The parable of the prodigal son is one of the more widely-known stories of the Bible. Even folks who haven’t heard a Bible story since their days in Sunday School as a kid can probably give at least a brief summary of this story of the wasteful, returning younger son, the dutiful, resentful older son, and the rejoicing father.
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| Photo by Marten Bjork on Unsplash |
At first glance, the story’s movement seems to depend on characters who are polar opposites. To begin with, Jesus’ audience is made up of, on the one hand, the tax collectors and sinners, and, on the other hand, the Pharisees and scribes. In the parable itself, the two sons are set up as opposites as well. One is older, one is younger. One goes away, the other stays home. One wastes his inheritance, the other does not. One is desperate in the midst of famine, the other has plenty to eat. One is celebrated and rejoiced over, and the other refuses to celebrate.
I wonder, though, if the two sons, the two brothers are really more alike than different. Here are the similarities I noticed. See what you think.
Similarity number one: Both sons separated themselves from their family. The younger son did so at the beginning of the story, when he took his share of the inheritance and went off to a distant country. But the older son did, too, at the end of the story when he refused to go in to the welcome party.
Similarity number two: Both sons had companions and “false friends” that left them alone and hurting. For the younger son, we can imagine what “dissolute living” looks like as he blew through his inheritance. We can imagine the people who show up for parties and favors but run out as soon as the money does. In the midst of a famine, with no friends and no one to turn to, the younger son hires himself out for work and still is desperate and hungry.
The older son’s “false friends” are his self-righteousness and bitterness. It feels good, for a while, to vindicate yourself based on your sparkling record. But ultimately, everyone fails, and in it all the only person you’re hurting is yourself. Though he was home and in his father’s presence all that time, the older son is also alone and desperate.
Similarity number three: Both sons give a speech to their father. The younger son rehearsed his speech among the pigs as the pieces fell into place for his return. He was desperate, repentant or manipulative, or perhaps both, as he determined how to convince his father to welcome him back. He realized that he hadn’t acted like a son, but even to be welcomed as a hired hand would be better than the situation he found himself in.
Though we don’t hear it, I can picture the older son rehearsing his speech with each swing of the rake out in the fields. “Here I am, working like a slave, and my lazy brother’s off somewhere doing God-knows-what. Wouldn’t it be nice to kick back with my friends sometime? I bet that’s all he does.” You see, self-righteousness and bitterness like that take time to fester. You think that speech he gives his father is just off the top of his head? “...I’ve never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends.” No, that’s not a spur-of-the-moment speech. It's the result of a stockpile of anger and resentment, added to each time his father neglected to thank or praise him, each time his self-righteous goodness and obedience went unnoticed.
Similarity number four: Both sons have difficulty grasping what it really means to be called a son. The younger son seems to think that being called his father’s son is a privilege, one he squandered alongside his inheritance. The most he could hope for would be to re-join his father’s household as a hired hand.
The older son doesn’t really see himself as a son, either. Though he's been home all this time, he’s been unable to ask his father for what he wants and needs, and resents his perceived place in the household. “Listen!” he tells his father, “For all these years I have been working like a slave for you...”
Ultimately, all the similarities boil down to this: both sons are lost. Both sons are hurting, both are damaged by the consequences of their actions and inaction. Both sons need the extravagant, welcoming embrace of their father. Both sons need the promise of belonging. Both sons need their emotional as well as physical needs met by food, and warmth, and community.
I might ask where you see yourself in this parable, but I don’t think that’s so important here. After all, it seems that the distinction is less about who left and who stayed and more about how we find ourselves welcomed home.
It can be easy to think that people who have grown up in the church have a leg up, so to speak, on those who find the church later in life. But while life-long, faithful church attendees may have deeper knowledge of the Bible, or the liturgy, I wonder if we eventually begin to take it all for granted. I wonder if, so busy pointing to the lostness of others, we forget how very lost we are.
Until we stop focusing on all the things that differentiate us, we’ll never be able to see all that we hold in common. Until we stop focusing on scarcity and fear, we’ll never be able to rest in the truth of abundance and joy. Until we stop keeping track of what’s earned or deserved, stop dividing into “us” and “them”, we’ll never fully experience the lavish, reckless, extravagant, prodigal grace of God.
Because, after all, that is the point of the story. Whatever our rehearsed speech sounds like, God sees us - sinners, desperate, resentful, angry, hurting. God sees us when we are still far off, and God is filled with compassion and runs to meet us. God does not care if we are worthy to be called God’s children, because it’s not about being worthy, it’s about love.
Welcomed into God’s embrace, in the waters of baptism we are clothed in the righteousness of Christ - the very best robe. We are beckoned to come to the most wonderful celebration feast - the meal that unites us with Christ and one another; the meal where we receive the very body and blood of Jesus into our own body. Celebrate and rejoice - there is a place at the table for you. Celebrate and rejoice - we the lost have been found.
I wonder, though, if the two sons, the two brothers are really more alike than different. Here are the similarities I noticed. See what you think.
Similarity number one: Both sons separated themselves from their family. The younger son did so at the beginning of the story, when he took his share of the inheritance and went off to a distant country. But the older son did, too, at the end of the story when he refused to go in to the welcome party.
Similarity number two: Both sons had companions and “false friends” that left them alone and hurting. For the younger son, we can imagine what “dissolute living” looks like as he blew through his inheritance. We can imagine the people who show up for parties and favors but run out as soon as the money does. In the midst of a famine, with no friends and no one to turn to, the younger son hires himself out for work and still is desperate and hungry.
The older son’s “false friends” are his self-righteousness and bitterness. It feels good, for a while, to vindicate yourself based on your sparkling record. But ultimately, everyone fails, and in it all the only person you’re hurting is yourself. Though he was home and in his father’s presence all that time, the older son is also alone and desperate.
Similarity number three: Both sons give a speech to their father. The younger son rehearsed his speech among the pigs as the pieces fell into place for his return. He was desperate, repentant or manipulative, or perhaps both, as he determined how to convince his father to welcome him back. He realized that he hadn’t acted like a son, but even to be welcomed as a hired hand would be better than the situation he found himself in.
Though we don’t hear it, I can picture the older son rehearsing his speech with each swing of the rake out in the fields. “Here I am, working like a slave, and my lazy brother’s off somewhere doing God-knows-what. Wouldn’t it be nice to kick back with my friends sometime? I bet that’s all he does.” You see, self-righteousness and bitterness like that take time to fester. You think that speech he gives his father is just off the top of his head? “...I’ve never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends.” No, that’s not a spur-of-the-moment speech. It's the result of a stockpile of anger and resentment, added to each time his father neglected to thank or praise him, each time his self-righteous goodness and obedience went unnoticed.
Similarity number four: Both sons have difficulty grasping what it really means to be called a son. The younger son seems to think that being called his father’s son is a privilege, one he squandered alongside his inheritance. The most he could hope for would be to re-join his father’s household as a hired hand.
The older son doesn’t really see himself as a son, either. Though he's been home all this time, he’s been unable to ask his father for what he wants and needs, and resents his perceived place in the household. “Listen!” he tells his father, “For all these years I have been working like a slave for you...”
Ultimately, all the similarities boil down to this: both sons are lost. Both sons are hurting, both are damaged by the consequences of their actions and inaction. Both sons need the extravagant, welcoming embrace of their father. Both sons need the promise of belonging. Both sons need their emotional as well as physical needs met by food, and warmth, and community.
I might ask where you see yourself in this parable, but I don’t think that’s so important here. After all, it seems that the distinction is less about who left and who stayed and more about how we find ourselves welcomed home.
It can be easy to think that people who have grown up in the church have a leg up, so to speak, on those who find the church later in life. But while life-long, faithful church attendees may have deeper knowledge of the Bible, or the liturgy, I wonder if we eventually begin to take it all for granted. I wonder if, so busy pointing to the lostness of others, we forget how very lost we are.
Until we stop focusing on all the things that differentiate us, we’ll never be able to see all that we hold in common. Until we stop focusing on scarcity and fear, we’ll never be able to rest in the truth of abundance and joy. Until we stop keeping track of what’s earned or deserved, stop dividing into “us” and “them”, we’ll never fully experience the lavish, reckless, extravagant, prodigal grace of God.
Because, after all, that is the point of the story. Whatever our rehearsed speech sounds like, God sees us - sinners, desperate, resentful, angry, hurting. God sees us when we are still far off, and God is filled with compassion and runs to meet us. God does not care if we are worthy to be called God’s children, because it’s not about being worthy, it’s about love.
Welcomed into God’s embrace, in the waters of baptism we are clothed in the righteousness of Christ - the very best robe. We are beckoned to come to the most wonderful celebration feast - the meal that unites us with Christ and one another; the meal where we receive the very body and blood of Jesus into our own body. Celebrate and rejoice - there is a place at the table for you. Celebrate and rejoice - we the lost have been found.
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