This parable in scripture we hear in Luke’s gospel today is often given a name. It’s often called the parable of…. What…?
The Prodigal Son. The Prodigal Son. But how many of us know what the word “prodigal” really means? Because there’s nothing worse than assuming something I don’t really know, I decided to look it up. Honestly, whenever I heard the term “prodigal son,” I always assumed that prodigal meant something along the lines of “screw up,” or “needing to be bailed out.” And while that’s not far off, the technical definition of “prodigal” is, and I quote, “Wastefully or recklessly extravagant,” or “lavish,” or “lavishly abundant.” And it got me thinking – someone truly did act in a prodigal fashion in our scripture reading today. But it wasn’t the younger son. No, truth be told, the one who acted especially extravagantly in our scripture reading today turns out to be none other than the father, who not only is willing – for the younger son’s supposed benefit – to divide the property before his death so that his son can do with it as he pleases, but is also then more than willing to take the fatted calf and have it slaughtered in celebration for the younger son’s return. It’s the radical ridiculous love of this father that is most often considered the point of this parable, and I believe is indeed the ultimate point, but to get to this amazing climax, we have to start elsewhere.
So we start with a younger son who seems ungrateful for what he has. He sees all his father has – and with hired hands and plenty of land, it seems it’s plenty, and decides that’s not for him. And we’re not really given a sense of his motivation, but the longer I’m a parent, the more I’m beginning to suspect that part of the problem is the son thinks he knows better than his father. He thinks he can do it better, and he’d like to be able to do so now, instead of waiting. So he asks his father the unthinkable – to divide up the portion of the property that would belong to him after his father dies, and let him do with it as he pleases. And even more remarkably, the father doesn’t tell him to shut up and go feed the goats.
First, a really quick cultural detail that I think tells us something about this younger son and how strongly he felt about getting his way and getting out: As the younger of two sons, he was not entitled to the same amount of property as the elder son. The eldest son always receives a vast majority of the family holdings in ancient Israel, and any younger sons received significantly less by comparison. And it seems that the father in Jesus’ parable has done pretty well for himself. Who’s to say that his holdings wouldn’t increase significantly if the younger son didn’t just choose to wait?
Brief aside – straw poll here, who among us when driving somewhere prefers to be the driver? Who likes to ride along and let somebody else drive instead? Who among you passenger types likes to tell the driver exactly what they’re doing wrong the entire drive? The younger son definitely liked to be in the driver’s seat. He didn’t want to leave his fate in the hands of somebody else. And besides, his father was getting old. Maybe a business deal hadn’t worked out in his favor recently. So the son wants to go out on his own. He doesn’t want to rely on the one who has always provided for him all that he needs any longer. He can do it by himself.
You know, the longer I’m a parent, the more I find myself identifying with the father in this parable. Maybe those of you who are parents have been there. Your child is bound and determined to do something that you know will not work out for them, so you try to keep them from doing that thing. And yet, eventually, you have to let them find out for themselves and hopefully be able to limit the damage. I think that’s what the father in Jesus’ parable was hoping to do. But the son doesn’t cooperate with the father’s intentions. Instead of investing his inheritance close at hand, he goes off to a foreign land to do so. And in this foreign land, he realizes he doesn’t have the guard rails of the familiar home life provided by his father. He needs people to help him decide how to take control of his destiny in this new place. And so he uses some of his wealth to attract people who are “in the know” to befriend him through lavish living. But the people he attracts don’t stick with him when the parties become less glamorous. Soon the younger son has nothing to show for his need for self-determination. He discovers he can’t do it on his own after all.
People of God, I hate to say it, but as much as we might find we identify with the father or maybe even the older brother, at the end of the day as a community we are all the younger son. We are all the ones who think we can figure it out on our own – who think we know better than God – and then find out when the guard rails are removed that we’re bound to screw up sooner or later. We all are guilty of squandering what God the Father gives us freely – almost recklessly. And this is the story of the people of God throughout all history. When we decide we can figure it out by ourselves – or do it better than God – we ultimately find that we are mistaken. We have wandered off and wasted so much of the gift that God has given us.
So how do we respond? How do we respond to the fact that we’re still collectively destitute, desperate to find the slightest nourishment of grace that we know from God’s promises? Where do we find the good news? Much like our Lenten acclamation that we heard anew today, we return to God. We seek to return to God who loves us, who is more than happy to restore the promise to us even when we have wasted so much of the goodness God has given us. Like the Father running toward his son to welcome him back regardless of the past, every day God welcomes us anew into the work of the kingdom to which we have been called.
But this raises a question – what does it mean to return to God in this world that we’re in? What does it mean to live under the care and redemption of the Father’s house and to work as a laborer in the Father’s field? It starts by receiving each day – each moment – as a new moment of God’s reconciling love – not just for ourselves but for all whom we encounter. It starts by seeing people first through the lens of a God who loves them as a beloved child, even if it seems they’ve lost their way, or even if they don’t fit the category of people we’d prefer to welcome into the house of the Father.
Returning to God means returning to the basic premise of God’s love made known to us today – that all who belong to God belong at the table, regardless of race, color, creed, paperwork, gender identity, personal history, political leaning, or any of the other things we would use to separate ourselves from others – to make ourselves feel as if we can do it better. Today, we return to our Father’s house and receive blessing. And we find that receiving that blessing means we are invited to a table that is infinitely bigger than we can imagine. It is a table of grace. It is a welcome meant for all. And as we return to the table again today, we will declare that all are welcome at Christ’s table. And the nourishment we receive today is a blessing meant to be shared, so that all the world may know the Father’s love that we celebrate today and share with the world every day in God’s promised love.