small misunderstanding and grew into a major difference, and finally it exploded into an exchange of bitter words followed by weeks of silence.
One morning there was a knock on the older brother’s door. He opened it to find a man with a carpenter’s toolbox. “I’m looking for some work, “he said. “Maybe you have something I could help with?” “Yes,” said the older brother, as he walked out in the yard. “I do have a job for you.”
“Look across the creek at that farm. That’s my neighbor. In fact, it’s my younger brother. Last week there was a meadow between us. He recently took his bulldozer, and dug over there from the river.
Now there is a creek between us. “I think he’s done it just to spite me, but I’m gonna show him.
See that pile of lumber by the barn? I want you to build me a fence - an 8 foot fence - so I don’t have to see his face or his place again.”
The carpenter said, “Okay, I think I understand. I’ll get my tools out and get started.”
The older brother had to go to town for the day, So the carpenter was left to work hard all day, measuring, sawing and nailing.
About sunset, when the farmer returned the carpenter was just finishing the job. The farmer’s eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped, as he stood looking. There was no fence at all. It was a bridge,
a bridge that stretched from one side of the creek to the other. A fine piece of work, handrails and all.
And there was his brother, his younger brother, coming toward him. The two brothers began walking, each from
their side of the bridge, until they met in the middle. “After all I’ve said and done, you’re quite a
fellow to build this bridge,” said the younger brother. As they embraced, they noticed the carpenter
hoisting his toolbox on his shoulder.
“Wait, stay a few days! I’ve got more projects,” said the older brother. But he replied, “I’m done here. Besides, I’ve got many more bridges to build.” And he went on his way, stopping a few days here, a few days there, building bridges wherever he could.
Building bridges is God’s work. Because it’s God’s work, we
are challenged to do it too. The crux of Christianity is this: because we’ve been given grace, we are to
give it to others.
There is a bridge we all need to build with someone. Maybe someone at work, someone in your family.
Maybe someone here in this church. Forgiveness starts somewhere. This week, can you start to build a bridge with someone?