I’m Not the Lost Son
The Prodigal Son', John Macallan Swan, 1888
You can listen to the audio recording of this message below.
It’d be a bit disingenuous to say that Jesus was the reason I went to youth group. I mean, that’s absolutely the right answer if your youth pastor asks you why you come to youth group.
But Jesus wasn’t the only reason I ended up sticking around. Alaina W had just as much sway as my Lord and Savior.
Going to youth group meant that I got extra time with Alaina. Sometimes even three hour rides in fifteen passenger vans together, where our sweaty little hands would be clasped together. We even draped a jacket over our hands, you know, to give us another layer between us and the prying eye of the Lord.
In youth group, holding hands was basically second base, and we blew by Jesus the first base coach who was trying to get us to stop at first base, which as we all knew, was a very rapid, barely touching hug.
The guilt/worry of being caught holding hands during middle school youth group fall retreat in the Poconos was only one of the temptations we were warned of that weekend.
Like any good Evangelical youth group teenager, I absorbed the core theology of the religious right from charismatic guest speakers at youth group retreats. Speakers who would use, say….the prodigal son story to tell us about God’s grace, and how even when we go get lost in the big cities, indulging in sins like drinking, partying, having sex, and saying the f-word…even while we are doing all of that sinning, God is waiting and praying for us to return.
And, when we finally come to our senses, and return like a prodigal, our Father will come running to us, his prayers answered! And after that there will be a party like no other, like probably chocolate fountains, and bouncy houses and all you can drink soda!
Even though this was a parable, I was told, the capital T “Truth” aka the moral of the story would never change. This was a story about temptation and sin, about someone who gave into their carnal desires, but eventually was convicted by God to change their ways, and to return back home, where everything was right and good from the start.
Usually at this point, Alaina and I would scoot away from each other a bit….freshly concerned that even our legs touching might lead us to sin.
The reason I share all of this with you is that just when you think you’ve cleansed toxic theology from all corners of your life, you turn and find that a fresh pile has just be laid for you to pick up.
So, here I am, picking it up in front of all of you. The thing is, I suspect this toxic theology pile is still hanging around for many of us in this room.
For the last few decades I’ll admit that at times I’ve felt waves of panic wash over me when a question from my past just whispers all gross and sneaky-like in my ear, “what if you are the lost son? Look at you off in the big city indulging in all that sin. Don’t you feel your family back home on their knees praying for your return?”
I think the reason this question has haunted me for so long is that even though I stand here before you as a recognized minister in the tradition of Friends, there are dozens of people from my past who still believe I’ve lost my way, that I’m living in sin, and who I know are actively praying for my return to my senses, praying for me to return home.
For them, I am the perfect example of the lost son, and they, the faithful mothers, fathers, former pastors, and mentors are all collectively on their knees praying for my return. They are imagining the day when I turn away from all I’ve become, and go back to being the Mark they knew before he got all mixed up in the wrong crowd.
Ever since the election, and especially since the inauguration, I’ve felt a surprising amount of clarity about the dozens of people who still hold the place of authority in my mind and heart of being “the faithful praying for my return.”
This clarity is aided by their stated support of this current administration and its direction, especially its efforts against the trans community.
From this clarity I wrote something and shared it online. I wrote, “I know conservative family members are praying for me to “return home.” This is no prodigal son story. The “home” of right-wing politics/Christianity was just a house. I’m finding a new home.”
Had my thoughts about the prodigal son story started and ended there, with a post on a social media app, I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you about it now. It didn’t end there.
A friend, whom some of you may know, Rebecca Joy Sumner replied to my post saying, “I keep remembering everything those people taught me and comparing them to what I believe and how I live in contrast to what they have come to believe and how they have come to live. If there are prodigals, it is them not us. They left and betrayed us. Not the inverse.”
The moment I read Rebecca’s comment, I felt as if a person awaking from a deep sleep. Like someone released from a burden.
Releasing the worry of being perceived as the lost son has felt like its own homecoming.
Right now, the moral narrative of the Evangelical Right has the most power. It is literally what some of the most powerful people in this country say guides their actions and vision for the future of this country.
To call oneself a Christian right now requires one to scramble with caveats.
To call oneself a Christian right now requires one to awake each day and see their faith claimed by powerful people who actively burden the lives of people Jesus told us not just to love, but who we should be listening to and having our world shaped by.
Perhaps the greatest advantage of this powerful position is the ability to rule on who is and isn’t lost. There isn’t much I can do or say that will remove the label of lost son to the people who believe I’m lost. Once one is lost, it is as if they’ve become tainted, the lost don’t say true things, don’t do or act in right ways.
I know that there are people in this community who, to biological family, and former friends and acquaintances are considered lost. There are people in this community who grew up in a context they now reject, but because of the balance of power, especially in matters of Christianity, they are left to feel like the prodigal son not yet returned.
If we continue to play with the meaning of the word apocalypse being “an unveiling,” then the apocalypse of a second Trump presidency has further unveiled the chasms growing in some of our key life relationships. This apocalypse has unveiled, all the more, how far the dominant expression of Christianity in this country has strayed from home.
Friends, what does it feel like to hear someone tell you that you no longer have to carry the narrative that you are lost because you’ve chosen a different path?
For those of us who’ve found a way out of the houses of our childhoods, houses not homes, where we were forced to hide our truest selves, I hope you can recognize the turn towards home that you made the day you left those houses. I hope you can give yourself a ton of credit for how brave you were, how brave you still are.
Oh, and to thirteen year old Mark holding Alaina’s hand under a jacket in the youth group van, don’t worry about it, God thought that was so sweet and all the angels said, “awwww!”
Ok, Here are some queries:.
How has it been carrying around the narrative that you are lost? How much longer do you need to carry it? What would happen if you were freed from it?
Has anyone ever called you 'lost' for something you knew was guiding you home to yourself? How are you reclaiming what another once thought was lost about you?