Last week, we talked a little about the nature of repentance . . . remember? We saw that the Greek was literally “meta-noia,” higher mind, so that to repent is to come to a “higher mind.” And one of the things about the ancient world-view is that mindwas considered to be localized in the heart.So yet anotherway to translate the Greek word normally rendered repent might be “change of heart,” as in “she wanted to turn her in, but she had a change of heart.”
So with this in mind let’s look at the parable of the Prodigal Son, which is ostensibly about repentance and forgiveness. The setting here is crucial: Jesus is being criticized for associating with the wrong kind of people, tax collectors and sinners, who were coming to him in droves, or at least in great enough numbers that it became noticeable to the religious authorities—personified by scribes and Pharisees—who had rulesabout who good Jews could associate with, especially those who would be teachers. And tax-collectors and other assorted sinners—here the word sinners should be taken in its broad sense of “ritually unclean”—tax-collectors and sinners were definitely not on that list. And the scribes and Pharisees were muttering to themselves and saying ”Thisguy is eating with sinners, who does he think heis?. How can he presume to teach if he can’t follow the rules/‘
And as a response, Jesus launches into some stories, which were one of his preferred methods of teaching. He’s saying: “You think that’sbreaking the rules? Which one of you having a hundred sheep, if he loses just onedoesn’t break all the rules of farming and economics and good hygiene and leave the ninety-nine to the ravages of wolves and sheep-rustlers and go to find that one measly, lost sheep? And what woman, having ten coins, and losing one doesn’t leave the other nine unprotected and turn her whole houseinside and out, looking for it? I’m telling you, just as that shepherd and that housewife rejoice over finding’s what was lost, so there will be joy in heaven over the one sinner, the one outcast, who repents, i.e.,who has a change of heart.
So now onto the main attraction, “The Parable of the Prodigal, His Brother and Their Forgiving Father,” aka “The Prodigal Son.” Remembering that this is a parable, and thus fiction,we shouldn’t be surprised that Jesus sets it up masterfully: he gives us two sons, two choices, the better to compare and contrast with. One, the younger, asks for his part of his inheritance which, given that he was the second son, would have amounted to a third. And the father gives it to him, and he goes off and squanders it living large, maybe on wine and fast Gentile women. (We know he goes to Gentile lands, where they have pigs, ‘cause he ends up slopping them.)
Anyway, the second son was entitled to a third of his father’s stuff, and it wasn’t unheard of that a younger son would take his inheritance early and establish his own household, and if the second son had done that,if he’d established his own household on his third of the land, adjacent to his father and brother’s portion, it wouldn’t have been that big a deal. Farming families tended to live in multi-household compounds, and the father would have still had use of the land. And that was importantin that desperate, hardscrabble country because you needed all the land you could get to graze and water your sheep just to survive.
Still: if the second son had done the right thing and set up his own household, it wouldn’t have been a good story—this is a parable,remember—and Jesus lays it on thick: the boy sells his inherited land and heads for Vegas, and this not only hurts his father but his brother as well, whose family also depends on the production of that land. And Jesus wants us to know that this isn’ta good guy, he’s weak, he’s dissolute, he doesn’t respect his family, and he pays the price by starving, which is a delicious irony because he has set his father and brother and their households up for starvation should the climate go South. And when itdoes,he’s hungry and nobody will even give him pigfood, much less sit him down to supper. And slopping the hogs is the ultimate humiliation for a good Jewish boy; in fact, what Jesus is saying is that he’s nota good Jewish boy. He’s not just a sinner,not just unclean, but reallyunclean, so unclean an observantJew couldn’t get within five counties of him. And have you ever tried to get the stench of pig out your clothes? Can’t. Be. Done.
So the second son has gone about as low as you can go, and he decides he’d better cut his losses, and it’s important to note that the word “repent” is not used in this parable, as it is in the two previous parables, And if you read carefully, the second son doesn’trepent, he doesn’tcome to a higher mind, Luke says he comes to himself.And we knowwhat thatis, don’t we? It’s a rogue, a bounder, as they said in the old days. In other words, a one-hundred-percent pure, no-gettng-around-it jerk. o we should read what he says with a heaping tablespoon of salt: he realizes that even his fathers hired hands—who he no doubt used to lord over—eat really well, and here he is starving! And there’s not a hintthat he realizes his own actions brought this on, not a bit of a sign he’s had a change of heart. Instead, he comes up with a scheme to get back in the old man’s graces: I’ll tell him I’ve sinned against him and God and no longer worthy to be his son! Treat me like a hired hand! The old guy always didlike groveling . . .
It reminds me of Jimmy Swaggart, the TV evangelist caught cheating on his wife, who blubbered into the camera “I have sinned,” and who may have been truly sorry, but was also trying to save a million dollar media empire. And it worked, sort of: while Swaggart’s TV empire isn’t what it was, he still has a ministry, you can find his sermons on Youtube . . . and I think it’s fine, giving a guy a second chance, because after all, isn’t forgiveness baked into our faith? Isn’t it all about God’s grace, who forgives us no matter what?
Anyway, our un-repentant, un-higher-minded son heads back home, no doubt rehearsing in his head what he’s going to say, but his father sees him coming, is ‘filled with compassion,” and kisses him and hugs his neck. And his son launches into his prepared speech exactly as he’s rehearsed it, with one exception: he doesn’t offer to be treated like he was one of the hired hands. Maybe, as one commentator put it, when he’s faced with his father’s overwhelming love, he begins to trulyrepent. Could be . . . but—cynic that I am—Ithink it’s because his father’s given him what he wants and he doesn’t haveto go any further. Indeed, his father gives him his best robe—doubtless his own—and a ring and sandals, and he sends for a calf, and not just anycalf, but the fattedcalf, the one kept on hand for special occasions and special guests and the like. And the wayward son thinks “Why enter life-long servitude if I don’t have to?”
Speaking of servitude, or at least hard work, here comes the elder son out of the field, where he’s been doing what he should, working to ensure the survival of the clan, and he hears the thrum of lutes and the tinkling of ankle-bells as people dance, and he wonders just what in Sam Hill is going on? Is there a special visitor? Has some regional politician, some toady of the governor, shown up? Or is it some random visitor, who his father was bound, by the rules of hospitality to entertain? When he finds out it’s none of those things, that it’s his reprobate brother, come slinking back with his tail between his legs, he just loses it: “for all these years I’ve been working like a slave for you, I’ve never disobeyed your command, not even once, and you’ve never even given me one, measly little goat!”
And who among us hasn’t felt that way? Who here hasn’t seen someone who hasn’t done the work, who slips by on cleverness and charm, get all the goodies, or at least as any goodies as we’ve gotten, who’s studied for the test, who’s followed all the rules? Who here hasn’t felt irritated as all get-out by a line hopper or a cheat who’s come out smelling like a rose? I know Ihave . . . I am the oldest of five, and I remember my father sitting me down one time and explaining why my sister Kathy seemed to be treated better, saying “the squeaky wheel gets all the grease, you know, and implying that I was the bigger person. And I remember thinking “Right, a likely story, what a crock . . . “ and I might be wrong, but I don’t think that by telling this parable Jesus is interested in family dynamics. I think he has bigger fish to fry.
Recall that he’s spinning this yarn to a bunch of Pharisees and scribes, avatars of the Israelite political elite (remember there was no difference between religion and politics in those days). As such, they have a vested interest in the status quo, which is that you play by the rules, you work for a living, you do things decently and in good order. You obey your father as the head of the household, you work for the good of the family, and that way you serve the social order. You do notsquander money away on dissolute living—which is whatever society says it is—you play by the rules. You work for a living and open a savings account, diversifying your portfolio so you can weather the storms of economic adversity and make bankers and financial consultants’ boat payments. You get a 30-year mortgage and 2.4 children and thereby the whole societal structure remains stable, which, of course, includes the scribes and Pharisees, who’s position depends on people—especially those downstream in the social order—doing their part.
And so, for Jesus’ audience, the elder son has a point. You don’t reward someone for not working, do you? You don’t just give someone something for nothing, do you? What about teaching someone a lesson, what about teaching someone to fish,for Pete’s sake? This . . . second-son person comes waltzing back to a family whose herds and land are two-thirds of what they once were because of himexpecting to be fed and clothed and not payfor what he’s done, well we know what we’ddo. Oops . . . I mean they know what they’ddo . . .
But the father does just the oppositeof what is expected, he overturns societal expectations, and really ticks-off the oldest son. He says: what’s the problem? What I do or do not do doesn’t affect you . . . you’re still getting all I have to give . . . be happyfor your brother, and if you can’t do that, at least be happy for me.Because we hadto celebrate and rejoice, it’s what families do.Your brother was dead and has come to life, he was lost and has been found.”
And this is why it’s important to at least acknowledge the two preceding parables: they both have heaven rejoicing more over one sinner who has repented, who has changed her heart,than ninety-ninewho have no need, who believe the right things, or do the right things or who’s hearts are already in the right place. But in this story, the “sinner,” the wayward second son, has not had such an epiphany, he’s not reformed his heart, and there is still rejoicing.The forgiveness of the father is given without the son having to do a darn thing. It’s just given.
This parable can be taken on at least two levels. As a morality tale, as instruction on how weshould behave, it fits ourcontext—Lent is a time to meditate on how we can donbetter,how to come to a higher understanding of our ownshortcomings, and what we can do to ameliorate them. Anger and resentment aren’t helpful, either to ourselves or the community in which we live. They can tear societies apart—look at our own divided land—and break open and tear down our own lives, our own well-being.
But there’s another, allegorical level, and it’s equally relevant, equally apt: we can view the unconditional love of the father as an analogof God’s own love, as the way God behaves toward God’s children. As Buddhist might say, the loving father of Jesus’ story is a pointer to the moon, not the moon itself, but an impression of it, one that shows an aspect of an otherwise unimaginable reality. And in this case, it’s a pretty awesome aspect: it’s a winter to the other side of Lent, to the resurrection, which is itself a pointer to the overwhelming, love of God, who conquers death and forgives us not only for what we have done, but for what we have left undone.Amen.
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