This Week: Lent 4C
Gospel: Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32
The parable of the Prodigal Sons is probably the most compelling of Jesus’s teachings and most captured story in classic art. It is a recognizable story of a man and his two sons, going in opposite directions. And it relies on elements of relationship and behavior that many of us recognize in our own sibling rivalries, particularly the competition for affection from the father.
The parable also seeks to subvert the expectations we may have when we enter in from the place of either son, for the father doesn’t foster the competition in any way. Nor does he prevent either from exercising their will — in any way. It is quite clearly all on the brothers and in their heads.
The younger, when he departs, goes because he wants to get away. Again, not because the father did anything, but because the son perceived it. And he goes and eventually he hits rock bottom. And from there, he can see that this father is honest and decent and fair. And he hopes that this fairness will be extended to him, offering him a second chance.
The elder clearly regrets never leaving, feeling jealous of the younger’s independence. He also feels self-righteous for staying. He codes this as “doing the right thing” so he must be a better person than his no good brother. Always a competition to him. One his younger brother would never have a chance of winning.
And within all of this, it must be said once again that none of this has to do with who the father actually is. This is all assumption and relationship. And most of it stems from competition. Once again, competition the father never fosters.
Mercy and Grace is obvious
That’s the reason people love the story. I love to contrast this with the behavior of the brothers, particularly the elder, who seems to take the opportunity to leave.
The most fascinating part of the parable to my ears is that we areleft with an open-ended ending. We don’t know if the elder brother leaves, but we suspect he probably does. Not because the father is bad or either brother is bad, but because that is what we see with one another. It is what we see in our relationships.
Of course, that doesn’t make it inevitable. It simply makes it likely.
The reader is invited to imagine what it takes for the elder brother to stay in relationship to his father and younger brother — what has to happen to him inside, in his heart.
It would take forgiveness, wouldn’t it? Forgiveness to the father, his brother, and yes, to himself. That he hasn’t wasted his life with his father. Or, if there is any waste, it is wasting emotions on competion.
The other Lost Parables
This is the third of three parables all dealing with finding what is lost: a sheep, a coin, and a son. Each seem to invite us to see a similar conception of a merciful God and of practices befitting the mercy offered us.
What seeing them all together does is pull us out of the sibling rivalry that attracts us, the readers, and the interpersonal dynamics of family to see a foundational posture of grace and revelry in the spirit of God.
What else is the common theme here, but to go seeking the lost without regard to the known? To spend generously on a foolish mission, and when the lost is found, throw an extravagant party?
As much as we want to focus on the mercy alone, it isn’t as big a deal in the context as the greater nature of God.
With the lost sheep, he leaves the 99 to take care of themselves, referring to this idea as obvious, and suggests we celebrate when the one is found and returned to the flock. Then, with the lost coin, he suggests we stay up all night, spending a coin’s worth of lamp oil to look for a coin, and then, even in the middle of the night, call our friends and invite them to an impromptu found coin bash.
Common in the first two parables is that God isn’t prudent or looking to pinch pennies on the process. This is urgent, a potentially fool-hardy endeavor. But one Jesus considers obvious. Who wouldn’t do this, he asks.
The revolutionary hear of the lost parables isn’t that the father is merciful to a son. It is that we would treat ANY homecoming as cause for celebration. And the potency in the third parable is that the father conceived of his son as dead and now he is home, alive! And the other son, so oblivious to the underlying message, is willing to proverbially die in the same way as his brother over that generosity and mercy.
The Second Prodigal Son
This, for me, is where the real juice is in the third parable. The elder becomes (or threatens to become) another prodigal son, severing relationship, (metaphorically) killing his father to become an (metaphorical) orphan and calling that freedom. Again, in spite of a father who never abused him or rejected him or because his father loved his little brother, but because he didn’t try to have a relationship with his own Dad. He didn’t try. He was there the whole time.
Applying again the common themes of the lost parables, we can see how much the elder brother is missing the values — he isn’t seeking the lost, showing mercy, or celebrating in his finding. In short, the elder son is the image of what not to do.
When we hold onto the heart of these parables, we can see the mind of the father more than the mind of the sons. And isn’t that the key to the whole thing?