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Gospel: Luke 15: 1-32
Tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to listen to Jesus,
but the Pharisees and scribes began to complain, saying,
“This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.”
So to them Jesus addressed this parable:
“A man had two sons, and the younger son said to his father,
‘Father give me the share of your estate that should come to me.’
So the father divided the property between them.
After a few days, the younger son collected all his belongings
and set off to a distant country
where he squandered his inheritance on a life of dissipation.
When he had freely spent everything,
a severe famine struck that country,
and he found himself in dire need.
So he hired himself out to one of the local citizens
who sent him to his farm to tend the swine.
And he longed to eat his fill of the pods on which the swine fed,
but nobody gave him any.
Coming to his senses he thought,
‘How many of my father’s hired workers
have more than enough food to eat,
but here am I, dying from hunger.
I shall get up and go to my father and I shall say to him,
“Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you.
I no longer deserve to be called your son;
treat me as you would treat one of your hired workers.”’
So he got up and went back to his father.
While he was still a long way off,
his father caught sight of him, and was filled with compassion.
He ran to his son, embraced him and kissed him.
His son said to him,
‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you;
I no longer deserve to be called your son.’
But his father ordered his servants,
‘Quickly bring the finest robe and put it on him;
put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.
Take the fattened calf and slaughter it.
Then let us celebrate with a feast,
because this son of mine was dead, and has come to life again;
he was lost, and has been found.’
Then the celebration began.
Now the older son had been out in the field
and, on his way back, as he neared the house,
he heard the sound of music and dancing.
He called one of the servants and asked what this might mean.
The servant said to him,
‘Your brother has returned
and your father has slaughtered the fattened calf
because he has him back safe and sound.’
He became angry,
and when he refused to enter the house,
his father came out and pleaded with him.
He said to his father in reply,
‘Look, all these years I served you
and not once did I disobey your orders;
yet you never gave me even a young goat to feast on with my friends.
But when your son returns
who swallowed up your property with prostitutes,
for him you slaughter the fattened calf.’
He said to him,
‘My son, you are here with me always;
everything I have is yours.
But now we must celebrate and rejoice,
because your brother was dead and has come to life again;
he was lost and has been found.'”
The Gospel of the Lord.
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This is one of Jesus’ most famous parables. The danger of being overfamiliar with it is that it can become like salt that’s lost its taste, which begs the question: is it possible for us to see this story in a new way?
Consider it through the eyes of someone else.
Rembrandt’s Return of the Prodigal Son is one of the most stirring paintings in Christian art. It captures the moment the prodigal son returns home – filthy, broken, humbled, and now, grateful.
Perhaps Rembrandt can offer us a different perspective on this familiar story.
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In the painting, the prodigal son’s shaven head robs him of his individuality, making him an anonymous soul. Anyone who’s searched for unconditional love where it cannot be found has been in his shoes.
His mustard undergarments barely cover his emaciated body. The muddy soles of his feet reveal a long, humiliating journey home.
He’s lost everything. His sole possession is his sword – barely visible – the only remaining sign of his nobility and dignity.
The fact that he’s returned home with it secured to his waist reveals that, even in his darkest hour, this son remembered who he was, and whose he was. Home, he rests his weary head against his father’s beating heart.
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The father’s left hand is slightly larger than his right.
His left hand is strong and muscular, reminding his son of the power he also bears within himself, enabling him to overcome the sins of his past and move on with his life.
The father’s right hand is soft and tender, exuding compassion and understanding. It’s slight like the hand of a mother soothing a broken child, reminding us that God’s love is also maternal.
The father’s large red cloak envelops his son, whose face looks like a baby still forming in his mother’s womb, reminding us of the prodigal son’s youth; his conscience is still forming.
As God says through the prophet Isaiah, “Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will never forget you.”
The father’s eyes are closed, giving the impression that he’s blind to his son’s past, his sins washed away in love.
Such is the case whenever we return from our wanderings; our Father sees not our past, but our future.
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Yet, I’ve found both personally and in ministry, that one of the great challenges in the spiritual life is to truly experience God’s forgiveness in our hearts. Although we hear the words, “I absolve you,” how often do we still carry our guilt beyond the confessional?
Past memories can feel like an invisible scarlet letter, which never really leaves. Only when we accept God’s unconditional love in our very core can we leave our past behind.
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Still, the hardest conversion to go through is that of the older brother, who never left, but may have wondered about life over the hills without actually wandering.
Unlike his rebellious younger brother, he’s driven by duty.
“All these years I served you and not once did I disobey your orders,” he says to his father. “But when your son returns who swallowed up your property with prostitutes, for him you slaughter the fattened calf?”
In his fury, the angry older brother cannot grasp the truth that love is not earned; it’s freely given. “My son,” his father says, “you are here with me always. Everything I have is yours.”
So, it is with us. God’s love for us is never earned; it’s freely given. Even when we wander beyond the hills, God leaves his lantern lit, hanging it in the window.
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The only “problem” with this story is that Christ leaves it unfinished.
We don’t know whether the son amended his life or ran off again. Did he become a father himself, tilling the same land, seeking to instill the wisdom he gained from his experience into his own children?
Was he reconciled with his older brother? Did his brother ever rid himself of his bitterness and judgment?
The fact that these questions remain unanswered leaves the story perpetually in the present.
So, which of these three characters do I identify with the most?
Am I the prodigal son who’s discovered the emptiness of life beyond the hills? Have I sought unconditional love where it cannot be found?
Am I the dutiful older brother? Do I feel like God’s love must be earned?
Am I the father, who loves freely, and longs for reconciliation?
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Rembrandt must’ve captured himself in this painting, perhaps at different stages of his life.
But this Lent, may we all strive to live like our Father, whose love is prodigal – freely given and without condition or limit.
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Image credits: (1) Rembrandt, Return of the Prodigal Son (2) Ibid. (3) Ibid.
