Throughout the history of humankind, a question made up of just three small words has challenged philosophers, poets, and seekers. The words
are "Who am I?" They lay beneath the ancient Greek inscription, "Know Thyself," on the Temple of Apollo which was built centuries before Christ was
ever born. And they inspired my own generation's rock anthem "Who Are You?" written by Pete Townsend of the Who. The theologian, Fredrick Buechner,
once wrote, "It is important at least to tell from time to time the secret of who we truly and fully are – even if we tell it only to ourselves – because
otherwise we run the risk of losing track of who we truly and fully are and little by little come to accept instead the highly edited version which we put
forth in hope that the world will find it more acceptable than the real thing." I don’t know about you, but I have found that I am more inclined to fool
myself into believing in my highly edited version of myself if left to my own devices. And so the only way I can truly and fully know who I am is when
I am in community with others. And the only way I can be in community is to feel as if I belong. There are many layers to this morning's story of the
prodigal son, and a unique and important lesson can be drawn from each of those layers. One of those layers, the one I want to reflect on this morning
with you, is about community and belonging. Our reading opens up with some people who were so devoted to their interpretation of God's instructions
for right living that they had lost touch with the humanity of their sisters and brothers. You see, as they interpreted it, their law insisted that the
way one kept oneself pure and blameless before God was to make sure you hung with the right crowd. And the right crowd definitely did not include
tax collectors and sinners. This was their interpretation of the law, but clearly this Rabbi Jesus saw things differently because he not only welcomed
tax collectors and sinners, but he shared meals with them. Jesus seemed to insist on expanding the idea of God’s community to include people who had never
belonged before. And he illustrated the importance of each person to God's community with a series of three parables, the last of which is this morning's
Gospel reading. It's a parable that's relevant to our own time because our world is just as obsessed as were these ancient people about who belongs and who
doesn't belong in God's community. There are certain people to whom God's community ministers at an arm's length, but who are not welcome inside their
circle: drug addicts and alcoholics, homeless people, undocumented immigrants, people living with HIV, lesbians, gays, bisexuals, and trans* folk.
These people – who are, in fact, you and me – are the 21st century contemporaries of our reading's tax collectors and sinners. And we are also the younger
son whom Jesus told about in this morning’s parable who went off to a foreign land in search of himself. You see, this young man, left to his own best
thinking, came to the conclusion that he was not a small-town loser like his father and brother. He was more than that. But he felt he would never fully
realize his own potential until he made the break from his family roots. And so he approached his father for the share of his property that would one day
have been his inheritance. So intent was he in realizing his potential, he didn't care what effect it had on others. You see, by demanding the property
he would have normally received upon his father's death, he was, in effect, saying to his father, "I can't wait around for you to die; give me my due now."
And selling the land to finance his adventure was another insult because in Palestinian culture you didn't sell land that belonged to the family because it
was part of one's heritage and identity. To liquidate it was an insult to the entire clan. But so convinced was he that his identity was not tied to this
land, he sold it and set out on a journey to find himself. And eventually, he did indeed find himself. And it was a sacred moment when he did. A sacred
moment in which we find him despairing, crouched near a pig pen of mud and excrement, hungry, envying the indigestible pods and scraps fed to the hogs,
headache from hunger, dizzy from thirst, and at an absolute end. This was his sacred moment in which he came to himself. You see, sacred moments don't
always occur within the pristine sanctuary walls of a church or within the breathtaking beauty of nature. They don’t always take place while immersed
in prayer or meditating on scripture. Sometimes they take place in pigpens. The moment was sacred for this young man because it was at this moment that
he realized he needed community. He realized that he was his own worst enemy when it came to finding himself. And if he was ever going to find an answer
to the question, "Who am I?" it was only going to happen within the circle of his family. The sacred moment for the addict or alcoholic is when they realize
they are never going to be able to shake the monkey off their back alone. Having tried it so many times and failed, they come to themselves and seek out
help from people like themselves. The sacred moment for the person living with HIV is when they are sick and tired of hiding from the world their status,
never able to talk to anyone about the feelings that go along with their condition, and they come to themselves and walk into a support group of others like
them who have chosen to live with the disease without being defined by it. The sacred moment for the lesbian, gay man, bisexual, or trans* person comes when
they can no longer exist within the confines of their closets of fear and low self-worth and they finally come to themselves and seek out others like
themselves who are living authentically and fully, as God intended for them to live. Sacred moments occur in emergency rooms where people are having their
stomachs pumped from an overdose. They occur while looking at one's battered and bruised face in the mirror, made that way by someone who claims to love
them. And they occur in pigpens. Each sacred moment accompanied usually with the words, "How did I end up here?" And that's when we come to ourselves
and seek out the healing and wholeness that comes with being in community. I've heard people say many times that they don't need to come to church to
worship. They can worship God in the privacy of their own home or within the solitude of nature. And that's true, I tell them, but you can't be in
community alone. You can't be in community. Well, eventually, the young man made his way back home to his family. It wasn't the perfect family.
On one hand his father was overwhelmingly gracious and merciful, embracing him, and shamelessly in love with the boy. But on the other hand, his brother
was resentful of him, jealous and envious of his father's attention. It wasn't the perfect family, but it was home. And it was there that he at last
came to understand who he really was. He wasn’t the arrogant and selfish boy who had left home a few years before. Or at least he wasn't that person
any more. And he wasn't the worthless failure who had returned home with his tail between his legs. He wasn't undeserving of his father's love, as his
brother claimed. He was a new creation, as the Apostle Paul, says it, loved by his father and celebrated by the community. I think Central Texas MCC is a
place like the young man's family. It's a community of people who are far from perfect, but one whose overriding message is one of welcome and belonging.
This morning's parable is a story of good news. It reminds us that even when we are questioning our sense of belonging and community, even as we wander
in ways we may regret, there is always grace, and God is always ready to welcome us back with open and loving arms. So let us continue to nurture
the questions of belonging and community. For it's in community – this community – that we more fully learn about who we are, and it's in that
knowledge that we come to experience God's amazing grace. Amen.