As we move our clocks forward this morning and make our way toward
the first day of Spring, I figured it was a good time to point out that the
word “Lent” we use for the name of this church season is the Old English word
for “Spring”.
It’s the ancestor of our modern word “lengthen”, and Spring was
called Lent because it’s the season of lengthening days. It’s the season of growth and gestation; of preparing
for renewal and new life.
And the church adopted the word Lent for this season,
because it’s a time of preparing for new life, too; the life of the
resurrection. The “new creation” Paul
talks about this morning; our rebirth as sons and daughters of God.
And this morning, I want to talk about the rebirth we
experience as Christians. And in
particular, I want to talk about the identity we receive in that rebirth.
In John’s gospel, Jesus tells Nicodemus that, “No one can
see the kingdom of God unless he is born again. And no one can enter the
kingdom of God unless he is born of water and the Spirit.”
And when we were baptized, that’s exactly what happened to
us. We were born again of water and the
Spirit. We entered into the kingdom of
God and were made children of God.
And it’s that identity that I want to talk about this morning. Our identity as children of God. Because, as the story of the prodigal son
reminds us, it’s an identity that we often forfeit or forget.
Jesus tells us that the Father had two sons. And in the parable we see how both sons
forget or even reject their identity as their father’s sons.
They both create new identities for themselves. And the identities they create are so much
less than the one their father gave them.
The younger son takes all he has and sets out for a distant
country where he lives a life of wine, women and song. He lives as if he has no father and family. But in the end, he ends up as a slave sent
out to slop the pigs.
The older son also forgot or forsook his identity as the
father’s son. And like his younger
brother, he also ends up taking on the identity of a slave. In verse 30, he’s out in the fields, refusing
to enter his father’s house. “All these years I’ve worked like a slave for you.”
And again we have Jesus’ words, “No one can enter the
kingdom of God – the house of the Father – unless they are born anew”
And what we see in these two sons is that they both need to
be born anew before they can bring themselves to reenter their father’s house. They needed to reconnect with their true
identity; the identity their father gave them.
Their identity as his sons.
And then one day, when the younger son was slopping the pigs,
he’s so hungry and desperate that the slop actually looked good to him. On that day, we’re told, “he came to
himself.”
And it’s easy to race by that phrase, so I want to take a
moment to focus on those words, “He came to himself.” Without getting too much into the grammar here,
in the original language what the phrase means is, “He took possession of
himself.”
He once again took possession of his true identity. He took ownership of his status again. He was his father’s son. What was lost had been found. He was born anew. As Paul says, “He was a new creation”
Of course, with this realization came a sense of sorrow and
repentance. He’d sinned against his
father. In fact, he’d sinned so
grievously that didn’t deserve to be called his son anymore.
And yet, now that his identity was restored, now that he
knew he was his father’s son, it didn’t matter whether his father regarded him as
a son or slave. The son would accept
either because he now knew who his father was and that he was his son.
That knowledge became the unshakeable foundation of his
identity. Come what may, he would always
know he was his father’s son.
And of course, Jesus tells us that the father was gracious
and merciful. He was overjoyed that his
son was home and he wouldn’t hear any talk of him being a servant or a slave.
He was his son. Always
had been. Always would be.
The older brother, though, is a different story. We don’t know what happens with him. Jesus doesn’t tell us.
The last we see of him he’s out in the field, having separated
himself from his father. And clinging to
his identity as a slave, he’s unable to reenter the father’s house.
So his father comes out to plead with him. He calls him his son and invites to come him
into the house. But the son’s reaction
tells us that he isn’t ready to be born anew.
He’s trapped in this slavish identity he’s made for himself.
In fact, he talks to his father like a disgruntled employee
whose boss has bypassed him for a promotion and given it to his “no-good son” instead.
“I’ve slaved away for you all these years and you haven’t
given me anything. And now this son of
yours comes home and you kill the fatted calf.”
“Son,” the father pleads
with him, “everything I have is yours. It
always has been It always will be.”
But, having lost sight of his true identity, the older son’s
not able to hear his father, or even hear him when he calls him “son.”
And as I said earlier, you and I are often like these two sons;
forgetting the identity our Father has given us in our baptism. And instead ending up as slaves to sin.
How often do we give into sin and temptation like the
younger son? How often do we get lured
in by the promise of short-term joy and pleasure only to find that our sin has trapped
and made us its slave?
And how often are we like the older brother, enslaved by
bitterness and anger and resentment. We
get so busy trying to please God by slaving away for him here at the church, or
in our homes, or with our families or at work.
In fact, we get so busy slaving away for him that we start
seeing him more as a boss than as the loving Father he is.
If you find yourself resonating with either son, then I’d
encourage you to remember that we don’t have to live as slaves to sin and
bitterness. That’s not what we were
created for. That’s not the identity and
inheritance our Father intends for us.
And so he comes to us this morning in the midst of whatever
slavery we’ve given ourselves to and says to us what the father told the son in
the parable. Our heavenly Father says to
us, “My child, all that I have is yours. It always has been. And it always will be. Come back home.”
And if you’re like the younger son and you’ve already come
to yourself and been born anew. If you’ve
come back to the identity God gave you in your baptism, but now are feeling guilty
and wondering how your Father will receive you when you come home.
Then look no further than the feast of Communion we’re about
to share. He’s throwing this feast for you. It’s a celebration to welcome you home.
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