Change Isn’t Easy
By: The Rev. Gigi Miller
Change isn’t easy. Almost a year ago, my husband Rich and I moved from our home in Encinitas to a new place in Carlsbad due to the birth of twin granddaughters… it’s a long story. We lived in that Encinitas house for many years, so we had to learn a lot about our new neighborhood –grocery stores, restaurants, gas stations. And I still grumble about the extra time it takes me to get down the freeway, especially in traffic amid all the road construction. But now that most of the boxes are unpacked, I appreciate our changed surroundings when I watch a sunrise over the lagoon or take a leisurely walk to the beach.
Jesus, God with us, knew that change isn’t easy. But he also realized that the only way for us to live as children of God means we need to see the world as God sees it. To help us shift our perspective, Jesus told stories, parables, which relate to us. Some stories are as familiar to us as our own. They rest in our minds and seem to live in our bones; they speak to us about our dreams and fears. So, when the Pharisees and scribes grumble about Jesus eating with tax collectors and sinners, Jesus responds “There was a man who had two sons.” It seems like a family story - only this one is really about the stories we tell ourselves, the ones we may need to change.
In our Deep Dive Book Group (meets Wednesday nights, if you’re interested), we’ve been discussing this tale through theologian Henri Nouwen’s book “The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming.” With Nouwen, we consider the characters in the parable and explore their meaning for us.
American culture glorifies the archetype of the “rugged individualist” – the lone cowboy, the rebellious artist, the business leader whose brilliance revolutionizes the world, and like all legends, it reveals something true. We do need to discover our passions and trust our instincts. But there’s a danger in a myth of self-sufficiency that distorts our Divine inheritance and rejects our place in community.
When I start to think that I can only rely on myself, like the younger son, I’m lured into that “distant country” where my success is measured by the world’s standards – the stuff I own, the titles I have, the things I’ve learned. I forget how the psalmist describes God, “You are my hiding-place; you preserve me from trouble; you surround me with shouts of deliverance.” As Nouwen puts it, “It’s almost as if I want to prove to myself and the world that I do not need God’s love, that I can make a life on my own, that I want to be fully independent.”
God, the parent in this parable, loves us too much to stop us from following even this destructive plot line. God can’t help but give us ultimate freedom, even if the choices we make hurt ourselves, our community, and God.
When we “come to ourselves” and realize how far from God we have wandered, we rehearse speeches of explanation and repentance, like the younger son. But God is already waiting for us, expectantly watching for our return, ready to offer us a loving embrace. God interrupts our recitations of failure, and like the father in the story, won’t even let us finish them before exclaiming in happiness, “I lost you, but here you are – home at last! This calls for a feast!” This is the true grace of unconditional forgiveness.
But not everyone is ready for a celebration, and I get it. All this singing, dancing, and making merry for the one who lost everything? It’s not right… it’s not “fair.” Like the Pharisees with whom Jesus is talking, we tell ourselves the older son’s story – if we follow the rules, stay with dad, and work hard, we should be rewarded. And if we don’t get all the goodies – the fancy ring, the cool sandals, the fun party – well, something’s clearly wrong, especially if the screw-up – the tax collector, the sinners - get any of it. We accept the world’s need for easy comparisons and its belief that there’s not enough - stuff, love – for everyone. We burn with jealousy and self-righteous anger, forgetting the words God has whispered in our ears since birth, “you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.” In our modern society, we start believing the social media algorithms and elected officials who stoke resentment and bitterness for their own ends.
We feel we must turn from the dark tales of scarcity and judgement that separate us from each other, but how do we revise the world’s story? Nouwen tells us that trust and gratitude are the editing tools we need. Trust that God is waiting for us. We are all God’s beloved children - despite - and maybe because of our messiness. And gratitude, Nowen says “goes beyond the ‘thine’ and ‘mine’ and claims the truth that all of life is pure gift. Because every gift I acknowledge reveals another and another and another until, finally, even the most normal, obvious, and seemingly mundane event or encounter proves to be filled with grace.”
Jesus knows that change isn’t easy. In the parable we don’t know if the older son ever makes it into the banquet. As Jesus asks us to live into the story of God’s new earth, he never denies the pain and loneliness of this one. But, Nouwen says, “God’s joy can be in the midst of it. It is the joy of belonging to the household of God whose love is stronger than death and who empowers us to be in the world while already belonging to the kingdom of joy.”
Jesus invites us to rewrite the world’s tired narrative of isolation and exclusion into a glad song of radical reconciliation with God and each other. As Paul tells the Corinthians, “everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new.” We begin to realize that, just like us, our siblings in God’s creation don’t have to do anything to earn God’s love and no one is ever truly lost. And we can step into our place in this new world, as “ambassadors of Christ” inviting everyone to join in God’s welcome home party.
