Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32
Delivered by The Rev. Terrilisa Durham Bauknight-Harmon
At Centenary United Methodist Church Metuchen, New Jersey 18 March 2007

There is a song by Roberta Flack that talks about how this young singer, a young man, who Roberta decides to go and see after hearing much about him, puts her whole life out there for the world to see through the lyrics of his music. Embarrassed and shaken, there is nothing that she can do. “Killing me softly with his song,” is what she says. That is exactly what I thought when I read the words of the gathering meditation by The Rev. Dr. Safiyah Fosua. As I read the words – I could see the life – my life actions and faults put before God and the world – no way to him them any loner I thought. I did not expect Pastor to use this meditation when I mentioned it to him, but I am glad that he did. But then I wonder, how many of you are thinking, feeling the same thing I am? Saying to yourself, “well, it’s out there” – even though no one has spoken the exact words of our action past, we still think and feel and continue to say to ourselves – “all my business in print.” But instead of getting hung up on that, listen, there is a message for us all, once again, as we turn to the story of The Prodigal Son or as other say The Lost Son. Let us pray…Lord, still us in this moment, quiet our fears that stem from the fact that we have been discovered; sold out by a writers words, who we don’t even know. And still in our imperfections, send a word that speaks to our needs of healing and redirection, food for our spirit and direction for our will. In the name of Jesus we pray, AMEN.

I had not really known the story of the prodigal son when I was growing up, but in late August of 1981, I became the prodigal child, so to speak. Prodigal by definition by main definition is to be recklessly wasteful – and I would see this later in myself as I wasted the gifts and offerings life had given and would give to me; but back to August 1981. I had boldly and proudly announced to my parents that because I was now 18, accepted to college and ready to go, I would take what was mine, move to Pennsylvania and make it on my own. I would secure state residency status there and never, I vowed, never, with a shake of my finger and the surest voice that I could muster, ever return to the State of New Jersey – except to visit. Pennsylvania would be my home. Well, that which I had secured for college fit into the back of a station wagon. I was a working kid so I purchased as much as I could so that no one could say I took what wasn’t mine. Later when I moved into my first apartment, what I ‘owned’ fit in the back of a pickup truck. Well, I was grown and ready to do this on my own – I was going to make it! No one was going to treat me like the youngest any more. The proof of my confidence and ability came at the end of my first month away in October 1981 with a $300.00 phone bill for my parents! That was just from one child – there were two of us in college then! More so, I hated the location, hated the school, was annoyed by the madness of dormitory life and did not like having a roommate. When I came home at Thanksgiving, my parents clearly and quietly demonstrated their belief in my statement that I would succeed and never return to New Jersey. The evidence was visual truly not verbal in that my bedroom had been changed into the new den! Gone was the evidence that a child, the youngest female child had once resided in this room. Books now lined the walls, a desk, comfortable chair and a loveseat with a pullout bed greeted me instead. So, the challenge was on! I had to make it. Somehow we got through my first two years – I suddenly grew a voice – often not speaking the right decisions but instead voicing the ideas, wants, desires and demands of a newfound independence. Often the words of – “I can do it, I’m grown and on my own” could be heard spilling across my lips. Thus, overnights in Cleveland with my fraternity man, parties and school work, finding a job so I could have my own cash, piercing my ears for the third time and other activities that I am sure would raise the hairs on my parent’s heads and still send chills down my spine went on simultaneously as God once again came calling me home – home to stay – home to ministry and my roots. I believe that the father of the prodigal son, like my parents were praying for me – good thing.

The years pass – madness happens and growth does as well, and the homecoming occurs. I have graduated from college, the celebration begins – I have decided that I am going to adopt a child, move to Colorado and begin seminary. Yup, on my way – then romance occurs and the homecoming excitement is short-lived. It’s just a visiting idea, this homecoming thing. Got close to the main road of the house, can’t go, not ready for a permanent thing – I have not come home to my senses and stability. I can hear these same words spoken by a son so long ago, echoing in my own mind. Marriage, mayhem, divorce and delirium, graduation from graduate school – I come home again – but not to the people I should have. People are excited – she has settled herself – but not in the right areas. The battle of coming home is not one that needs to be fought – I have succeeded, but I am farther outside the Lord. Like the father of the Prodigal Son, my father looked out the window, wondering when I would come home. Like the absent mother – my mother was praying – I refused to talk to her – not wanting to hear the truth. More time passes, decisions are made, actions taken, ideas form, some right, a host wrong. And then, it finally comes to be – HOMECOMING!! I announce that I am finished – done with this life – ready to return – can I come home? I wait for the voice on the other end of the line to answer – maybe they won’t say yes, I think to myself. Finally the silence is broken – when will you come? By the end of January! I am already packing – in my mind.

Homecoming – or coming home – how nice it would be if everyone celebrated when we come back. I came home to eat crow (well done all on my own) and realize that because of those who had gone before me – there were requirements of my homecoming. “But I am grown!” I thought. Then the better part of my senses said “you better count your blessings and keep your mouth closed.” I did not expect what the prodigal son received – a celebration and outpouring of love, but I didn’t expect a list of rules and requirements either. Soon to be 29, I was! Sure, I had other matters in tow, but I was grown, and was now living back in my parent’s home. Yes, love, support and all that abide – but there is more to the homecoming than I or many of us realize.

When we decide to go our own way – parents, and other loved ones who care for us, don’t stop being concerned because we think we are grown and can handle life and all its requirements on our own. What stops our full homecoming is not God, but our decision of can we handle what coming home requires. We can’t come back the way we left – or we will find ourselves out on that road again! We must come back changed. We have experienced the world and it has given us an experience. We are willing to do what others see is good and right for us. We must be humble – not the boasting, self-centered seeking-to-please person that we were as we left. We can be proud, filled with sensible pride that assures us from the inside.

My homecoming was an eye-opener. My parents were there and in I came. But I was not fully changed – but in the process – there was more work to be done. I had finally gone where the others had gone – instead of being like the older brother – watching my siblings coming back and forth – coming home and going out again like a revolving door. Now I stood, on the threshold, car and moving truck filled with what belonged to me – including my six-foot teddy bear – Stanley. I left a child – and a child, their child, I had returned – but into the arms of waiting parents- with a love that, like God, would bridge the gaps, heal the hurts and nurture new growth from a dying tree.

When was your first homecoming? Your second? Your third? Have a homecoming recently? I have. God still allows us to go out on that road when we think we know what’s right and best for us. And the Lord is still waiting, as we struggle to figure it out, go through our hurts, pains, loss and doubt, only to come home again and again. How far are you on that road? Are you at the crossroads? Ready to round the bend and see the house? Or are you just realizing that you have gone too far and need to turn around? Don’t worry, God’s waiting to welcome you home. Don’t worry about the others – their judgments, comments and the like – just come home. Amen.