Right in the middle of Lent, probably when we need it most, comes the Church's most well-designed and perfectly timed reminders that we do not need to rely on our own Lenten efforts or lifetime efforts to secure, to achieve that which is freely given by grace. Rose Sunday marks the mid point of Lent, and it is a time to take stock. Either we are doing well in our Lenten discipline, or we are not. In either case, this morning's Scriptural lessons are especially welcome. If we are doing well, particularly if we are doing quite well, we need the reminder that it does not depend on us and what we do. If we are doing poorly, not living up to any of the special things we vowed to ourselves to do, then we also need the reminder that it does not depend on us and what we don't do, or are not able to do. The Church realizes that we need to hear that, no matter how we are doing with Lent this Lent. And so the Church presents one of the most beloved and comforting of all Jesus' parables, coupled with one of St. Paul's most characteristic and reassuring passages. "While he was yet at a distance, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him" Paul offers a commentary on what that meant for us, for all time: "God through Christ reconciled us to himself . . . not counting our trespasses against us . . . All this is from God." If there is one thing that we Christian have got absolutely reversed, absolutely backwards, it is our understanding of forgiveness. That's a shame, and that's a problem, because the matter of Forgiveness is not an obscure side issue of our faith. It is one of the principal aspects, one of the central concerns of our faith. The how and the why and the who of forgiveness we have gotten hopelessly, and I do mean hopelessly, turned around. I am not sure that we pay sufficient attention to these lessons that we have heard this morning, despite "The Prodigal Son", along with "The Good Samaritan", being arguably the most-beloved of all parables. Contrary to what I think is a nearly universal belief, forgiveness, the forgiveness of sins, is not the consequence of a huge, laborious process: this, and then that, and then that, and then that, and then finally, maybe - as a result - the forgiveness of sins. That is not the way it is. First the forgiveness of sins, and then in response to that, all our Christian behavior. God rushes out to meet us, puts a ring on our fingers and shoes on our feet, and then you become a Christian. For most of us this happened when we were so young we didn't wear shoes on our feet, and rings wouldn't have stayed on our pudgy little fingers. Baptism, our Baptism, features God as the Father of the Prodigal--the delighted grateful, relieved father running out to meet us, and offering something we had no intention of daring to ask for. Forgiveness comes first and then the rest, the repentance, the sorrow, the contrition, the amendment of life. We generally assume - well, I think 99% of us assume - that contrition and repentance and confession are prelude to forgiveness, indeed are preconditions to forgiveness. Not so. In the pastoral discipline of the Church, yes, if you express no contrition, the priest will offer no absolution. But in the activity of God toward us, at least as that has been shown to us in Scripture, it does seem to be a different story. A very different approach. Forgiveness first and then everything else after, later, following that, proceeding out of that. Forgiveness first, not a provisional forgiveness, not a come-on forgiveness, not a loss-leader forgiveness, genuine, full, complete forgiveness from God first, and then our repentance, then our contrition, then our remorse, then our sorrow, then our admission, then our confession, then our penance, and promises of amendment of life, revision of behavior. We feel all of these things, express all of these things, only after we no longer have to feel them. When it is safe to admit to wrong and remorse, because the necessity of those feelings, the requirement of those admissions, has been obliterated. Because it was all forgiven before all of that. Forgiveness before confession seems topsy-turvy. In the parable, the father races out to meet the son, embraces him, kisses him, calls for the feast, and then the son apologizes. On odd order, a very odd, topsy-turvy order. But it is the order of God. So says Scripture at any rate. By and large we will have none of it - you've got to say you're sorry first, make amends, do penance, put things right, attempt to put things right and then, and then, you can be forgiven. Maybe. No. This is not how it is with God. You are forgiven, it is all put right with God, by God, and now you can, in freedom and grace, 'fess up to your feelings of chagrin and embarrassment and sorrow and repentance, you can confess what is troubling you, and change direction, make amends, offer contrition, say you're sorry. All because he has forgiven us beforehand. We have turned toward home, intending to apologize, determined to try - if we don't lose our nerve, but before we can get a thing out, before we can utter one whimper of regret, the Father, our God, rushes out to greet us, grab us, hold us, hug us, forgive us. The prodigal son, only after the father has run out to meet him, called of the feast, only then does the son apologize, only then perhaps can the son apologize. Prior forgiveness is a risky business--left more successfully to God than to us. With us, prior forgiveness can be abused. It can be a cover for sickness. And we all need to acknowledge that up front. Forgiveness before any contrition, any apology, isn't necessarily desirable or healthy. Perhaps we over-use the phrase and the notion unconditional love and unconditional acceptance. We can label some pretty sick stuff unconditional love. Someone asks "Will you do me a favor?" I, for one, want to know what it is first, before I say "Of Course." Someone says to me "Will you forgive, me? I have something terrible I need to admit to you, but I must know that you will forgive first before I say it. Will you promise that you will forgive me?" I say, "That depends. Let's hear what it is first, and then I'll decide, I want to know what it is . . . first." Not so with God. He says, "I not only will forgive you beforehand, I have forgiven, long since, long, long since. Now tell me, what is still bothering you?" And so we have entered into the topsy-turvy, up-side-down, radically reversed world of the Gospel, of the graciousness of God. That staggering divine system that says: "forgiveness first, restitution later, forgiveness first, apology afterward." Slick, simple, risk-free, cost-free, so why even attempt to be good, why even try? I know why the older brother was angry. My heart goes out to his heart-broken cry, "Lo, these many years I have served you, and I never disobeyed you, yet you never gave me a kid that I might make merry." And the father, the loving forgiving father, gives his glorious reassurance and reminder: "Son you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours." If you are one of these very, very, very rare older brothers who never left, never strayed, never squandered, never sinned, you have nothing to worry about, and nothing to resent. God knows and sees your goodness and faithfulness and your salvation is safe and secure and was never in doubt. The rest of us who could have lost all: the hope and the promise, the salvation and the grace, we those younger brothers, hope that the older brothers among you agree with the Father that it is fitting that we all make merry together and be glad. For those who were lost are found, and those who were never lost, also have a father, the same father, also running out to them to bring them in as well.