Homecoming
Biblical Studies
Rebellion, Remorse, and Return
The Prodigal Son's Painful Journey Home
Commentary
To begin, we need to reiterate that the family and the village are intertwined in first-century village and community life in the Middle East. The father knows how the village feels. There is no doubt that on numerous occasions the villagers told the father that he should never have given his inheritance to his son in the first place. Not only did the father lose, but the village felt they were losers as well. The father knew how the villagers felt and he knew that his son's return to the village would precipitate a crisis and cause a crowd to gather. He was concerned that when his son was identified, he would face verbal and physical abuse. When the father is aware that his son is returning home, he responds immediately. He takes dramatic actions that are calculated to protect his son from the hostility of the villagers.
As soon as the son arrives at the edge of the village, the father runs to meet him. Bailey points out that oriental noblemen with flowing robes would never run (p. 181). Running was shameful because it allowed the ankles to show. It was considered indecent exposure. It indicated a lack of self-control. Jeremias states that it is a most unusual and undignified procedure for an aged oriental father. A son would run to his father, but never would a father run to his son (p. 102). But, the father ran because the need was so urgent. He needed to put himself between his son and the village crowd so as to protect his son. The father is willing to assume a humiliating posture in order to protect him.
The father embraced his son, protecting him from the hostility of the crowd, and kissed him. Shillington points out that "running, embracing, and a kiss are not only the signs of welcome but protection" (p. 156). The son was utterly amazed at his father's action. It was so unexpected, the son was witnessing a visible demonstration of love in humiliation. There were no words appropriate for this moment; the father's acts replace speech. Of this occasion Sa'id writes:
Christ reports for us the words of the son to his father, but does not give anything about a speech of the father to his son. For in reality the father substitutes kisses for words and replaces assertions with expression and eyes speak for the tongue.
-- as cited by Bailey, p. 182
The father kissed his son to express his forgiveness. The father hoped that his public display of forgiveness of his son would be the beginning of his son's reconciliation with the village. The father's welcome, embrace, and kiss are clearly an outpouring of grace. Bernard Scott (Hear Then The Parables) quotes a rabbinic parallel that makes clear the father's intentions.
A king had a son who had gone astray from his father a journey of a hundred days. His friends said to him, "Return to your father." He said, "I cannot." Then his father sent to say, "Then return as far as you can, and I will come to you the rest of the way." So God says, "Return to me, and I will return to you."
-- p. 117
In the dramatic act of the father's acceptance there is no test of the son's sincerity. Scott suggests that this "initial response indicates that he will not follow a legal or paternal role; he will play the nourishing role" (p. 117). In other words, that father's actions will not be those of legality (well within his rights as an offended father) but of love.
At this point in the parable, the major role is played by the compassionate father. Young suggests that the nature and character of God are made vividly clear by the father's welcome, compassion, and forgiveness (The Parables of Jesus, p. 151). As seen in the father's actions, God loves his children even when they make the wrong decisions. The comparison between the compassionate father and God are obvious. God allows his children the freedom to choose, and if the wrong choice brings disaster, he is willing to accept them and forgive them when they return home. On two occasions the father came out and down from the house to face the humiliation and disgrace created by the actions of his lost sons. Regardless of the humiliation and cost, the father came in love and compassion to bring his wayward sons home. This is comparable to the words of the Apostle Paul, "God was in Christ bringing the world back to himself."
In telling this story, Jesus' theme is not only a wayward, lost son, but a father's love. Jeremias declares that this is "a parable of a loving father" (p. 101). For this reason C. H. Dodd places this parable in his grouping of parables under the "parables of the grace of the kingdom" (Interpreting the Parables, p. 21). Fitzmyer concludes that the theme of "a loving father" is a symbol of a loving God whom Jesus calls "Abba Father" (Anchor Bible, Luke, vol. XXXIV, p. 1089). The very first words that a Jewish child learns to speak are abba (meaning father) and imma (meaning mother). The word abba is so personal that no one ever used it to address God until Jesus did. There is not a single example of the use of abba as an address of God in the whole of Jewish literature (Fitzmyer, ibid.). Jesus' utter intimacy with God is startling. Jesus used this understanding of God that had come to him as a loving and caring Father and placed it in a very earthy, human story so all who heard it would be able to understand how God as Father loves even a lost, confused, and wayward son.
Reflections
The journey back is always a painful and difficult journey. The prodigal's mind was now made up. The period of indecision was now over. He knew what he had to do to overcome the sickness of his soul. The phrase, "So he set off and went to his father," controls all that is to follow. Three steps are involved in his return. First, he comes to himself. He faces the reality of his situation and is honest with himself. This phrase affirms the human capacity to renounce foolish error and reclaim one's heritage and potential. Second, he arises. The journey back begins with the first step. Many times that first step is the most difficult and critical to take, because it reflects a break with the past. It is bringing to an end life as usual. For the prodigal, this first step was an affirmation that his life was taking a different direction. Repentance is followed by action -- for the prodigal this action meant putting his trust in his father and returning to his father's house. He now acts on his resolve. Third, he goes to his father. This is the most critical step, because he is casting himself on his father's mercy.
The focus is now on the father. It is quite possible that after all of this time the father has assumed that his son has failed and that he is possibly dead. The son had no idea how much his father had missed him and how his father's heart burned with immense desire to bring his child home. The son had no idea the number of times the father would look up from his chores, lean on his hoe, and gaze down a distant path to see if his son was coming home. Each time he would think to himself, "He'll come. If not today then another day." Numerous times he would wake up in the middle of the night certain that he had heard his son's voice cry out, "Father! Father!" Hurrying to his room he would throw open the door only to discover an empty bed, just as it had been since the day he left. Each day he continued to place the son's plate and utensils at the dinner table -- just in case.
Then it happened. "While he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion." Notice that "his father saw him." His father saw his wretched condition. He saw his helplessness. He saw his broken spirit. He saw his despair. He saw his lowered head and slumped shoulders. He saw his tattered and filthy clothes. But he saw something more -- he saw his son. From a distance the father saw his pain and shame. He saw what the distant land had done to his son. The father does not inquire as to the reason for his son's return. He does not scold, "What are you doing here? When you run out of money you return home. Are you sorry for all the pain and heartache you brought to me? Do you expect me to let you in after all you have done? Get your life straightened out before you expect me to take you back." Nothing like that ever happened. Instead, we have the three greatest words in this entire narrative: "filled with compassion." That is the one thing a father or mother will never relinquish in regard to their son or daughter -- is compassion. Parents may not understand or fathom certain behavior or lifestyle, but they will always have compassion. As parents we know that God's love for us is so real and intense, and that God would search for us to the ends of the earth. How could we do anything less for our children?
Immediately upon recognizing him, the father runs toward his son. It would have been humiliating for an Oriental nobleman with flowing robes to run anywhere. In Eastern eyes it was undignified for an elderly man to run. Not only was it shameful (baring his ankles) for an elderly man to run, it also indicated a lack of self-control. But the father has good reason to run. This is an emergency and his son is in trouble. As his son enters the village, the father knows the villagers will gather around. The son will be the subject of taunts and perhaps verbal and physical abuse. Under such circumstances surely a father would run. Shillington points out that the Greek term used here, dramon, means to exert oneself to the limit of one's powers. Obviously, the father acts this way because he believes his son is in serious trouble. He runs with compassion because he is concerned for his son and he wants to protect him from the humiliating experience of facing the hometown crowd. He runs with compassion to put himself between his son and the hostile, jeering crowd. He wants to get there before they do. The event draws a crowd. The villagers come because they want to voice their protest to the son and they want to see what the returning son looks like and how his father will respond. In an act of humility and acceptance, the father hugs his son, embraces him, and kisses him. In mid-eastern culture the kiss was a sign of public reconciliation. The father's action was not only to reconcile his son to the family, but also to reconcile himself and his family to the village.
The son is so overwhelmed by his father's love and acceptance that he delivers only part of his prepared speech, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son." The part about the "hired servant" is missing. He is embarrassed to speak such words of his own scheming plan of reconciliation in the face of the father's outpouring of love and grace. In seeing his father's eyes filled with tears, he notices that his father is different from when he left. His face is hollow, drawn, and lined. His shoulders stooped, he appears so much older and worn than when he left. The son says to himself, "O God, what have I done to my father?" He now realizes that his sin was not the lost money, but his broken relationship with his father. He understands that any new relationship must be the pure gift of the father's love. He offered no solution; that is why he refrained from speaking the latter part of his prepared speech. To assume that he could compensate his father with his labor was now an insult. "I am no longer worthy to be your son" is the only appropriate response.
The father makes his reconciliation public. The son now enters the village under the protective loving care of his father. Both the son and the crowd that gathered are astonished at what they are seeing. Rather than experiencing ruthless hostility that was expected by all parties, instead they witness an unexpected, visible demonstration of love and humility on the part of the father. The father's actions replace speech. There are no words of acceptance and welcome. The love expressed is too profound for words. Nouwen reminds us that never has God's immense, compassionate love been expressed in such a poignant way as it is here in these verses of Luke 15. He points out that everything comes together. "Time and eternity intersect. Approaching death and everlasting life touch each other. Sin and forgiveness embrace. The human and the divine become one" (The Return of the Prodigal, p. 88). Things are so different now in the journey back. He is coming home in his shame and helplessness. In leaving, his demand was, "Give me!" His words were, "My inheritance. My portion. My freedom." He left with demands, but he returns with confession: "I have sinned. Forgive me. Restore me. Will you take me back?" In leaving, he thought that freedom was to be found away from his father. Freedom was now with the father. He was to discover that the more dependent he was on his father, the freer he would become.
Now that he is in the loving embrace of his father -- what did he learn in a distant land? He learned a great deal about his illusions, miscalculations, poor judgments, and limitations, and a great deal about the meaning of freedom. Above all he learned about his father's love. He discovered the breadth and depth of that love. Look what he had to go through in order to learn all of this. He paid a high price for all of his newly acquired knowledge. When one pays such a high price for such knowledge, it is important to get everything that the experience has to teach. Some people pay an enormously high price for some of the most basic and elementary lessons of life. Some experience bankruptcy in money and spirit; some go through long periods of separation from family and friends. For others things may be more drastic, such as a prison sentence, or a lifetime in AA, or a painful period in mental and spiritual rehabilitation. The tragedy is that a person may go through such an experience, paying an enormously high price, and still never learn anything from it.
Interestingly, the writer Henri Nouwen and the biblical scholar Kenneth E. Bailey both see the father's actions as that of a mother. They arrive at their conclusions from different directions -- Nouwen from his visit to the Hermitage in St. Petersburg, Russia, where he was captivated by Rembrandt's The Prodigal Son; Bailey from his cultural-historical approach to the study of the text. For Nouwen it was the father's hands in the Rembrandt painting that captured his attention. The father's hands were the center of the painting for him. As he studied the hands, he noticed that they were quite different. He noticed that the left hand as it was touching the son's shoulder is strong and masculine. The fingers are spread out and they cover a large part of the prodigal's shoulders and back. Not only do they seem to touch, but they appear to hold and embrace. The left hand reveals the firm grip of a father's strong, masculine hand.
The right hand is different. It is narrower than the left hand and does not hold and grip as the left does. The right hand appears refined, soft, very tender, with long and slender fingers which appear eloquent and close together. The left hand seems to extend a firm grip; the right hand lies gently on the son's shoulders. The right hand seeks to caress, stroke, and offer consolation and comfort. After long hours of studying Rembrandt's masterpiece, Nouwen concluded that the left hand is a father's hand, whereas the right hand is a mother's hand. As he looked at Rembrandt's old man bending over his returning son touching his shoulder with his hands, he said, "I see not only a father who clasps his son in his arms. But also a mother who caresses her child, surrounds him with the warmth of her body and holds him against the womb from which he sprang." For Nouwen, the "return of the prodigal becomes the return to God's womb, the return to the very origins of being and echoes again Jesus' exhortation to Nicodemus, 'Truly I say to you unless you be born anew, you cannot see the kingdom of God' " (The Return of the Prodigal, p. 94).
Bailey points out that a traditional oriental patriarch would be expected to sit in isolation in his house and wait for his wayward son to come to him and give him an account of his actions. He would never run out to him. It would be the mother who would run down the road, hug her son, and kiss him. Bailey suggests:
A 1,000-year-old, finely tuned sacred tradition is available to Jesus. The prophets called God "Father" and partially described that father in female terms. This language affirmed the personhood and unity of God for all believers, male and female. In the Old Testament, God is already presented as a father who also acts with the tender compassion of a mother (Deuteronomy 32:18; Psalm 131; Isaiah 42:14, 66:13). The Dead Sea Scrolls describe God with the same imagery ... in 1 John, the believer is "born of God." That is, God "gives birth" in the New Testament even as God does in the Old (Deuteronomy 32:18). In this parable, too, the father appears on the road, demonstrating the tender compassion of a mother.
-- Christianity Today, October 26, 1998, p. 34
I am aware that the scriptures speak to us of God in many voices, but never more persuasively than when it sounds and sends forth the maternal note of God's love. For centuries Christian people have overlooked the Bible's use of motherhood as a metaphor for God. There is an historical reason for this. The biblical metaphors for God as father, king, and lord were used in a time when monarchy was the seat of political power. God's sovereignty was expressed in terms of royalty and kingship. In an agricultural economy, it was inevitable that the poetic imagery for God's tender concern and care should be drawn from a shepherd and his flock. In a patriarchal society, where the father figure was dominant, thoughts of God's relationship to his people would center around the idea of the father. These metaphors and images functioned well for those days, but the world has changed. Today, the use of the word "father" as a metaphor for God is not a very suitable symbol for many of the world's children. As Bailey has pointed out, although the biblical writers made strong use of masculine imagery and metaphors, there are signs in both the Old and New Testaments that the motherhood of God was on their minds. In the Old Testament this loving God is the Mother who has given us the birth of creation that we know and see, and in the New Testament it is the one through whom the miracle of rebirth takes place and brings us the joy of Christian living.
Marguerite Henry Atkins wrote a remarkable book telling about the years of caring for her husband who had Alzheimer's disease. Also My Journey is a vivid account of her struggle, pain, anguish, and the hope of faith. She wrote this poem just before her husband's death.
He is my loved one,
But thou didst create him
and so lovest him more.
I know that thou wilt be near him
In his death ...
Thou wilt hold him close in thy arms
as a mother cradles her child
while sleeping.
That image of God as mother brought her hope and comfort. She could visualize how in death God was near to her husband, holding him close, as a mother who cradles her child. In the same way Nouwen declares, "I see not only a father who clasps his son's arms. But also a mother who caresses her child, surrounds him with the warmth of her body, and holds him against the womb from which he sprang" (p. 94).
It is evident that with verse 20, the view shifts from the returning son to the waiting father. As Jesus describes the prodigal's father in terms of goodness, grace, and abounding love, his main purpose is to reveal the nature and character of God. This is the kind of God I want to believe in: a God who from the beginning of creation has stretched out his arms saying, "Let there be light and life!"; who continues to stretch out his arms saying, "Come unto me all who labor and are heavy laden." God's arms are outstretched and they are ever waiting. God is never letting his arms drop in despair. God is ever waiting to let his longing arms embrace a returning son or daughter. God's only desire is to welcome back, to bless, and to embrace. As he told this part of the parable, I can imagine how Jesus must have used his hands and his arms -- opening his palms and stretching out his arms as wide as possible, suggesting, "Yes! Yes! You can come home!" The nails of the cross continue to hold open the arms of Christ for every wayward, bewildered son or daughter who happens to be lost and alone in a distant land -- as well as the prodigal that stays home.
David Watson states, "Jesus is the missing person in his own parable" (God Does Not Foreclose, p. 94). In him we have the assurance that God wants all people to be part of his heavenly family. When we look at the cross, we realize how much God was willing to risk, and continues to risk, to have all prodigals back home. God's extended invitation from the cross makes clear how serious the human condition is and how intense and far-reaching God's love is for all who stray from the Father's house. It is through the love and grace that are so clearly seen in the parable that all who are reconciled to God are in a new relationship that can best be described in two words: Welcome home! The purpose of Jesus' ministry is to make this homecoming possible for everyone. Watson concludes, "Jesus gives this parable new meaning by being the person to invite us back home and by giving his life to bring all prodigals to their senses" (p. 95).
The story is told about a venerable old sage who asked his disciples the question, "How can you know when the darkness is leaving and the dawn is coming?" "When we can see a tree in the distance and know that it is an elm and not a juniper," ventured one student. "When we can see an animal and know that it is a fox and not a wolf," chimed in another. "No," said the old man, "those things will not help us." Puzzled, the students demanded, "How then can we know?" The master teacher drew himself up to his full stature and replied quietly, "We know the darkness is leaving and the dawn is coming when we can see another person's face and know that this is our brother and sister; otherwise, no matter what time it is, it is still dark." The prodigal knew that it was the dawning of a new day when he saw the tears streaming down his father's face, a face hollow and worn by the pain of waiting for a wayward, lost son to return. Now, let the celebration begin.
Discussion Questions
1.
Humiliation. In what way did the father face a humiliating situation in his son's return to the village? How many times in the parable did the father face humiliation? If the father represents God in the parable, what does the father's action regarding his son's return tell you about God?
2.
Love. Jeremias declares that this is really "a parable of a loving father." Do you agree that the theme is not that of a wayward, lost son, but of a father's love? What about the thought that Jesus uses this human story so all who hear it would be able to understand that God loves even a lost, confused, and wayward son and welcomes him home? Is this the kind of God you know?
3.
Compassion. The key phrase in the parable is "filled with compassion." Do you agree that the one thing a father and mother will never relinquish in regard to a rebellious son or daughter is compassion, regardless of how far they have wandered? What has been your experience as a parent or as a child?
4.
Reconciliation. The father is speechless when he first meets his son. There is a kiss and a hug, something a father would never do in public. Could it be that the love expressed is too profound for words? Do you agree with the conclusion that never has God's immense, compassionate love been expressed in such a poignant way as it is in this parable?
5.
Knowledge. The prodigal paid a very high price for his newly acquired knowledge. When one pays such a high price for such knowledge, it is important to get everything that experience has to teach. What price have you paid for the knowledge you obtained regarding yourself and God?
6.
Metaphors. Several scholars have seen the motherhood and fatherhood of God in the son's return. Why is it that the biblical metaphors for the motherhood of God are overlooked? What are the cultural reasons for this? What is your response?
Prayer
Lord, I hear your voice calling me through so many different voices, happenings, events, and people. But what you are saying seems too good to be true -- beyond belief. You have said if I confess, you will forgive; if I knock, you will open; if I come to you weary and heavyhearted, you will give me comfort and rest.
Lord, I believe, but help my unbelief. Help me to get over the barriers and the obstacles that keep me from coming to you. Help me to take that first step so I can begin my journey home. Amen.
To begin, we need to reiterate that the family and the village are intertwined in first-century village and community life in the Middle East. The father knows how the village feels. There is no doubt that on numerous occasions the villagers told the father that he should never have given his inheritance to his son in the first place. Not only did the father lose, but the village felt they were losers as well. The father knew how the villagers felt and he knew that his son's return to the village would precipitate a crisis and cause a crowd to gather. He was concerned that when his son was identified, he would face verbal and physical abuse. When the father is aware that his son is returning home, he responds immediately. He takes dramatic actions that are calculated to protect his son from the hostility of the villagers.
As soon as the son arrives at the edge of the village, the father runs to meet him. Bailey points out that oriental noblemen with flowing robes would never run (p. 181). Running was shameful because it allowed the ankles to show. It was considered indecent exposure. It indicated a lack of self-control. Jeremias states that it is a most unusual and undignified procedure for an aged oriental father. A son would run to his father, but never would a father run to his son (p. 102). But, the father ran because the need was so urgent. He needed to put himself between his son and the village crowd so as to protect his son. The father is willing to assume a humiliating posture in order to protect him.
The father embraced his son, protecting him from the hostility of the crowd, and kissed him. Shillington points out that "running, embracing, and a kiss are not only the signs of welcome but protection" (p. 156). The son was utterly amazed at his father's action. It was so unexpected, the son was witnessing a visible demonstration of love in humiliation. There were no words appropriate for this moment; the father's acts replace speech. Of this occasion Sa'id writes:
Christ reports for us the words of the son to his father, but does not give anything about a speech of the father to his son. For in reality the father substitutes kisses for words and replaces assertions with expression and eyes speak for the tongue.
-- as cited by Bailey, p. 182
The father kissed his son to express his forgiveness. The father hoped that his public display of forgiveness of his son would be the beginning of his son's reconciliation with the village. The father's welcome, embrace, and kiss are clearly an outpouring of grace. Bernard Scott (Hear Then The Parables) quotes a rabbinic parallel that makes clear the father's intentions.
A king had a son who had gone astray from his father a journey of a hundred days. His friends said to him, "Return to your father." He said, "I cannot." Then his father sent to say, "Then return as far as you can, and I will come to you the rest of the way." So God says, "Return to me, and I will return to you."
-- p. 117
In the dramatic act of the father's acceptance there is no test of the son's sincerity. Scott suggests that this "initial response indicates that he will not follow a legal or paternal role; he will play the nourishing role" (p. 117). In other words, that father's actions will not be those of legality (well within his rights as an offended father) but of love.
At this point in the parable, the major role is played by the compassionate father. Young suggests that the nature and character of God are made vividly clear by the father's welcome, compassion, and forgiveness (The Parables of Jesus, p. 151). As seen in the father's actions, God loves his children even when they make the wrong decisions. The comparison between the compassionate father and God are obvious. God allows his children the freedom to choose, and if the wrong choice brings disaster, he is willing to accept them and forgive them when they return home. On two occasions the father came out and down from the house to face the humiliation and disgrace created by the actions of his lost sons. Regardless of the humiliation and cost, the father came in love and compassion to bring his wayward sons home. This is comparable to the words of the Apostle Paul, "God was in Christ bringing the world back to himself."
In telling this story, Jesus' theme is not only a wayward, lost son, but a father's love. Jeremias declares that this is "a parable of a loving father" (p. 101). For this reason C. H. Dodd places this parable in his grouping of parables under the "parables of the grace of the kingdom" (Interpreting the Parables, p. 21). Fitzmyer concludes that the theme of "a loving father" is a symbol of a loving God whom Jesus calls "Abba Father" (Anchor Bible, Luke, vol. XXXIV, p. 1089). The very first words that a Jewish child learns to speak are abba (meaning father) and imma (meaning mother). The word abba is so personal that no one ever used it to address God until Jesus did. There is not a single example of the use of abba as an address of God in the whole of Jewish literature (Fitzmyer, ibid.). Jesus' utter intimacy with God is startling. Jesus used this understanding of God that had come to him as a loving and caring Father and placed it in a very earthy, human story so all who heard it would be able to understand how God as Father loves even a lost, confused, and wayward son.
Reflections
The journey back is always a painful and difficult journey. The prodigal's mind was now made up. The period of indecision was now over. He knew what he had to do to overcome the sickness of his soul. The phrase, "So he set off and went to his father," controls all that is to follow. Three steps are involved in his return. First, he comes to himself. He faces the reality of his situation and is honest with himself. This phrase affirms the human capacity to renounce foolish error and reclaim one's heritage and potential. Second, he arises. The journey back begins with the first step. Many times that first step is the most difficult and critical to take, because it reflects a break with the past. It is bringing to an end life as usual. For the prodigal, this first step was an affirmation that his life was taking a different direction. Repentance is followed by action -- for the prodigal this action meant putting his trust in his father and returning to his father's house. He now acts on his resolve. Third, he goes to his father. This is the most critical step, because he is casting himself on his father's mercy.
The focus is now on the father. It is quite possible that after all of this time the father has assumed that his son has failed and that he is possibly dead. The son had no idea how much his father had missed him and how his father's heart burned with immense desire to bring his child home. The son had no idea the number of times the father would look up from his chores, lean on his hoe, and gaze down a distant path to see if his son was coming home. Each time he would think to himself, "He'll come. If not today then another day." Numerous times he would wake up in the middle of the night certain that he had heard his son's voice cry out, "Father! Father!" Hurrying to his room he would throw open the door only to discover an empty bed, just as it had been since the day he left. Each day he continued to place the son's plate and utensils at the dinner table -- just in case.
Then it happened. "While he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion." Notice that "his father saw him." His father saw his wretched condition. He saw his helplessness. He saw his broken spirit. He saw his despair. He saw his lowered head and slumped shoulders. He saw his tattered and filthy clothes. But he saw something more -- he saw his son. From a distance the father saw his pain and shame. He saw what the distant land had done to his son. The father does not inquire as to the reason for his son's return. He does not scold, "What are you doing here? When you run out of money you return home. Are you sorry for all the pain and heartache you brought to me? Do you expect me to let you in after all you have done? Get your life straightened out before you expect me to take you back." Nothing like that ever happened. Instead, we have the three greatest words in this entire narrative: "filled with compassion." That is the one thing a father or mother will never relinquish in regard to their son or daughter -- is compassion. Parents may not understand or fathom certain behavior or lifestyle, but they will always have compassion. As parents we know that God's love for us is so real and intense, and that God would search for us to the ends of the earth. How could we do anything less for our children?
Immediately upon recognizing him, the father runs toward his son. It would have been humiliating for an Oriental nobleman with flowing robes to run anywhere. In Eastern eyes it was undignified for an elderly man to run. Not only was it shameful (baring his ankles) for an elderly man to run, it also indicated a lack of self-control. But the father has good reason to run. This is an emergency and his son is in trouble. As his son enters the village, the father knows the villagers will gather around. The son will be the subject of taunts and perhaps verbal and physical abuse. Under such circumstances surely a father would run. Shillington points out that the Greek term used here, dramon, means to exert oneself to the limit of one's powers. Obviously, the father acts this way because he believes his son is in serious trouble. He runs with compassion because he is concerned for his son and he wants to protect him from the humiliating experience of facing the hometown crowd. He runs with compassion to put himself between his son and the hostile, jeering crowd. He wants to get there before they do. The event draws a crowd. The villagers come because they want to voice their protest to the son and they want to see what the returning son looks like and how his father will respond. In an act of humility and acceptance, the father hugs his son, embraces him, and kisses him. In mid-eastern culture the kiss was a sign of public reconciliation. The father's action was not only to reconcile his son to the family, but also to reconcile himself and his family to the village.
The son is so overwhelmed by his father's love and acceptance that he delivers only part of his prepared speech, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son." The part about the "hired servant" is missing. He is embarrassed to speak such words of his own scheming plan of reconciliation in the face of the father's outpouring of love and grace. In seeing his father's eyes filled with tears, he notices that his father is different from when he left. His face is hollow, drawn, and lined. His shoulders stooped, he appears so much older and worn than when he left. The son says to himself, "O God, what have I done to my father?" He now realizes that his sin was not the lost money, but his broken relationship with his father. He understands that any new relationship must be the pure gift of the father's love. He offered no solution; that is why he refrained from speaking the latter part of his prepared speech. To assume that he could compensate his father with his labor was now an insult. "I am no longer worthy to be your son" is the only appropriate response.
The father makes his reconciliation public. The son now enters the village under the protective loving care of his father. Both the son and the crowd that gathered are astonished at what they are seeing. Rather than experiencing ruthless hostility that was expected by all parties, instead they witness an unexpected, visible demonstration of love and humility on the part of the father. The father's actions replace speech. There are no words of acceptance and welcome. The love expressed is too profound for words. Nouwen reminds us that never has God's immense, compassionate love been expressed in such a poignant way as it is here in these verses of Luke 15. He points out that everything comes together. "Time and eternity intersect. Approaching death and everlasting life touch each other. Sin and forgiveness embrace. The human and the divine become one" (The Return of the Prodigal, p. 88). Things are so different now in the journey back. He is coming home in his shame and helplessness. In leaving, his demand was, "Give me!" His words were, "My inheritance. My portion. My freedom." He left with demands, but he returns with confession: "I have sinned. Forgive me. Restore me. Will you take me back?" In leaving, he thought that freedom was to be found away from his father. Freedom was now with the father. He was to discover that the more dependent he was on his father, the freer he would become.
Now that he is in the loving embrace of his father -- what did he learn in a distant land? He learned a great deal about his illusions, miscalculations, poor judgments, and limitations, and a great deal about the meaning of freedom. Above all he learned about his father's love. He discovered the breadth and depth of that love. Look what he had to go through in order to learn all of this. He paid a high price for all of his newly acquired knowledge. When one pays such a high price for such knowledge, it is important to get everything that the experience has to teach. Some people pay an enormously high price for some of the most basic and elementary lessons of life. Some experience bankruptcy in money and spirit; some go through long periods of separation from family and friends. For others things may be more drastic, such as a prison sentence, or a lifetime in AA, or a painful period in mental and spiritual rehabilitation. The tragedy is that a person may go through such an experience, paying an enormously high price, and still never learn anything from it.
Interestingly, the writer Henri Nouwen and the biblical scholar Kenneth E. Bailey both see the father's actions as that of a mother. They arrive at their conclusions from different directions -- Nouwen from his visit to the Hermitage in St. Petersburg, Russia, where he was captivated by Rembrandt's The Prodigal Son; Bailey from his cultural-historical approach to the study of the text. For Nouwen it was the father's hands in the Rembrandt painting that captured his attention. The father's hands were the center of the painting for him. As he studied the hands, he noticed that they were quite different. He noticed that the left hand as it was touching the son's shoulder is strong and masculine. The fingers are spread out and they cover a large part of the prodigal's shoulders and back. Not only do they seem to touch, but they appear to hold and embrace. The left hand reveals the firm grip of a father's strong, masculine hand.
The right hand is different. It is narrower than the left hand and does not hold and grip as the left does. The right hand appears refined, soft, very tender, with long and slender fingers which appear eloquent and close together. The left hand seems to extend a firm grip; the right hand lies gently on the son's shoulders. The right hand seeks to caress, stroke, and offer consolation and comfort. After long hours of studying Rembrandt's masterpiece, Nouwen concluded that the left hand is a father's hand, whereas the right hand is a mother's hand. As he looked at Rembrandt's old man bending over his returning son touching his shoulder with his hands, he said, "I see not only a father who clasps his son in his arms. But also a mother who caresses her child, surrounds him with the warmth of her body and holds him against the womb from which he sprang." For Nouwen, the "return of the prodigal becomes the return to God's womb, the return to the very origins of being and echoes again Jesus' exhortation to Nicodemus, 'Truly I say to you unless you be born anew, you cannot see the kingdom of God' " (The Return of the Prodigal, p. 94).
Bailey points out that a traditional oriental patriarch would be expected to sit in isolation in his house and wait for his wayward son to come to him and give him an account of his actions. He would never run out to him. It would be the mother who would run down the road, hug her son, and kiss him. Bailey suggests:
A 1,000-year-old, finely tuned sacred tradition is available to Jesus. The prophets called God "Father" and partially described that father in female terms. This language affirmed the personhood and unity of God for all believers, male and female. In the Old Testament, God is already presented as a father who also acts with the tender compassion of a mother (Deuteronomy 32:18; Psalm 131; Isaiah 42:14, 66:13). The Dead Sea Scrolls describe God with the same imagery ... in 1 John, the believer is "born of God." That is, God "gives birth" in the New Testament even as God does in the Old (Deuteronomy 32:18). In this parable, too, the father appears on the road, demonstrating the tender compassion of a mother.
-- Christianity Today, October 26, 1998, p. 34
I am aware that the scriptures speak to us of God in many voices, but never more persuasively than when it sounds and sends forth the maternal note of God's love. For centuries Christian people have overlooked the Bible's use of motherhood as a metaphor for God. There is an historical reason for this. The biblical metaphors for God as father, king, and lord were used in a time when monarchy was the seat of political power. God's sovereignty was expressed in terms of royalty and kingship. In an agricultural economy, it was inevitable that the poetic imagery for God's tender concern and care should be drawn from a shepherd and his flock. In a patriarchal society, where the father figure was dominant, thoughts of God's relationship to his people would center around the idea of the father. These metaphors and images functioned well for those days, but the world has changed. Today, the use of the word "father" as a metaphor for God is not a very suitable symbol for many of the world's children. As Bailey has pointed out, although the biblical writers made strong use of masculine imagery and metaphors, there are signs in both the Old and New Testaments that the motherhood of God was on their minds. In the Old Testament this loving God is the Mother who has given us the birth of creation that we know and see, and in the New Testament it is the one through whom the miracle of rebirth takes place and brings us the joy of Christian living.
Marguerite Henry Atkins wrote a remarkable book telling about the years of caring for her husband who had Alzheimer's disease. Also My Journey is a vivid account of her struggle, pain, anguish, and the hope of faith. She wrote this poem just before her husband's death.
He is my loved one,
But thou didst create him
and so lovest him more.
I know that thou wilt be near him
In his death ...
Thou wilt hold him close in thy arms
as a mother cradles her child
while sleeping.
That image of God as mother brought her hope and comfort. She could visualize how in death God was near to her husband, holding him close, as a mother who cradles her child. In the same way Nouwen declares, "I see not only a father who clasps his son's arms. But also a mother who caresses her child, surrounds him with the warmth of her body, and holds him against the womb from which he sprang" (p. 94).
It is evident that with verse 20, the view shifts from the returning son to the waiting father. As Jesus describes the prodigal's father in terms of goodness, grace, and abounding love, his main purpose is to reveal the nature and character of God. This is the kind of God I want to believe in: a God who from the beginning of creation has stretched out his arms saying, "Let there be light and life!"; who continues to stretch out his arms saying, "Come unto me all who labor and are heavy laden." God's arms are outstretched and they are ever waiting. God is never letting his arms drop in despair. God is ever waiting to let his longing arms embrace a returning son or daughter. God's only desire is to welcome back, to bless, and to embrace. As he told this part of the parable, I can imagine how Jesus must have used his hands and his arms -- opening his palms and stretching out his arms as wide as possible, suggesting, "Yes! Yes! You can come home!" The nails of the cross continue to hold open the arms of Christ for every wayward, bewildered son or daughter who happens to be lost and alone in a distant land -- as well as the prodigal that stays home.
David Watson states, "Jesus is the missing person in his own parable" (God Does Not Foreclose, p. 94). In him we have the assurance that God wants all people to be part of his heavenly family. When we look at the cross, we realize how much God was willing to risk, and continues to risk, to have all prodigals back home. God's extended invitation from the cross makes clear how serious the human condition is and how intense and far-reaching God's love is for all who stray from the Father's house. It is through the love and grace that are so clearly seen in the parable that all who are reconciled to God are in a new relationship that can best be described in two words: Welcome home! The purpose of Jesus' ministry is to make this homecoming possible for everyone. Watson concludes, "Jesus gives this parable new meaning by being the person to invite us back home and by giving his life to bring all prodigals to their senses" (p. 95).
The story is told about a venerable old sage who asked his disciples the question, "How can you know when the darkness is leaving and the dawn is coming?" "When we can see a tree in the distance and know that it is an elm and not a juniper," ventured one student. "When we can see an animal and know that it is a fox and not a wolf," chimed in another. "No," said the old man, "those things will not help us." Puzzled, the students demanded, "How then can we know?" The master teacher drew himself up to his full stature and replied quietly, "We know the darkness is leaving and the dawn is coming when we can see another person's face and know that this is our brother and sister; otherwise, no matter what time it is, it is still dark." The prodigal knew that it was the dawning of a new day when he saw the tears streaming down his father's face, a face hollow and worn by the pain of waiting for a wayward, lost son to return. Now, let the celebration begin.
Discussion Questions
1.
Humiliation. In what way did the father face a humiliating situation in his son's return to the village? How many times in the parable did the father face humiliation? If the father represents God in the parable, what does the father's action regarding his son's return tell you about God?
2.
Love. Jeremias declares that this is really "a parable of a loving father." Do you agree that the theme is not that of a wayward, lost son, but of a father's love? What about the thought that Jesus uses this human story so all who hear it would be able to understand that God loves even a lost, confused, and wayward son and welcomes him home? Is this the kind of God you know?
3.
Compassion. The key phrase in the parable is "filled with compassion." Do you agree that the one thing a father and mother will never relinquish in regard to a rebellious son or daughter is compassion, regardless of how far they have wandered? What has been your experience as a parent or as a child?
4.
Reconciliation. The father is speechless when he first meets his son. There is a kiss and a hug, something a father would never do in public. Could it be that the love expressed is too profound for words? Do you agree with the conclusion that never has God's immense, compassionate love been expressed in such a poignant way as it is in this parable?
5.
Knowledge. The prodigal paid a very high price for his newly acquired knowledge. When one pays such a high price for such knowledge, it is important to get everything that experience has to teach. What price have you paid for the knowledge you obtained regarding yourself and God?
6.
Metaphors. Several scholars have seen the motherhood and fatherhood of God in the son's return. Why is it that the biblical metaphors for the motherhood of God are overlooked? What are the cultural reasons for this? What is your response?
Prayer
Lord, I hear your voice calling me through so many different voices, happenings, events, and people. But what you are saying seems too good to be true -- beyond belief. You have said if I confess, you will forgive; if I knock, you will open; if I come to you weary and heavyhearted, you will give me comfort and rest.
Lord, I believe, but help my unbelief. Help me to get over the barriers and the obstacles that keep me from coming to you. Help me to take that first step so I can begin my journey home. Amen.
