Sunday, March 27th, 2022 – Fourth Sunday in Lent
Philip’s Reflection: “The Two Brothers” (Luke 15:11-32)
“May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you,
O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.” (Ps. 19:14)
Thank you first to Mary for her beautiful reading of this, the longest of Jesus’ parables –
we’ve all heard the story many times but when it’s read as Mary has just done we hear
and notice new features, in what some have called “the greatest short story ever told.”
Others call this parable, which only appears in the Gospel of Luke, “the Gospel within
the Gospel” – and of course it has inspired music and art and literature ever since it first
appeared in the second half of the first century. One of my favourite representations is
shown on the front of your bulletins this morning – Rembrandt’s famous painting that
now hangs in the Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg and as some of you know, the
painting is itself the subject of a wonderful book by Henri Nouwen – The Return of the
Prodigal Son – A Story of Homecoming. It’s also one of my favourite books, a book that
you can read again and again, as I have done.
“The Return of the Prodigal Son” is also the title of Rembrandt’s painting and it’s the
name traditionally given to this Parable. And in one sense the story is about the younger
son. In those days, although discouraged, it was not unusual for a son to request the
early division of the estate while the father was still living – the younger of two sons
would typically receive one third of the estate, the elder son two thirds. Remember that
the context was likely an agrarian, small village setting, where subsistence farming
provided a precarious existence and children were often forced for economic reasons to
leave the village to find work away from home. What was unusual, even insolent, was
the request to convert the share into cash – implying that the son couldn’t wait for his
father to die. Then leaving his family in haste, working for a Gentile employer, and
feeding and eating with the pigs, the most ritually unclean of all animals, would all have
been understood by the first audiences as degrading and deeply shameful.
And having blown through his inheritance on what Luke describes as “loose living”, and
now in conditions of abject hunger and poverty, in the midst of a famine, we’re told that
the son “came to himself” (what the King James Version translates as “he came to his
senses”) – the son hits rock bottom, for a Jewish audience, he was to all intents and
purposes morally dead. Was it remorse, a cry of desperation, divine intervention or even
repentance, the text is deliberately ambiguous, but the important point is that “having
come to his senses”, the downward spiral into despair and imminent death is reversed,
“I will arise and go to my father”, says the son, and the direction of the story changes as
the son returns to the family home – and the mood changes from shame and despair to
hope and forgiveness.
And the focus of the story now turns, poignantly, to a waiting father, peering down the
road, longing for a glimpse of his returning son and when he sees him “[he] was filled
with compassion and he ran and embraced him and kissed him.” We don’t know how
long he’s been sitting by the open window, grieving the loss of his son, hoping beyond
hope that he would see him again but we can all surely feel his inexpressible joy as a
parent, mother or father, at the sight of the child returning home – and the
uncontrollable urge to run to him and embrace and kiss.
And it’s this moment, this timeless and tender moment, that Rembrandt captures in this
remarkable painting, the son kneeling at the feet of the father, in rags, one sandal
missing, head against his father’s chest. And his father, now old and worn by worry, with
his hands on his son’s shoulders, not hearing his son’s confession, overjoyed that what
was lost is now found, his son has finally come home, and the father orders his servants
to go and fetch the best robe, and give him new sandals for his feet and put a ring on
his finger, as the symbols of homecoming, and to prepare a banquet as if to celebrate
the arrival of an honored guest.
But there are other figures in this painting aren’t there, and perhaps more in the
shadows than we can see – is that the son’s mother, for example, or a sister in the
background? But there is another figure that Rembrandt also highlights, and we’re
reminded that Jesus says that this parable is about two sons and we’re told that, at the
time of his brother’s return, the elder son is working in the fields. Rembrandt brings him
into this scene and if we look carefully we can see all of the older son’s character in his
pose and expression – detached, haughty, judgmental and yes, perhaps reeking of the
entitlement of someone who’s own inheritance plans are turned upside down by the
sudden reappearance of the long-lost sibling.
And, if we’re in any doubt, Jesus goes on to describe this character – the Father leaves
the celebratory dinner and goes out to look for the older son “and he [begins] to plead
with him” – but unmoved and indignant the older son scolds his father, I’ve worked all
these years for you “like a slave”, I’ve never disobeyed or dishonoured you, and you’ve
“never given me even a young goat” – but “when this son of yours came back”, a son
who has squandered your property, “you killed the fatted calf for him” – and he might
have added, “where is the justice in that?”, “aren’t I entitled to better treatment than
him?”, “Dad, you’re making a fool of yourself, your son doesn’t deserve it!”.
And we see in his relationship with his father, distant and entitled, a son who is in some
respects just as “lost” as the brother that he refuses to acknowledge or greet. And we
hear in the words of the father, that same longing for reconciliation, the unconditional
love, that he has already showered on the younger son. “Son, you are always with me,
and all that is mine is yours. But 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” – and we’re
left with the question, will the older son, also lost, also be found? Did he come in from
the fields and celebrate his brother’s return?
We don’t know the answer of course – but nor do we need to. Because we’ve already
seen that this parable is not only about a younger son, who has the impudence to
request his inheritance, who goes out and blows it, comes to his senses and seeks
forgiveness; nor is it only about an entitled older son, hard-working, loyal, scandalized
by his father’s treatment of a brother who has brought shame on the family, and
reduced the value of the estate. Yes, it is a story about two lost sons. But the parable is
more than that, isn’t it: I think it’s really about a father: a parent who, generously,
perhaps naively, gives away a third of his “property” to his son; one who waits by the
window for a glimpse of his return from a distant land, and who, “filled with compassion”
runs out to welcome him, unconditionally loves and forgives him, and throws a banquet
to celebrate his return home; and it’s about a father who tells the older, estranged son,
“You are always with me; and all that is mine is yours”. A father who longs for
reconciliation; with his son, and between his sons.
I love the definition of a Parable, as John Dominic Crossan says, “as a story that never
happened but always does” and it is this timeless quality that makes today’s Gospel
story just as compelling for us now as it was for the first century audiences – it’s a story,
as Rembrandt shows, that is still open to multiple interpretations – in art and music,
psychology (as a study in sibling rivalry) and theologically (as a statement about
sinfulness, estrangement, repentance, compassion, forgiveness, divine love,
entitlement, jealousy etc.) and all of the above. All of us today can recognize the
themes, and all of us can identify in some respects with its three primary characters.
I’ll leave you with a final thought – one of the dictionary definitions of “prodigal”, at least
in biblical terms, is “rashly or wastefully extravagant” – and yes, we see in the behavior
of the younger son someone who does indeed waste all his money in wild
extravagance. And we understand the moral implications of this and we see them
reflected in the painting on the front of your bulletins. But, as I’ve suggested today, it
seems to me that the Parable of the Prodigal Son is, in its simplest terms, a story about
a father’s relationship with his two lost sons; and his love for them is shown to be so
“wastefully extravagant”, unconditional, and so lavish, that I think the story should really
be called the “Parable of the Prodigal Father”. And that’s good news for the two lost
sons; and it’s very Good News for us too.
March 27th, 2022.