"The Long Journey Home"

Sermon for the Third Sunday in Lent

March 23, 2025

Sermon Preached by Jack Cabaness

Scripture Texts:      Luke 15:11-32

Today’s story is one of the most beloved passages in all of scripture and also one of the most intensely disliked. It all depends on where you stand in the story.  

As several commentators have pointed out, if you identify with the younger son, if you feel as if you were once lost but have now been found, if you have been haunted by mistakes for which you thought you could never be forgiven only to find yourself surprised by grace,

then this is a story that you love with all your heart.

But if you identify with the older son, if you know what it means to work hard and be faithful to those who depend on you no matter what, if you know the pain of resentment that comes from watching other family members destroy everything you hold dear, then this is a story which at best leaves you deeply bewildered and at worst causes you to become enraged. 

I’ve never been sure where I stand in this story, because I’m an only child. I’ve often wondered what it might have been like to have had siblings. Would we have been close growing up? Or, if not, would we at least have grown closer to each other as adults, or would we still have found ourselves separated by a great gulf of physical and emotional distance?  Who can say?

As a child, I don’t remember ever wanting siblings, but as an adult I have often wondered what it might be like to have adult siblings as friends. And my wife, who grew up as the middle child of three, tells me that’s not how it works. You don’t get to have siblings as an adult without going through the childhood experience of growing up with siblings.

Whether you are an only child like me or one of several siblings, the dynamics of your family of origin are likely to reverberate throughout the rest of your life.

In today’s parable, we often emphasize how the younger brother, the famous Prodigal Son, went away to a far country and then had a long journey home.

But I believe that the oldest brother also faced a long journey home. The physical distance may not have been that great, but in terms of emotional and spiritual distance, the older brother faced a journey home that was every bit as long as his younger brother’s.

Today’s sermon will focus on the older brother’s long journey home.

A young woman named Beth goes off to college. In terms of birth order, she is the youngest child in her family. But theologically and spiritually, she has more in common with the older brother in Jesus’ story.

In her freshman English class they discuss Norman Maclean’s novella A River Runs Through It. You may remember that Robert Redford made this book into a movie, which starred Brad Pitt. The book is a hauntingly beautiful elegy for the younger brother. The two brothers grow up in Missoula, Montana in the years before World War I. Their father was a Presbyterian minister.

Norman is the older brother, the one who goes to school in the East and then eventually becomes an English professor at the University of Chicago. Paul is the younger brother, the one who aspires to become a professional fly fisherman and who works as a newspaper reporter on the side.  Unfortunately, Paul also has a tendency to drink heavily and engage in compulsive gambling. But unlike the younger son in the story which Jesus told, Paul refuses any help from his family, and he never once asks for money, not even when his gambling debts completely overwhelm him.   

In her assigned English paper about the book Beth wrote, “I can process intellectually how Paul may be considered a classical mythic western hero.  He is a loner.  He doesn’t seek wealth or fame.  He is self-sufficient.  I can understand [why Maclean ascribes almost godlike qualities to Paul because of his great artistry as a fly fisherman.]  I can appreciate all of this in my mind, but in my heart I can only recognize my own brother, a narcissistic man who lived apart from his family from the time he turned 18.”

Beth continues:  “Paul is the prodigal son, the favored son who is always welcomed back to the home despite whatever emotional damage he may have caused his family, especially his parents. 

Whenever there is a family reunion, it is Paul who is the central attraction.  When Norman and Paul return to Missoula together, Norman says, ‘Mother was especially nice to me, since she hadn’t paid much attention to me so far, but soon she was back with fresh rolls, and she buttered Paul’s.  She offers Paul chokecherry jelly, forgetting that it was Norman who liked that particular type of preserve.”

Then Beth considers her own family, and she writes,

“The most vivid image I have of my mother is of her standing vigil at the kitchen window that faces the highway that runs past our house.  She stands there waiting for my brother to come home.  She cooks his favorite meal; she washes the dishes; she waters the plants; she fusses over the curtains; she paces the floor.  And always she looks out the window waiting for her son to come home, waiting until the darkness outside drives her finally to bed. 

On those rare occasions when my brother does pull into the driveway, on those rare occasions when he comes into the house sober and not stoned on alcohol, drugs, or both, my mother does precisely what Mrs. Maclean does.  She warms up the meal she had prepared and then she laughs at his stories, because no one can tell stories and make people laugh like my brother can.”

“But as I said, those are the rare occasions.  More often my brother doesn’t show up at all, even though he had promised to be home.  More often we get a call from the police or a friend instead of a call from my brother telling us that my brother once again has been in a fight, has shoplifted an item for beer money, has wrecked his car, has passed out in the park. 

To me a hero is someone who goes through a journey.  He gets the call, he goes on the journey, he has setbacks, but then he rises and returns and is celebrated.  I don’t find any of these qualities in Paul.  I don’t see any of these qualities in my brother.”

Beth concludes her essay by asking:  “Am I my brother’s keeper?  Can I say what the father in the book, the Reverend Maclean, says at the end of the story, ‘you can love completely, even without complete understanding?’

No, I cannot. 

I have seen the hurt my own brother continues to inflict upon all of us in the family. He has left us nothing to celebrate.  He has left only marks of hurt. We don’t know him anymore. I can only echo the Reverend’s final sentiments, ‘It is those we live with and love and should know who elude us.’”

Beth’s English professor was so moved by her essay that he quoted it at length in a journal article he wrote about teaching A River Runs Through It. Near the end of the article her professor poses this question: “Is Beth’s personal essay an example of a spiritual understanding of Maclean’s novella, or does she miss completely the pathos of A River Runs Through It?” 

“I don’t know,” her professor says, “but perhaps Beth, by telling her story, is on a profound journey of healing.” 

And here ends my very long quotation of Professor Grant’s remarks. 

As I mentioned earlier, we often make note of younger Prodigal son’s long journey home.

But Beth’s story reminds me that the older brother in today’s parable faces a very similar long journey home, even though he never left the farm. 

If the younger son faces a long road in overcoming addictions, then the older son also faces a long road in overcoming ancient resentments and deep hurts. I don’t know any shortcuts for either of these long roads. They are among the toughest and longest roads that any of us will ever have to tread.

No, I don’t know any shortcuts. But maybe the secret to recovering a deep sense of joy can be heard in the Father’s words in the parable when he says, “This brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.”

A River Runs Through It is a hauntingly beautiful elegy for the brother who never came home.  But the story of the Prodigal Son is a joy-filled story in which the lost brother does make his way home, and the deep hope at the end of the story is that the older brother, too, will make his way to the celebration.

I don’t know where you stand in this story. I don’t know whether you have already made your way to the celebration and the dancing, or whether you continue to stand outside, because there is still something about this story that rankles.

I can only say that in my own life I have found myself standing in both places. I have been the dutiful, older son who outwardly made his parents proud, and I have been the younger, prodigal son who avoided responsibility and ran away. I have heard people say that only children sometimes take on the characteristics of both older and younger siblings, and in my own life I have found this to be at least theologically true. I am the younger son, the refuge from the far country, the one who is surprised and overwhelmed with grace; and I am the older son, the one who stands outside and simply cannot forgive, especially when it comes to forgiving himself.  And just as the father in the parable ran out to seek both sons, I found that whichever son I was, I was always welcomed back into my parent’s house with open arms and with great joy.

I also know that for many people their family of origin is not welcoming or loving or forgiving. My hope and prayer is that such families may yet move toward reconciliation and greater love, but if not, I hope that all those estranged from their families of origin will find families of choice that do strive to be welcoming, loving, and forgiving.

And for all of us, I believe that somewhere in the center of our lives is the God who completely loves and completely understands us all, and who welcomes us, with open arms, into the house of joy.

All glory and praise be to our God. Amen.

Please note: Each week I try to write a complete sermon manuscript in advance, but in the preaching moment I often use an outline or sparse notes. Accordingly, this written blog post will likely differ slightly from the sermon as actually preached.

Note on Sources:

I retrieved Professor Grant’s essay on teaching A River Runs Through It from a website several years ago, but unfortunately I cannot find my notes on the original source nor have I been able to find the article in recent web searches.