The Church of St.
Paul & Incarnation, Jersey City NJ
March 31, 2019
Year C: The Fourth
Sunday in Lent
Joshua 5:9-12
Psalm 32
2 Corinthians 5:16-21
Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32
“I Never Knew I Could Love My Children So Much!”
Last
week one of our parishioners was briefly admitted to Christ Hospital and when I
went to visit her – when I entered the hospital lobby – as usual I felt the
weight of history.
I
felt the weight of church history.
As
some of you know, for most of its history Christ Hospital was an Episcopal
hospital and for more than a century many parishioners from both St. Paul’s and
Incarnation devoted enormous amounts of energy and money to support the work of
the hospital, especially through what was called the Abercrombie Guild.
For
most of my predecessors, serving on the hospital board simply came with the job
of being rector of St. Paul’s.
To
this day, there is a long hallway on the first floor lined with plaques
honoring many of these volunteers where you old-timers would recognize many
familiar names.
That’s
why early on my rectorship we tried to offer a weekly service in the hospital
chapel. Although I think we did some good, it was probably a romantic idea of
recreating something that doesn’t exist anymore and so we weren’t able to
continue.
Walking
into the hospital lobby, I also felt the weight of my own personal history.
It
was in Christ Hospital that my grandmother – my mother’s mother – died, a
difficult loss for my family.
And
it was in Christ Hospital that for one summer while I was in seminary I trained
as a hospital chaplain.
It’s
something most clergy-to-be do and I have to say that much more than any class
I ever took, it was that intense summer working in the hospital that really
prepared me for being a priest.
Even
now, almost every day I draw on lessons I learned during that time.
One
of the things that surprised me about that summer is that there is a unique
kinds of community that form in a hospital.
There’s
community among the nurses and aides and the people who serve the food and
clean up – the people who work side by side each day and usually have
well-developed senses of humor, much needed to face so much fear, pain, and
sorrow, day after day.
I
sort of expected that, but there’s also a community that forms with some of the
patients, the people who are in the hospital for a long time or the people who
go in and out of the hospital a lot, the people known among the nurses as
“frequent fliers.”
I
was surprised to find myself forming bonds with some of these longtime patients
– these regular customers – in some cases getting to know them and their
families and in other cases just spending a lot of time with them, even if they
were unable or unwilling to talk.
There
was one elderly woman I visited nearly every day.
She
was very sick and had a feeding tube up her nose, obviously so uncomfortable.
I
don’t think I ever met her family and I didn’t really know anything about her
because although she spoke most of it was impossible to make out or maybe just
gibberish.
But
there was one day when I was just sitting with her and listening to her babble
on when suddenly her eyes clicked into focus and she turned and looked at me
and with total clarity, she said:
“I
never knew I could love my children so much!”
She
immediately turned and slipped back into her fog but I was stunned by the power
and beauty of what she said.
Obviously
I’ve never forgotten it and I’ve often wondered what made her say that – what
was her backstory?
I’ve
wondered if maybe she hadn’t wanted to have children, thinking that she wasn’t
loving or generous or patient enough for that enormous job.
Or,
I’ve wondered if maybe her kids had let her down – that their lives had not
turned out as well as she had hoped when they were little babies filled with
all the promise and possibility of life.
Or,
maybe her family was like most, maybe all, families – a little messy, with good
intentions but hurtful mistakes – things done and said that can’t be undone and
unsaid – all the baggage that we carry on our own and all the baggage that we
share with those we know and love the best.
I
don’t know.
All
I know is that near the end of her life, out of the fog of disease and
medicine, a woman felt the clarity and urgency to turn to me and say:
“I
never knew I could love my children so much!”
I’ll
never learn anything more about that woman’s family, but in today’s parable
Jesus paints a vivid picture of one particular family – a family that has more
than its share of problems, right?
This
passage is usually called “The Prodigal Son” – with prodigal meaning wasting
money, usually on oneself – it’s not a compliment - and that’s fair enough name
for the parable, but it might also be called “The Resentful Son” – and isn’t it
kind of ironic that the older son who is taken for granted and pretty much
forgotten about in the story has generally been downplayed in two thousand
years of retelling this tale?
And,
the parable could also just as accurately be called “The Loving Father.”
Whatever
we call it, this family is a mess.
They’re
well off, with land and animals and servants, but like many wealthy families
past and present they don’t seem particularly happy.
The
younger son, perhaps out of boredom or selfishness, wants out, so he takes his
inheritance early – his father is loving but perhaps not so wise to give all of
this to him at once – and, sure enough, with his full purse the younger son
blows it all and ends up degraded, working among the pigs and begging for food.
He
remembers his father’s wealth, overcomes any embarrassment he might have had,
and returns home, counting on his father welcoming him with open arms.
There’s
something heartwarming about that but overall I find the younger son to be an
unlikable character – there’s definitely the sense of him manipulating his
father – he kind of rehearses what he’s going to say when he sees him – which
doesn’t sound like he’s exactly speaking from the heart.
One
commentator I read said that she wouldn’t want the prodigal son to date her
daughter!
Anyway,
the younger son returns and his overjoyed father rushes out to greet him and
calls for a big party to welcome home this son who was lost.
Of
course, there’s just one problem: the father neglects to tell his older son –
the dutiful son – the son who did not squander his wealth – the son who
doesn’t seem to receive much praise for his everyday decency – he neglects to
tell this son that his ne’er do well brother has returned and there’s a big
party.
Oops.
The
father tries to fix this mistake – to heal the legitimate sense of grievance
felt by his older decent son, but the story ends with kind of a cliffhanger.
We
don’t know if this relationship – if these relationships – can be healed.
Families
are messy, and yet, despite it all, the father in the story is able to find in
himself perhaps more love than he had expected – love for the son who had
wasted so much and was perhaps not such a good guy – and love for the son that
he had taken for granted for so long.
Families
are messy, and, yet, despite it all, an old woman dying in a hospital bed was
still surprised by the deep love she had for children.
Families
are messy, and yet so many people right here in our own church are able to
overcome and forgive and sacrifice and, yes, love – love so much, despite it
all.
And,
the really good news is that if we are capable of so much love, imagine
how much love God has for us, despite our many mistakes, despite the
messiness of our lives.
So
much love that – if I’m not pushing things too far – maybe sometimes even God –
the God who loves us enough to die for us – maybe sometimes even God says,
“I
never knew I could love my children so much!”
Amen.
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