God's Reckless Love

The parable of the prodigal son is the most famous and I think, the most beloved of all the parables that Jesus told. It is the gospel in a nutshell -- at the heart of it is forgiveness and divine grace, the good news that Jesus came to give us.

One reason this parable is beloved is that it touches on so many universal themes. For example, the theme of wanting to leave home-who has not fantasized about running away at times, doing your own thing and leaving the family behind? And who has not felt like the one who is left holding the bag, the responsible one who takes care of things and feels bitter about other family members who do whatever they want. Sibling rivalry is of course a big part of this parable. And then there is sibling rivalry--even people without siblings know that siblings can be a pain. The good child/bad child roles hang over your head no matter which one you are at a particular moment. Someone said that sibling rivalry begins when the second child is born and ends when the last sibling dies.

But I read a great sermon by Barbara Brown Taylor this week, in which she argues that even though this parable is universal in some ways, it reads differently depending on cultural context. It counts as good news in any culture, but as I will try to show, when you put it into Jesus' time and cultural context, it is even better news than when we view it from ours.

The parable begins with the younger son asking for his share of the inheritance. This is a little rude both in our culture and in Jesus' time, because it means that the son is anticipating the father's death and putting property ahead of relationship. When I was young, if one of my siblings or I asked my mother to leave us her grandfather clock or some piece of art, she would say, "Well, at least wait until I'm cold."

But the father agrees to give him his share, so that he is free to do what he wants. He promptly cashes it in and leaves home. In our culture, leaving home to make your way in the world is expected, even honored. We are a nation of immigrants-if our ancestors had not left home, we wouldn't be here. The West was "won" by droves of people leaving home to head for the frontier. Even here, in Ulster County, in the present day, most young people leave home in order to find jobs.

In American culture, leaving home is an accepted part of growing up. Read this way, the prodigal son's sin was not that he left home, but that he wasted his inheritance on "dissolute living" and failed to make good. He fell short of the American dream because he didn't achieve economic success. Instead, he wound up broke, hungry and literally in a pigsty. But his redemption begins when he comes to himself, and heads home, older and wiser, ready to beg his father's forgiveness.

The next scene is the heart of the story. The father welcomes him home with open arms, forgiving him even before he finishes his apology speech. The father is overjoyed to see this son who was lost but now is found, who was dead but is alive again. And the feast begins.

The prodigal son still has some issues to work out with his brother, but he has been restored to his family and his father's love.

This is a story about God's mercy and forgiveness-about the grace that awaits all sinners who repent and return to God. It is a wonderful story. But as Barbara Brown Taylor points out, when you tell the story this way, from our cultural perspective, it is a story about our individual relationship with God. It is about individual salvation.

The culture of Jesus' first hearers was completely different from ours. In that agrarian society, individual identity was not as important as the community's well-being. Both sons' actions caused a break in relationships, not just within the family, but with the whole community. The parable is indeed about reconciliation-but that reconciliation is broader than the relationship between the father and the son. The father acts to restore relationships within the whole family and with the whole community. And the father pays a high price for that reconciliation-he willingly sacrifices wealth, honor and status to try to heal the divisions all around him. Perhaps this reading of the parable is one that we need to hear right now, when people in this country are so polarized around politics, religion and social issues.

Let's take a closer look at Jesus' context. In an agrarian society, land is everything. Farmers received land in trust from their ancestors and held it in trust for their children. The Torah forbids the permanent sale of ancestral land. By selling his share of the farm, the younger son broke the rules and endangered his family's future economic security perhaps for generations to follow. A father who would allow his son to do such a thing was considered a fool-the Talmud even warns against transferring property to your children in your lifetime.

The father risked being shunned by the neighbors for doing such a thing. In rural areas, especially in those days, you really needed your neighbors-for help with the harvest, barn raising, bartering, help with childbirth, for possible marriages for your children, etc. Even if the father was not shunned, the son would certainly have been. Not only did he sell his family's land, he went off to Gentile territory and blew all his money. The Talmud had a special ceremony to punish a Jewish boy who lost the family inheritance to Gentiles, called the qetsatsah ceremony. If he set foot in his village, the villagers would fill a clay jar with burnt nuts and corn, smash it in front of him and shout his name, pronouncing him cut off from his people.

The only way he might have gotten around this was if he had come back wealthy enough to buy back the family farm, and throw a huge banquet for the villagers. But as we know, that didn't happen. He partied until he had no money left, then he went to work slopping pigs-which were unclean animals to Jews. He comes to himself, and resolves to go home and beg his father's forgiveness. He doesn't even contemplate being restored as a son, but hopes to work for his father as a hired hand.

The father sees him coming from a long way off, and runs to meet him. He runs because of his joy at seeing him, but also to protect his son from the villagers, so he won't be cut off. Running was not something a patriarch did-as you can imagine, running in robes was very undignified. But just as he sacrificed his honor to give his son his freedom, he now sacrifices his honor again to welcome him home and protect him. He sends off for the best robe, a ring and sandals, all signs that the son is being accepted as a member of the family again, not as a hired hand. Then the father throws a big banquet, inviting the whole village. It is a stroke of genius because it preempts the qetsatsah ceremony. By coming to the banquet, the villagers accept the son back into the community. Reconciliation is not limited to the healing of divisions between two people-reconciliation means that all divisions are healed-relationships in the whole community are restored.

But of course, the fly in the ointment is the older brother. He hears the music and finds out that his no-good brother has come home and his father is throwing a party. He is angry because it is not fair. Why should he be welcomed home after the way he has treated the family? Why should he get a party after behaving badly and throwing away the family money? The older brother will now have to support three people instead of two on his share of the inheritance. If we are talking about justice, the older brother has a point. If we are honest with ourselves, we have all been the older brother at times, sure that we are right, judging someone else who is wrong, angry that he or she is not getting their just desserts.

But God chooses mercy over justice. The father embraced the younger son rather than judging him. And his love is broad enough to encompass this older son, who refused to come into the feast. The father gets up from the head of the table and goes to him, to try to win him over. Leaving the table was considered a shameful act for the patriarch of the family, so once again, we see the lengths that this father will go to reconcile his children. We don't hear whether the elder son chose to be reconciled or not, because this parable was told to Pharisees and scribes who were criticizing Jesus for eating with quasi-criminals and low lifes. So, Jesus challenges them to make their choice-will they accept God's mercy and let go of judgment, or will they stand outside the door, furious at all the free grace flowing to sinners?

This parable still challenges us even though we have heard it so many times. If we are in good child mode, it challenges us to let go of our self-righteousness and stop judging other people. Above all, let God be God, as reckless with love and forgiveness as God wants to be. After all, we need God's grace and mercy as much as the younger brother, because as St. Paul says, "none are righteous, no, not one. All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God."

Whether we realize it or not, all of us have also been the younger son at times, wandering far off and squandering our inheritance as children of God. And all of us have been embraced by God before we've even stammered out an apology-forgiven without judgment, without conditions, without even a promise to try to do better in the future. Quick, get the best robe, a ring, some sandals! Fire up the grill and kill the fatted calf-for this child of mine was lost and is found, was dead and is alive. All of us are here because God saw us coming from a long way off and rushed to embrace us and welcome us home, and the feast awaits us each week at this holy table.

God was indeed willing to sacrifice everything in order to reconcile us, to God and to one another. And we who are fed on God's extravagant love are challenged to offer our own sacrifices for the sake of reconciliation. St. Paul's letter to the Corinthians says that we have been given the ministry of reconciliation-that we are ambassadors for Christ. But reconciliation comes at a price-making peace may require us to give something up-our pride, our opinions, our need to be right, our comfort and wealth, maybe even our lives.

But we are children of a God who loves us with abandon, foolishly, recklessly, willing to give everything for our sake. We are children of and loved by an extravagant, prodigal God. Can we not afford to be generous with our own love?