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| Rembrandt (1606-1669), The Return of the Prodigal |
Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32
Fourth Sunday in Lent
6th
March 2016
It’s unfortunate that the familiar story
of the two sons found in Luke 15 is often known as the Parable of the
Prodigal Son. By giving the parable this title we expose our bias; it says something about how this text has been
traditionally understood.
We know the story well—perhaps too
well. Our interpretative lens usually
focuses on the two sons. One son asked
for his share of his inheritance, took leave of his family, and then squandered
everything in dissolute living. He hired
himself out to work on a pig farm—from a Jewish perspective one can’t get any lower
than that. That’s lower than low. One day he finally “came to himself,” he set out for home in shame, only to find his father running to
greet him. The father then throws an
enormous party. The elder brother comes
in from the fields, the one who remained faithful, the obedient son who stayed
home, the good boy. He becomes jealous
because his father never threw a party like that for him.
Parables are teaching tools. Jesus was a master of the parable. As we hear and read this parable
we have to be very careful that we don’t turn it (and every parable) into a morality tale. Did you notice that Jesus never said we
shouldn’t be like the younger son, the one who squanders his inheritance? Jesus neither commends nor condemns him. And Jesus never said we ought to be like the
obedient older son—the one who ends up bitter for always being the obedient
one. (And, if you’re the eldest child in
your family, like me, you can probably relate to his protests.) No, this is not an “example story”—don’t be like the younger one, be like the older one. No, it’s a parable.
Parables pack a punch. They generate an experience, touch us
deeply, hit us in the gut,
and knock us off our feet. Parables make
us think. They force us to wrestle. They
give us headaches and mess with the way we view the world. They are intentionally disorienting,
which is probably why we want to turn them into morality tales. But then they wouldn’t shock, and
they’re meant to shock—in order to wake us up and show us something new.
This
is why it’s unfortunate that this parable is called the Parable of the Prodigal
Son, for at least three reasons. First,
the title turns all of our attention toward the younger son, which makes it
difficult to see what the parable might really be about. Second, the word prodigal is never used in the parable—or anywhere else in the Bible. Third, because the word prodigal is used to describe the younger son and because the
younger son did something really foolish, reckless, and thoughtless, we’ve come
to associate being prodigal as something bad.
If you look up the word prodigal
in the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, you’ll find the following definitions: “carelessly and foolishly spending money, time, etc.” It could also be defined as “characterized by profuse or wasteful
expenditure” or “recklessly spendthrift.”
These are all negative associations.
However, there is a third meaning of the word, according to
Merriam-Webster, and it’s this: “yielding abundantly.” This meaning has a more positive association,
doesn’t it? This last description
wouldn’t apply to the younger son, according the parable. Right?
Go
deeper into the original meaning of the word; it has its origins in the Latin
word prodigus, which has only one
meaning: lavish. I guess, depending upon the context, lavish could have either positive or
negative associations, depending upon your particular bias and how you feel
being around excess or abundance or large amounts of something. Or, how we relate to the word lavish might depend upon how you feel
when you’re the object of another’s excess or abundance or generosity, when
something is lavished upon you.
Our negative associations with the word prodigal apply to the younger son, but not the positive one. It would be interesting to chart the history
of the word prodigal, how it’s
generally used. I wonder if a particular
reading of this parable over centuries has shaped our definition of this
word. It’s probably why most consider
being prodigal as something bad or to be avoided.
But what if the focus of the parable is not really about the
sons? What if we turn our attention away
from the sons toward the father, what
do we see? We discover that the father
is benevolent and full of grace, a father who was waiting for the son to come
home, who saw him when he was “still far off,” as the text says, which means
the father was looking for him. As soon
as the father saw him he was “filled with compassion” (Luke 15:20). Without even asking his son to explain
himself or ask forgiveness the father, we’re told, had “compassion”—compassion,
first.
Then the father ran and put his arms around him and engulfed him with
that compassion and kissed him. The son
begins to confess, he starts to apologize, but it’s as if the father doesn’t
even hear him. He seems to ignore the
confession, cuts him off mid-sentence and says to the servants, “Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and
put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the
fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was
dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found. And they began to celebrate” (Luke 15:22-23).
Maybe this parable is not about the sons, but about the father—the father who serves as a
metaphor for God. In each of the
parables in Luke 15 we have stories about a lost sheep, a lost coin, a lost
son. And in each one, Jesus is trying to reframe,
enlarge, and expand their God-image. He
wants them to know what he knows. He
wants us to know what he knows about God—the
God who seeks and saves the lost and welcomes us home. And so, if we’re going to continue to associate
the word prodigal with this parable,
it should really be used in a positive light and used to describe what God is like. For God is prodigal—God is the one who lavishes upon us grace upon grace! And this means as children of this God, made
in the image of this God, we’re called to be prodigal too!
The
prodigal God. Is this your image of
God? Images of God are tricky
things. When we’re dealing with images
we’re dealing with metaphors. Metaphors
are powerful. They can give life and
they can take life away. Now, the image
of God as father might have positive associations for you, an image that gives
life. Or, the image of God as father
might have negative associations for you, an image that takes life away. It all depends upon your associations with
the word father and the father
figures in your life. You can see why many women and men have problems with
father images for God because of abusive father relationships. We have to tread carefully here. According the Gospels, Jesus has no problem
talking about God as Father. He sees his
father, abba (or “daddy”) as a positive,
nurturing, benevolent, gracious figure—and that’s what we need to remember
here.
Unfortunately,
there are far too many people, both within and without the Church, both women
and men, who harbor God-images of the Father Judge—stern, unforgiving,
unloving, a moral taskmaster, expecting moral perfection, the one before whom
you’re always wrong and never good enough.
These images don’t give us life; they suck the life out of us.
Throughout
Jesus’ ministry he is always trying to get us to reframe our God-images. Why is this so important? Because, you see, our images of God actually make us.
Your image of God is actually, right now, shaping you. If your God-image is essentially a Judge, demanding
moral perfection from you, watch then, how often you judge others and expect
perfection of others. Here in the
parable the father models only compassion.
If compassion informs your primary God-image, watch how that changes
your life. So much is riding on your
image of God. Image is everything!
That’s why I
love this prayer of Søren Kierkegaard, he cries, “Father in heaven! [Note the
exclamation point!] Hold not our sins up
against us but hold us up against our sins, so that the thought of Thee [—the image of Thee—] when it wakens in our
soul, and each time it wakens, should not remind us of what we have committed
but of what Thou didst forgive, not of how we went astray but of how Thou didst
save us!”[1] Kierkegaard prays for an uplifting image of God.
Image is everything.
The
good news is that when we went astray and every time we go astray, when we are
alienated from God, “still far off,” God sees us, fills with compassion and runs—runs toward you and me and wraps us
with compassion and kisses us and welcomes us home. And then God throws a wild party and lavishes
upon us gifts and prepares a table before us, a feast. So, let us eat and celebrate. For once you and I were dead, now we
live. Once you and I were lost, but now we’re
found. Thanks be to the prodigal God!
Hold on to
this image, the prodigal God. Hold on to
this image—and allow it to change your life!
[1] Perry D. LeFevre, ed. The Prayers of Kierkegaard (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1976), 21.
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