For All Those Who Are Far from Home -- Luke 15:11-32 (Trinity Sunday)

Photo credit: Tim Mossholder, used with permission via Unsplash

To listen to the sermon, you can click here.

We know this story – this “Parable of the Prodigal Son.”[1] We know and love this story, especially the promise of unconditional love that it holds for us. We could almost tell it by heart:

Jesus is travelling around – village to village – bringing radical good news – good news for the poor, release for the captive, freedom for the oppressed. Jesus is stirring the people up – and he’s making the powers more than a little nervous. Worst of all, he’s breaking all the social rules that keep some people out, so that others can stay in – can stay in power.

So one day – Jesus is teaching and he hears the Pharisees and the Scribes grumbling, “Why this fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” And Jesus tells them three stories – about those who are lost getting found – the story of the lost coin, the story of the lost sheep – and this story, which I’m going to call “The Story of the Son Who Was Far from Home.”

There was a man who had two sons. When the younger son got to a certain age and stage, he got the itch and wanted to leave home. He wanted to see the world, live life for himself. And so he asked his father for his share of the inheritance. Now, that was even more insulting in their day than it is in ours. The younger son was eventually going to get an inheritance, but to ask for it before your father died was... beyond disrespectful. (If you think about it, we know the age and stage.)

And the father says, yes.  Doesn’t judge. Doesn’t rage. The father says yes. The son packs up his things and goes to a distant land, where he squanders all he had in what the Bible calls “dissolute living.” Now we don’t know what that was – but it sure sounds bad.

And it’s not everything the son thought it would be. Things spiral downward. He spends all he has. There’s a famine in the land. He’s a stranger in a strange land. There’s no one to help. So he hires himself out, and gets sent out into the fields to feed the pigs. No one gives him anything – not a scrap. He’s alone, and hungry, and desperate – so much so that he longs to eat what the pigs are eating – just to put his head face-down in the trough of slop.

And he thinks, “What am I doing?” My father’s servants have bread and water, and here I am. I need to go back.” He doesn’t expect a warm welcome. He expects that he will need to beg. He knows how their world works. He has violated the norms. So he rehearses what he will say – you know, like we do – those conversations we make up in our heads when we are full of worry and dread. “I’m not worthy; please take me back even as a servant.”

But we know that the welcome he receives is not what he expects. The son travels back from that distant land – and when he gets to that place he calls home – his Father sees him at distance.

I think of my grandmother’s farm back in Indiana. There was this long gravel driveway leading in from the County Road. Folks didn’t come often, so when you’d hear a car turn in on the gravel – everyone would go to the front window to see who was coming.

There’s a moment like that at the end of The Color Purple – when Celie looks up and sees her children in the distance coming home.

The Father sees the son at a distance. Turning down that road. And the Father – whom the Son expects to rage – comes running – arms open wide. He weeps over his son – he kisses his son – he embraces the son he thought was lost for good. He doesn’t even mind the stink of the pigs.

And the son starts in on his speech, “Father I’ not worthy...” And the Father says, “Hush. Hush.” The Father calls the servants – get a robe – the best one – put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet – start to prepare the feast – for the son of mine was lost but now he’s found.

Now remember the older brother – he hears the feast cranking up. No one even thinks to come and get him. He goes and sees what is happening and he is... not happy. “I’m the one who stayed... I never even thought about dissolute living... I’ve been here working my... I’ve been working hard, and he gets the feast.” And the Father says, “Son. You need to get on board. My love for your brother doesn’t take one thing away from you. What I have will always be yours. But today we need to celebrate and rejoice because your brother – your brother – whom we thought was dead is alive and home.

We know this story. We love this story. We need this story.

This is the story of the one who is far from home, whose parent is willing to re-order the world to welcome them back home.

This story says to us: No matter where we are on the journey – no matter how far from home – no matter who we are – no matter what we’ve done – there is One who is willing to bring us back home. This story says to those of us who have been cast out, that we will be welcomed in and welcomed home – that there is a God who loves us that much – who will see us in the distance and come running – who will hug our neck and welcome us home and who will re-order the world to make it so.

We know this story, and love this story, and need this story. So let’s claim this story and join the feast.

AND. AND. This story – in these days – has stirred up in me – one further question – that will not let me go. And this is where I want us to spend our time today. Out of this story that we know so well... this story of the one who is far from home.. I can’t stop wondering and asking:

Who is far from home in these days?

And I ask that question, in part, because of what I bring to this story. You see, I’m part of the LGBTQIA+ community. And I hear this story of a child who is far from home... and I know.. we know.. we queer people know... that when a child is far from home... it’s not always because they choose to be there. Sometimes we are far from home... because we have been thrown out of home. Sometimes we have been pushed out of home... or out of community... or out of the church... for who we are... and for who we love. For queer folk... the story doesn’t always look like this. And I expect that may be so for others too.

And so the story has got me thinking:

Who is far from home in these days? And why?

And what would it take for us to welcome each other home?

In this month of Pride, I’m thinking of my trans siblings – who are under attack on the regular these days. Since January, the Regime in this nation has come for our trans siblings with ferocity. The regime has moved, with its power-over, to deny trans folks accurate passports (as if they are somehow less than full citizens); to go after and investigate schools supporting and protecting trans youth; to eliminate medical care. As bullies do, they have sought out the most vulnerable, and gone after them with a vengeance.

This story this morning has me thinking about this question:

Who is far from home in these days?

I’ve been thinking of young folks caught up in the United States’ carceral system – in what Michelle Alexander calls the “New Jim Crow.”[2] We know that story too – how after Juneteenth – after the nation changed its Constitution to end slavery; to make citizens those who had been enslaved – everyone born in the United States a citizen; and to guarantee for all people due process, equal protection of law and the right to vote. We know how after that the powers re-mobilized and re-configured the systems into Jim Crow and then the new Jim Crow. So that now, the school to prison pipeline helps incarcerate black and brown people at rates far exceeding the incarceration of white people. And we know the families out there who are longing to bring their children home.

This story this morning has me thinking about this question:

Who is far from home in these days?

What systems are keeping folks cast out?

What systems are keeping families separated one from another?

I don’t think you can ask that question in these days and not think of our migrating neighbors – folks who have left home – not for dissolute living – but for survival. They’ve left homelands where their lives and their children’s lives are at risk every day – to seek safe shelter, and a home. But the regime that has come to power in Washington – and the racist systems that have persisted for far too long – they are moving in without regard to rights guaranteed everyone under the Constitution – to cast folks out as far as they can. We’ve seen the midnight raids, which have now become daylight raids – chasing farm workers across the fields; defiance of court orders to fly people out of this country to prisons in another distant country not their own; that government official, wearing her Rolex watch, standing in front of caged human beings – menacing, taunting – and seeming to revel in it; and the illegal mobilization of the National Guard and the US Marines to silence those who speak up and speak out. Friends – this regime and its cruelty – it’s hard for me to think of things further from the way of Jesus.

As we read this story this morning, of the one who is far from home, as we read the story in our day, the story has got me thinking:

Who is far from home in these days? And why?

And what would it take for us to re-order the world to welcome each other home?

I’m remembering a quiet December evening a couple years ago, right here in this room. Janie Spahr had called folks together with an invitation from someone staying at the TransHeartline house. Her name was Carina, a beautiful transwoman, and she said that she’d like to gather folks at a church and have some sort of ritual where she could claim her name. Carina asked that of us – ordinary churchpeople – and Janie relayed the invitation (and when Janie invites you to come – you come).

Carina and Janie gathered us – a group of folks from a number of churches – on that chilly winter evening – in the warmth of a church – and we heard her story – of how she had been turned away from the church. But Carina said, Janie has told me that God welcomes me here; will you say that back to me? We welcomed each other here in this church, and witnessed as Carina claimed her name, and we celebrated together.

I’m thinking of those families working so hard to bring their children home – to dismantle the school to prison pipeline – to get them free so that we can welcome them home. We talk about things like that at those Come to the Table conversations – we’ve talked about policing already and in September we’ll talk about the carceral system. What would it look like – if we imagined a better world – if we lived into Jesus’s command to set those held captive free and surrounded those returning with love and support – and not just that – but supported them as they re-entered and claimed their freedom – with the opportunity to work without the stigma of incarceration – with the full rights of citizenship. What would it take to cultivate – what Michelle Alexander calls – “an ethic of genuine care, compassion and concern for every human being.”[3] Imagine that.

I’m thinking of all those folks who yesterday and in recent days who came out all over the country to stand with our immigrant neighbors – and to stand up against Authoritarian Rule. I’m thinking of the work that lies ahead to provide safe space to those who need shelter – to stand against the regime’s attack on vulnerable communities – to think of all the ways we might support families who fear arrest and separation.

This morning’s story is the story of One Who is Far from Home –

and the parent – the God – the family – the community –

that is willing to re-order the world to bring them back home.

Now, telling these kind of stories... well... let’s be clear... it is what got Jesus killed. Wecan’t not say that. Those Pharisees and those Scribes grumble, “This fellow eats with the outcasts and welcomes them.” That sneer will be part of the charges that will lead Jesus to the cross. The powers don’t like this freedom talk. We are seeing in our day – that the powers will do all they can to silence it. They like us separated and quiet, and not together and noisy.

But Jesus has told them and us where we are going. Jesus has said very clearly where the Spirit of God is heading – in their day and in ours. God has imagined and is bringing to life a better world. Jesus rises up and stands in the midst of the people and says:

The Spirit is upon me to bring good news to the poor;

sight to the blind (healing for every hurt);

release for the captive;

freedom for all who are oppressed;

and the forgiveness of every debt.

Jesus tells them and us: The Spirit is upon me – the Spirit is upon us. We have a world to re-order so that all God’s children can come home. Telling these stories does lead to the cross – because these stories invite us into the deep pain of the world – and to take seriously the suffering of God’s children everyone and everywhere.

But we know – we know – because we follow the One who always seeks us out and always brings us back home – we know that LIVING THESE STORIES OUT – brings us on through that cross into the fullness of Resurrection. We know that this way of Jesus – this world-re-ordering, welcoming way – is the way that always, always leads us into life.

This story has me thinking of my grandmother’s driveway – and of that moment in The Color Purple when Celie sees – in the distance – her children coming home – and of that moment in this story where the One Who Has Been Far from Home turns and steps down the driveway. And the parents are standing there – maybe the whole family – because they’ve heard the sound of gravel in the drive – and they’ve come to see who it might be. And what they see is one they love more than they could ever say.

What we see  -- what we see – as we hear this story in our day – what we see is

·      our trans siblings coming down the road in the fabulous fullness of who they are –

·      and just behind them there are all those who have been held captive in prisons of any kind, now set free –

·      and walking along with them are families – so many families – who have been on the road for so long just wanting safe shelter – a place where their children can live and thrive

·      and with them – are all those in need who long for good news

and all those who hurt, longing for healing.

They are coming because they have heard that supper is on the stove, and there is a safe place to stay here.

And looking up that road, they see all of us – you and me – in every way that we have been pushed down or pushed out – everyone who, in any way, is far from home.

And we run, and we embrace, and we prepare the feast –

and the One who loves us beyond anything that we can imagine

wipes away every tear.

Jesus loved to tell these parables – these little stories – and he asked us to imagine: “The kingdom of God is like this. Imagine that, and then live that out.” This story.. this story... is for everyone, anyone who is far from home. The kingdom of God is like.... this. And the Spirit of God is upon us.. together... to imagine and to re-order the world – to make it so.

© 2025 Scott Clark

[1] For general background on this parable and the Gospel of Luke, see R. Alan Culpepper, “The Gospel of Luke,” New Interpreters’ Bible Commentary, vol. ix (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1995); Justo L. González, Luke (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010); Sharon Ringe, Luke (Louisville, KY:  Westminster John Knox Press, 1995). 

[2] See Michelle Alexander, The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness (The New Press: New York, 2011).

[3] Alexander, p.258.