It’s been a minute or two but today we hear Jesus teach in a way in which he thrived. He often taught through the use of parables, a fascinating way to describe either a characteristic of God or to make it clear how those who follow Jesus are to live.
A former student at the same Seminary I attended in the Chicago area once said “the parables of Jesus faces two obstacles at the outset. The first and more troublesome, oddly enough, is familiarity. Most people, on reading the Gospels’ assertion that “Jesus spoke in parables,” assume they know exactly what is meant. “Oh, yes,” they say, “and a wonderful teaching device it was, too. All those unforgettable stories we’re so fond of, like the Good Samaritan and the Prodigal Son.” Yet their enthusiasm is narrowly based. Jesus’ use of the parabolic method can hardly be limited to the mere handful of instances they remember as entertaining, agreeable, simple, and clear. Some of his parables are not stories; many are not agreeable; most are complex; and a good percentage of them produce more confusion than understanding. Robert Farrar Capon. Kingdom, Grace, Judgment: Paradox, Outrage, and Vindication in the Parables of Jesus (Kindle Locations 34-38). Kindle Edition.
But not this morning’s parable, the story of the Prodigal Son. It is one of the most beautiful images of who God is and how God loves each one of us. We do know that Biblical scholars see this is an authentic teaching of Jesus because it goes against what anyone would have thought as acceptable behavior between a father and child in Jesus’ day or the relationship between God and us in any age or culture, mostly it shows us a compassionate God that forgives without condition, exception, limit or even real contrition. The problem in this parable isn’t confusion. Indeed it may be that the parable is clear, concise and radical. The radical love of God is always controversial and many seek ways around it to diffuse the power of love. Fascinating, isn’t it.
One of my favorite books based on this story is Henri Nouwen’s “The Return of the Prodigal Son.” There is a famous painting by Rembrandt which hangs in St. Petersburg Russia called “The Return of the Prodigal Son.” Back in 1992 Henri Nouwen received permission to visit the museum which houses the masterpiece, and during the night after the museum was closed, Nouwen spent literally hours and days alone sitting in a chair gazing at the painting, studying every detail in hopes of discovering its spiritual reality. He then wrote a book based on his observations of that painting.
In his book, Nouwen states, “I see before me a man who went deep into a foreign land and lost everything he took with him. I see emptiness, humiliation, and defeat. He who was so much like his father now looks worse than his father’s servants. He has become like a slave. What happened to the son in the distant country? The sequence of events is quite predictable. The farther I run away from the place where God dwells, the less I am able to hear the voice that calls me Beloved, and the less I hear that voice, the more entangled I become in the manipulations and power games of the world.” Nouwen draws a beautiful analogy between the father’s forgiveness and being the one receiving the forgiveness. “Receiving forgiveness requires a total willingness to let God be God and do all the healing, restoring, and renewing . . . As long as I want to do even a part of that myself, I end up with partial solutions . . . I still keep my distance, still revolt, reject, strike, run away . . . As the beloved son (daughter) of God, I have to claim my full dignity and begin preparing myself to become the father.” What Nouwen is suggesting is that once you receive the forgiveness of God, you have an obligation to pass that forgiveness on to others and that our quid pro quo mentality of thinking and acting is no longer acceptable, at least not for children of an all-forgiving God. Enough of Nouwen but I would recommend his book to you.
So back to the parable itself: In the story from Luke chapter 15, you will notice that although the younger son asked for the money first – the money he would get as an inheritance upon the death of his father – the older son took the money also. In the painting, you will notice that the older father looks almost blind and is bent over, leaning into the embrace of his son. The father’s mantle and arms are extended wide and welcoming to enfold the son and bring him closer into his heart. Notice that the older son stands stiffly erect to the right and his hands and mantle are closed, and his robe hangs flat in a posture of stiffness, coldness, and hardness. The young man held and blessed by the father is poor both emotionally and physically. He left home with much pride and money, determined to live his own life far away from his father and his community. He returns with nothing; his money, his health, his honor (which is even more important than life and death to the culture in which Jesus lived), his self-respect, his reputation . . . everything has been squandered. Notice in the painting that his head is shaven. No longer the long curly hair of youth but the head of a prisoner who has lost his freedom and even his identity. When a man’s (woman’s) hair is shaved off, whether in prison or in the army, as in a hazing ritual, he/she is robbed of one of the marks of his/her individuality. The clothes Rembrandt gives him are underclothes, barely covering his emaciated body. In contrast, the red robes of the father and the older son speak of status and dignity. The kneeling son has no cloak, and the yellow-brown, torn undergarment just covers his exhausted, worn-out body from which all strength is gone.
We as a people have a hard time with allowing God to be God. Countless times through the centuries, theologians have emerged to “toughen up” our image of God. Too much of this love stuff and you’ll create a whole generation of people who takes license to do whatever they want to do. And how can we control people if they just go willy-nilly on us. So instead of focusing on God’s love, they’d rather talk about justice or wrath or create an image of hell that includes everyone who doesn’t agree with them. The list is too long to mention but eternal conscious torment, sprinkled together with an emerging understanding of a God that seems capricious and cruel is pretty heady stuff. This why an atheist who refuses to believe in God because they’ve been led to believe the God they must believe in is capricious and cruel, actually has a moral conscience superior to many Christians.
And this is the very reason that many attempts have been made to interpret the Prodigal Son in a myriad of ways that avoid the reality that Jesus is saying that nothing can ever separate you from the love of God. Nothing. Not squandering your inheritance on wine, women, and song. Not staying at home and squandering a special relationship with belly aching and criticizing that God loves people that are unlovable. And after all you don’t live like THOSE people. What’s in it for me? Well, everything is in it for you, whether you identify with the elder brother, the prodigal son, the father or maybe even the fatted calf.
Back to my seminary colleague: “Creation is not ultimately about religion, or spirituality, or morality, or reconciliation, or any other solemn subject; it’s about God having a good time and just itching to share it. The solemn subjects – all the weird little bells, whistles, and exploding snappers we pay so much attention to – are there only because we are a bunch of dummies who have to be startled into having a good time. If ever once we woke up to the fact that God finally cares only about the party, then the solemn subjects would creep away like pussycats (“Thank God! I thought they’d never leave!”) and the truly serious subjects would be brought on: robes, rings, shoes, wines, gold, crystal, and precious stones (“Finally! A little class in the act!”). So now, if we were to sum up the parable thus far, it would be nothing but hilariously good news: the father, the prodigal, and the fatted calf are all dead; they are all three risen (the calf, admittedly, as a veal roast – but then, you can’t have everything); and everybody is having a ball. As Jesus put it succinctly: “They began to be merry.” Robert Farrar Capon. Kingdom, Grace, Judgment: Paradox, Outrage, and Vindication in the Parables of Jesus (Kindle Locations 3839-3845). Kindle Edition.
That’s how it all ends. God wants to make merry and keeps tripping over God’s self to get people to once and all quit being so grim and join the partygoers. We really do have a choice. Do we want to jump in line behind all those stern, judgment loving, hoping for more wrath and less love, type of people who I swear must look at God and expect God to say, “nobody down there better be having fun because I will zap you.” Or shall we take Jesus at his word and explain the party given to us who don’t deserve it, can never earn it and maybe never even memorized scripture by saying “we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.” I know what line I’m standing in. Why don’t you cast away all the grimness, the stern and angry God so many want to be true but is a mere figment of a lot of people’s imagination and join me. It’s time to party. And Jesus approves. There’s a reason that his first miracle was at a wedding feast. Quite frankly God is a party animal. The only question that is left is this: Can you let go long enough to respond to the invitation to love and be loved? As for me, that is a no brainer.
Wonderings of a Deconstructed Priest
Found Jesus along the road of grief