Rembrandt's The Return of the Prodigal Son
This past Sunday we heard the Parable of the Prodigal, arguably Jesus' most well-known parable. It is exclusive to Luke's Gospel (Luke 15: 11b-32) and tells the story of a young man who demands to get his inheritance early, and after doing so goes to a faraway country, squanders his money, lives in a state of constant sin, and eventually winds up eating with pigs before finally deciding to come home. When he comes home, hoping his father will have just enough mercy on him to treat him like a hired servant, he's greeted by his father's open arms, a fancy robe and ring, and a luscious feast. When the young man's older brother takes notice, he's furious because, while he has lived his whole life by the rules and done everything right, his brother appears to be rewarded for his sinful living. Yet the father tells the older son that he must let go of his resentment and that they must rejoice; after all, this younger brother was lost and now is found.
William Barclay, an English biblical
scholar most famous for his exhaustive commentaries on Scripture, calls the
Parable of the Prodigal, “the greatest short
story in the world.” I can’t say I disagree with that claim. The parables of Jesus are allegories meant to teach us a lesson, to explain to Jesus' listeners how they are to live their lives in relation to God and each other. This parable does that. But in most of Jesus' parables it is pretty clear who is being represented by those allegorical characters: Jesus' followers are represented by a character, so are the scribes and Pharisees, and God is represented by a character. This is the norm for the parables of Jesus.
On the surface, this parable seems pretty
straight-forward. The younger son, whom we call the prodigal (meaning "one who spends recklessly or lavishly") seems to be a follower of Jesus, a sinner who strays and longs to return to God. Meanwhile, the older son, who has been
faithful—at least in action, possibly not so much
in spirit—resents the younger son. The Pharisees, scribes, and all those that
Jesus referred to as religious hypocrites are represented by the older son and
his resentment that the father would so joyfully welcome home such a notorious
sinner; the parable, after all, is given
after those same Pharisees chastised Jesus for daring to eat and carouse with
tax collectors and other notorious sinners. The father, meanwhile, would seem to represent God, who welcomes the sinful son home with open arms.
The meaning of the parable seems clear, but I wonder if perhaps its meaning is a little deeper. There are, of course, no Pharisees or scribes nowadays, so which character are we supposed to associated with all these years after Jesus first told the story? Could it be that we are meant to find ourselves in any one of the three characters, depending upon what is going on in our lives right this second? Could it be that our place in the story changes depending upon the circumstances surrounding us? Perhaps that is why Barclay is right in asserting that this is the greatest short story ever. Take Rembrandt's The Return of the Prodigal Son pictured above. The painting shows the father leaning down and putting his arms around the younger son (one hand slightly larger than the other, which represents the contrast of strength and mercy). The son kneels at his feet in tattered clothes, his skin filthy, while the older son stands to the right, his hands clasped, his visage clearly frustrated that his spirited brother is being welcomed home while he has played by the rules his whole life and has little to show for it. Whenever I look at this painting I find myself associating with a different character. My place in the story seems to shift over time. So who are you?
Are you the younger son? That might be the role that is easiest for us
to give ourselves. He is, after all, the
sinner. During this season of Lent we’ve been thinking a lot about sin; we were called back on Ash Wednesday to conjure up our sins in our hearts
and think and pray on them and ask for God’s forgiveness. Can you see
yourself in that role? Have you wounded
someone that you loved, rejected and pushed them away? Do you feel lost? Broken? Filthy? Are you longing to come home but don't know if you will be accepted? Are you seeking reconciliation, healing, and wholeness?
Are you the older son? This, I must admit, is the role I often see
myself embodying. The older son does
everything he is told in an attempt to please his father. He has played by
the rules his whole life, but when he sees his younger brother—someone who has no regard for the family’s house—his true colors show. He is jealous,
angry, spiteful. The older son is any of
us when we think way too highly of ourselves. "I know the right way a person should live, and this woman doesn't live this way, and so she isn't deserving of mercy and compassion!" "I know the right way church is supposed to be done, and who should be permitted to enter our sanctuary!" The older son is any of us who judges the way someone else lives his or her life. Have you ever been that son? Have you clasped your hands and gritted your
teeth at the site of someone being praised that you felt didn’t deserve it? Well, that’s a form of being lost too. This could just as easily be called "the Parable of the Lost Sons" (plural!). Do you need to let go of that resentment, that self-righteousness? Do you need to be found, as much as the prodigal does?
Are you the father? This may seem presumptuous--isn't the father meant to represent God? But think about it for a minute. Have you ever been hurt deeply by someone you love? Are you
in a position right now to forgive someone, to welcome them home, put a ring on their finger, wrap them in a robe,
and say, ‘It’s ok. I love you.'? It really strikes me how the father forgives the son in this story. The son has asked for the inheritance early, which means that he wishes his father would just die already. That's pretty serious. Still, the father welcomes him home with no questions asked, no qualifications. Do you find yourself in that position
now? Are you being called to stretch out your
hands toward those who suffer, to rest upon their shoulder sand offer God’s blessing of reconciliation? Do you need
to find the strength to forgive?
There is a place where we will all--prodigals, older siblings, and parents--will find that for which we are longing. It is the altar of God and the Holy Table. In the sacrament of the Holy Eucharist, we
prodigals find reconciliation, we older
siblings find the grace to let go of our self-righteousness and
bitterness, and we parents find the strength
to forgive. For it is here that we meet
Jesus Christ in bread and wine, yes, but also in the faces of those around
us. Regular folks who have, at various
times in our lives, been any of the characters in this parable.
I don't know where you find yourself in this story right now. Odds are that in three years, when we read it again, you'll find yourself in a different place. That, I believe, is the point of this parable. No matter where we find ourselves in the story the Good News for us is that forgiveness IS
possible. Reconciliation IS
possible. Letting go of our resentment,
our fears, our desires for righteous retribution, IS possible. It’s all possible because of the God who
loves us and because of Jesus Christ, in whom we all have the possibility of not
only being forgiven but also doing the forgiving. So the next time you come to the Table, know that you will find what you are looking for. Prodigals will find reconciliation, older siblings will be able to lay down their resentment at God's altar, and parents will be strengthened to forgive those you love. For at this Table you will find Jesus who makes it all possible. At this Table you will find what it means to be home.
