God’s Justice

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

The story of the prodigal son is the third in a series of parables that Jesus tells the tax collectors and sinners, the Pharisees and scribes. The stories all share a common theme: there is the lost sheep—in which the shepherd leaves his 99 sheep in order to find the one that was lost. There is the woman who searches her entire house until she finds a single coin. And now the story of the youngest son who runs off, squanders his inheritance, and then comes back, humbled and apologetic, only to be greeted triumphantly by his father.

What was once lost now is found. Even if it’s only one seemingly insignificant thing like a tax collector or a sinner

It’s a comforting story. If we get lost along the way, even if we’re the only one missing, God will come back, find us, and bring us to safety. God isn’t going to choose to save the many over the one; God is going to save all of us. And it doesn’t matter if we’ve wandered off, gotten lost in a couch cushion, or really blown it and run away—God still goes looking. It’s such good news because we’ve all been lost. We are lost. We all desperately want to be found. We want to be welcomed, to be taken in and greeted with a feast. We want that extravagant generosity, from God, and from the people in our lives—that unconditional forgiveness, even when we’ve left, and squandered all our riches, and slept in a pen with pigs.

It’s not such a great story, if you’re a Pharisee or a scribe, the older brother, one of the 99 sheep, one of the coins in the purse, one who has always done what you’re supposed to do, followed the leader, not gotten lost. It’s not particularly fair to the first who become last.

Sometimes we’re the older, faithful sibling, and sometimes we’re the younger reckless one, but the good thing is that God loves both of them, loves us all the same, and none of us deserve it. The father is generous enough to give out the inheritance without strings or questions—able to give out that freedom, suspecting, perhaps knowing that it will be completely abused, but giving out that choice nonetheless. And upon return, the younger son, knowing he has sinned, fully repentant, comes back home with his ears down and his tail between his legs. He doesn’t even ask to be his father’s son anymore, because he’s blown his chance, he doesn’t deserve that honor. He just needs a place to work and sleep, and he’s happy to be a servant. But his father’s extravagant grace strikes again, and he does the unexpected, he opens his arms, and welcomes his son home, as a true son, as a beloved son—no need for penance or second class citizenship, his old place is restored, and he is honored for his return.

Haven’t we ever wandered away from God, haven’t we wondered how God would receive us, if God would receive us, if God would turn away from us, or take us back only after a trial period of good behavior, and even then there would be conditions and restrictions. Maybe we feel that way now. If God really knew us, knew all the things we had done and thought then God wouldn’t love us. We’ve rejected God and turned away too many times, we’ve been told that God won’t love us anymore, doesn’t want us. The comparison to a loving parent only goes so far—because too many times parents really do turn away from their children, do withhold their love, and refuse to face them and welcome them as their own. But God isn’t like that. God doesn’t care why we left or how long we were gone or what we did or thought or said, no matter how truly terrible. No matter if it gives us chills or keeps us up at night, no matter if it’s the most horrible thing a human being has ever done, God is still happy to see us—and it’s a real, and genuine welcome, not hesitant, not conditional, but it’s as if we never left, never turned away, never failed in our own love.

And the real point of the parables is that none of us deserve this extravagance. It’s not fair and it’s not just, but it’s mercy. The big brother, the little brother—neither deserve it.

Sara Miles is the author of two books and the director of ministry for St. Gregory’s Episcopal Church in San Francisco. There, she runs a food pantry that feeds 800 people every week. And unlike most pantries, they give away food for anyone who needs it. They don’t keep records, or keep track of who qualifies for food stamps, or who got food last week, or who has legal citizenship. Because if you’re hungry and you need food, then you can have it, whether or not you deserve it, because that is exactly the point. The food is like God’s grace and no one deserves it. What we actually deserve is usually pretty harsh. The world’s justice can also be pretty harsh.

God is not just. God is not fair. God is merciful.

And so our response to others is not to be just, or fair, but to be merciful. John Wesley spoke a lot about social holiness: he said there was no such thing as holiness without social holiness, no such thing as only personal holiness that is devoid of caring for others—meaning we have no choice but to care for others, even our frivolous little brothers.

It could be easy for Americans to look at other countries and wonder why they can’t be more like us—with resources, stable building structures, public water works. Just like it could be easy for the well-off to wonder why those living on welfare just can’t take care of themselves, why those living below poverty levels can’t have healthy meals. It could be easy to say that those who are poor and those who struggle have done it all to themselves, have somehow chosen to live this way—that they have taken all their resources, and all the chance in the world, and squandered them away in dissolute living. That we shouldn’t help people because they’ll just become dependent on us. We should love them, but only at a distance.

Through the United Methodist Committee On Relief, we send help to those who need it, both nationally and internationally. Perhaps it’s not just or fair, that we send aid to other countries that may not deserve it in the worldly sense. Sometimes UMCOR probably helps the younger brother—the one who didn’t take the right risks or make the right plans, because any disaster—natural or human made—has lots of compounded causes, some mistakes, some accidents, some that could’ve been prevented, some that could never have been imagined.

Jesus feeds people, loves people, heals people, and it’s not about whether or not they’ve worked hard and deserve it, because it’s grace, and none of us deserve it.

And this is social justice. Earlier this week, radio personality Glenn Beck urged everyone whose church proclaims social or economic justice to leave it. He said it was all code for communism and fascism. He urged listeners to go talk to their priests, to ask if they were involved in this whole social justice thing, and to leave their churches if the answer turns out to be yes.

Just to be clear, if you are in any UMC, the answer to Mr. Beck’s question is “Yes.” Yes, you are part of a church that cares about social justice, that cares about God’s justice, which may not always seem fair, but is always full of grace and mercy.

We care about the least of these because that’s what Jesus urged us to do.

And the best way to affirm this stance of the UMC, for today, is to give to UMCOR to help ensure that God’s merciful justice continues to spread throughout the world. Amen.