Have you ever watched the faces and body language of the people in the departure lounge at an airport? Some are excited to be leaving on a vacation, some are travelling for work, but there are also the sad goodbyes as people say a tearful goodbye to loved ones, perhaps knowing they won’t be seeing them again soon. The arrivals lounge presents a different experience: people eagerly scanning the announcement board for arrivals; some of them holding signs or flowers. There is a different energy there, a sense of anticipation, and as flights land and travellers emerge through the ‘magic’ door, there are joyful reunions, hugs and welcomes. 

If we have experienced a painful goodbye or the joyous welcoming home of a loved one, we may understand something of the parable Jesus tells in today’s Gospel. This is a parable that tells us something about the human journey with all of its flaws and missteps, but most importantly, it tells us something about God who loves us unconditionally, who waits for us, and who looks at us always with the look of love. 

The father in the story has two sons, each of whom makes a different choice: one son wants his inheritance now and sets off to enjoy himself with all the superficial pleasures that money can buy. When the money is gone, he is miserable and starving, and finally, he appreciates what he had all along. The scripture tells us that he “came back to himself” and decided to go home, humbled and ready to admit the harm he has caused with his poor choices. He is ready to accept his father’s rebuke, and to take a lowly position in the family. 

Barbara Brown Taylor refers to this story in today’s cultural language as that of a dysfunctional family. When the younger son asks for his share of the family property, he deals his father a double blow. He not only means to break up the estate; he also means to leave his father, who counts on both of his sons to care for him in his old age. But the younger son is not thinking about his family, or his village. He is thinking about himself. Staying in relationship is not high on his list of priorities. Being his own person is. Getting out of town to find himself is. 

Whatever his reasons, he asks for his share of the family property, and his father responds to the double blow with a double turning of the cheek. He not only divides his property between his sons, though he is still very much alive; he also allows his younger son to sell his share, so that the boy can liquidate his assets and take them with him when he goes. 

But of course, this is not what happens. Instead, the younger son loses everything, and he loses it to Gentiles—Roman citizens, pagan pig-owners, complete strangers to the God of Israel. What he does is so reprehensible that the Talmud describes a ceremony to deal with in a qetsatsah ceremony, to punish a Jewish boy who loses the family inheritance to Gentiles. Here’s how it works. If he ever shows up in his village again, then the villagers can fill a large earthenware jug with burned nuts and corn, break it in front of the prodigal, and shout his name out loud, pronouncing him cut off from his people (Kenneth Bailey, “The Pursuing Father,” Christianity Today 26 October 1998). After that, he will be a cosmic orphan, who might as well go back and live with the pigs. 

But we are told that the father “saw him coming “which tells me that the father was always watching for him, waiting for him which he had probably been doing since the day he left. Far from rebuking his son or lecturing him on his selfish behavior, the father is filled with joy to have his son back and throws a lavish celebration in his honor. He is able to reach him and bring him home before the village hold the qetsatah ceremony. 

But what about the other son? The responsible one who has stayed home all this time and worked alongside his father?  Well, he is resentful. It’s understandable really, he has been responsible and steadfast, he hasn’t chased transient pleasures but has been hardworking and steadfast. What he doesn’t realise is that his brother’s life choices have not brought him happiness, while he has had the rewards that come from steady hard work and loyalty. 

Any of you who has more than one child knows that you don’t treat them the same because they are different and their needs are different. The Father loved both of his sons, and both had different needs. And both gave him a different kind of headache! 

The power of a parable is that it meets generations of listeners wherever they are: in first-century Palestine, in fourth-century Rome, or in twenty-first-century Victoria. Every family has that one member who is restless, different, finds it hard to settle down. Everyone has at least thought about running away from home. And whether or not you happen to have one yourself, almost everyone knows what a pain a sibling can be at times. We are all flawed in one way or another, and this finally humbles us and opens us to the look of love that God bestows on each one of us. The story tells us that God is not punitive: God loves us and wants to be in relationship with us, will always wait for us, and will rejoice when we turn back to God.  

Finally, this parable can be summarized very well in the words of Theologian Ron Rolheiser: “It doesn’t matter what you’ve done: just come home!” 

God of compassion, you are slow to anger and full of mercy, 
welcoming sinners who return to you with penitent hearts. 
Receive in your loving embrace all who come home to you. 
Seat them at your bountiful table of grace, that, with all your children, 
they may feast with delight on all that satisfies the hungry heart. 
We ask this in the name of Jesus Christ our Savior, 
who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, 
one God, forever and ever. Amen. 

Prayer of the Day for the Fourth Sunday of Lent 
Book of Common Worship, Presbyterian Church (USA) 

 

 

 

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