Why Is Happiness Always Somewhere Else?
Biblical Studies
Rebellion, Remorse, and Return
The Prodigal Son's Painful Journey Home
Commentary
Scholars point out that the request by the younger son seemed inappropriate for a first-century Jewish son, who like most sons at that time, knew the provisions of the mishnaic law (Brad Young, The Parables of Jesus, p. 138). The custom regarding inheritance was well known by Jewish families because inheritance was a critical question constantly being dealt within the Jewish community. Therefore, the son could not declare innocence as a result of ignorance.
It was not unusual for a Jewish father to draw up a testament regarding his property. What is unusual was for the father to allot to his younger son his portion prior to his death. A son by request could acquire title to his father's property, but the interest on the property would continue to come to the father until his death. Or, if the son sold the property, the purchaser would only take possession of it upon the death of the father.
Much has been written by scholars regarding the son's request and the father's action. Craig Blomberg has pointed out that the parable is not as lifelike as many have alleged (Interpreting the Parables, p. 176). He asks, would a first-century Jewish son have dared to ask his father for his share of the inheritance while the father is still in good health? Would the father have capitulated so readily? Probably not. Most agree that such behavior was deplorable. Kenneth Bailey goes so far as to interpret the son's request as equivalent to a death wish. He suggests that he was looking forward to his father's death with eager anticipation. If that is so, then the father's response is an incredible expression of grace and love (Poet and Peasant, p. 161). Other commentators have pointed out that the father's action was inappropriate. "The father who gives into his son is a fool" (Blomberg, p. 176). The thought is that by the son's action the father's place was usurped by his son and the father's authority and honor have been compromised.
Ibrahim Sa'id, from his cultural study of this parable, suggests that "the shepherd in search of the sheep, the woman in search of the coin, do not do anything out of the ordinary beyond what anyone in their place would do. But the actions the father takes in the third story (in Luke 15) are unique, marvelous, divine actions which have not been done by any father in the past" (Commentary on Luke, p. 395). I stated in the introduction that the father reveals God's love as seen through Christ and this is the lens through which we must view this parable. Therefore, this is not your ordinary father.
Verse 12 states, "So he divided his property between them." Between whom? It was between the elder son and the younger son. It is in this verse that the nature of the elder son emerges. On hearing that he gets his share of the inheritance as well, which is two-thirds of the inheritance since he is the elder son, he remains silent. The hearers would have expected a loud cry of protest from the elder son. This is the customary role for the elder son to play -- protecting and defending his father. To the amazement of all, he remains silent. There is no doubt that the elder son's silence shouts out loud at the first-century audience. They were saying to themselves, "In the name of decency, say something." But he never spoke a word. Scholars have pointed out that he is shameless and disloyal. Bailey states that even the father is suspect, since he gives in without any protest (p. 68). Even the villagers probably wondered about the sanity and functionality of this family. In order to understand the relationship between the family and the village, one needs to know something about the first-century Palestine ceremony of qesasah. Bailey describes the background and significance of this ceremony:
From the Jerusalem Talmud it is known that the Jew of the time of Jesus had a method for punishing any Jewish boy who lost the family inheritance to Gentiles. It was called the qesasah ceremony. Horror at such a loss is also reflected in the Dead Sea Scrolls. Such a violator of community expectations would face the qesasah ceremony if he dared to return to his home village. The ceremony is simple. The villagers would bring a large earthenware jar, fill it with burned nuts and burned corn, and break it in front of the guilty individual. While doing this, the community would shout, "So and so is cut off from his people." From that point on, the village would have nothing to do with the wayward lad.
When the villagers discover what is taking place in the family they may well "break the jar in the streets" and cut off the younger son from the community.
It was evident to all that there were serious rifts and disagreements both within the family and the village. The tension that is developing within the story is what makes the story so magnificent and compelling. In regard to the harshness of the younger son's action, Bernard Scott points out that first-century Palestine was a place of little opportunity. Life was brutal and harsh. It was natural that younger sons would cash in on their inheritance and go take their chances in a foreign land (Hear Then the Parables, p. 109).
In these first two brief verses we are introduced to the entire cast of three people and all three play a very important role in the drama. The audience expected the actors to play a different role. Brad Young points out that "Jesus loves to use reversal roles in his parabolic teachings to break normal reactions" (The Parables of Jesus, p. 140). Jesus skillfully uses this method to surprise his listeners and get their attention. Scholars call this tactic of Jesus the reversal of expectation, causing the dislocation of the hearer. Just when the hearer has lowered his guard feeling that he has things pretty well figured out, then zap -- with a sword-like thrust the parable drives its message home, leaving the hearer defenseless.
An interesting twist is given to this part of the parable by William Willimon, Dean of the Chapel at Duke University. He suggests that this parable is an image of our maturation which is most congenial to our society and that America was built by immigrants, people who left their parents to seek their fortune in a distant land of the New World. They in turn taught their children that the only way to get ahead was to immigrate, to leave home, severing parental ties. Willimon suggests, being a campus minister, that the far country is the average college campus where everyone is forced to abandon their parents and the church in order to grow up. He suggests that in today's world, the path to maturation comes not only from the college experience, but also from the influence of corporations who require their people to be ready to move at the drop of a hat. They need people who will move at a moment's notice, who are trained to subordinate family, traditions, friends, and values to the demands of the corporation. Willimon concludes that "such people are better managed than those who must still answer to the old man" (Pulpit Resources, January '95, p. 52).
Other writers have similar views as Willimon. One is the French writer Andre Gide who invents another ending to the parable, having the returning son sending his older brother into the far country so that he too can grow up and mature. Gide suggests that it is good for a son to be lost for a while. He feels it is good for him to rebel and sin, because everyone has to go through this sometime in life. He concludes that in the life of every son and daughter there is rebellion; this is one of life's essential passages.
The listeners, as they were drawn into the narrative, felt that they had pretty much figured things out. They probably expected the younger son to die of hunger. When he left home, they knew he would never come back. The father would never see him again. In their eyes, this was a punishment well-deserved. They probably expected the elder son to act as a mediator and defend his father's honor, because this was the normal role expected of the elder son. To their utter surprise he becomes disloyal and shameful in his actions regarding his father. What were their expectations of the father? No doubt they expected him to bring severe punishment against his abusive son who brought him such dishonor and public disgrace. This was completely justifiable punishment as far as the hearers were concerned because the two sons had broken the fifth commandment -- a commandment held with the highest esteem within the Jewish community. The audience is completely caught off guard by the father's compassion. Young concludes, "the plot of the story and the unexpected reversal of roles makes for a lively drama that captures the attention of the listeners and leads them to embrace the type of love that comes from God alone" (Young, p. 140). For those listening to this drama unfold, the greatest surprise of all is that Jesus is laying down the fundamental principle that God loves the sinner -- whether he travels to a distant land and loses it all or remains at home and becomes a stranger within his own house.
Reflections
Things were getting on the younger son's nerves. The discipline of his father was becoming unbearable and, he felt, unreasonable. This coupled with the tediousness of his dull older brother was more than he could stand. He needed his space. He craved freedom from it all. At every turn he found himself tripping over barriers and signboards of restraint. He felt he had had enough and now was the time to make the break.
In my mind's eye I can imagine the dialogue that may have gone something like this, the son saying to his father, "I want my freedom. I can't go on like this anymore. These everlasting restraints and restrictions, telling me constantly what I can and cannot do are more than I can bear. I need my space."
The father is silent. His son anxiously awaits his response. But his father keeps busy as though he did not hear him. The son is annoyed by his father's apparent disregard. Finally, his father looks up and breaks the silence by saying, "So, you think you have no freedom. You are my son. You can come and go as you please. You can tell me everything or anything that is troubling you. Look, what I have I share with you. I always have. You are free -- subject to no one. You give account only to me. Isn't that freedom?"
"No!" his son responds. "To be honest with you, I don't give a hoot for all of this! Freedom is to do what I want to do, when I want to do it. Accountable to no one!"
The father responds in a deliberate, matter-of-fact manner by saying, "We have differences of opinion regarding freedom. For me, freedom means that you should be free to be what you ought to be and are -- a son. My son. Freedom is to allow me to be your father. In your desire to be free, don't become a slave -- a slave to your desires, ambitions, and the need for recognition."
The son leaves his father, goes off to the barn, and climbs up in the hayloft to be alone. He says to himself, "He wants me to ignore my ambitions, desires, my need for recognition. These are the very things that are important to me. The old man doesn't understand. These are the very things I cannot ignore. I have a tremendous desire to live. I crave recognition for what I do and for who I am. Is that so bad? I'll show him that I can do it on my own. All I want is this one time, this one opportunity to prove myself and then I'll come back. Now I need a break, to get away to a place where God, church, and family don't matter." Within he could feel his pulses beating, his passions seething, along with an elemental force of a healthy vitality straining for expression. He is convinced that there is nothing wrong in letting all of this out and express how he really feels.
A short time later the father and his sons finished their chores and were quietly eating their dinner together. The younger son looks up from his eating and interrupts the silence by saying to his father, "Tomorrow, Father, I am leaving home." The elder son, in disbelief, drops his hands to the table and stares at his father, waiting for his reply.
For several moments the father sits motionless looking at his son without moving or saying a word. Then in a soft, calm low tone he asks him, "What did you say?"
"I said that I am leaving home," the son replied. "I know that this is a strange request, but would you consider giving me the portion of the family estate that belongs to me? I don't think this is unreasonable since it really does belong to me."
The son is treating his father with disrespect through his request. He is breaking deep and sacred Hebrew family ties and is treating his father as though he were already dead. In essence, the son is saying to his father, "Drop dead! Father, I cannot wait for you to die." The request is cruel and reveals a profound break between the son and his father. The lack of sensitivity at this point, on the son's part, suggests he is lost indeed. He is lost to feeling, respect, and reality. The reality is that he is oblivious to his father's love and care for all these years, as well as, his failure to understand his father's need for financial support in his old age.
It is said we often hurt those who love us the most and often are unconscious of how deeply we have hurt them. How true this was for the prodigal. It appears by all evidence that the son's actions echoed a death wish toward his father. His cold-hearted request was an act of painful rejection and rebellion. At this early stage of rebellion, he is not aware of the magnitude of his defiant action. It took the painful journey into a distant land to bring this to his consciousness.
William Barclay tells the story that in Hitler's Germany a man was arrested because he stood for freedom. He endured imprisonment and torture with great courage. Finally, with his spirit still unbroken he was released. A short time afterwards he committed suicide. Many wonder why. Those who knew him well knew the reason. They had discovered that his son was the one who had informed against his father. Barclay said treachery of his own son broke him in a way that the cruelty of his enemies was unable to achieve (Barclay, The Gospel of Mark, p. 313).
The prodigal's actions and words brought anguish to his father that was extremely difficult. It is one thing for a person to wish for your death, but when it is your son's desire, it causes pain that is impossible to bear. Two things stand out: the father's silence and the fact that he grants the son's request. In the Middle Eastern milieu, the father is expected to explode and discipline the boy for the cruel implications of his demand. Here is a dramatic illustration of the quality of love that grants freedom at the expense of rejecting the lover.
Without saying a word, the father gets up from his chair and leaves the room. The two brothers continue to eat together in silence. The elder son is still in shock and can't believe what he has just heard. Soon the father enters the room and gives to each of his sons a small leather bag containing their portions of the family inheritance -- "so he divided his property between them" (v. 12). The elder son is given two-thirds and the younger son one-third. There is no argument. No pleas are made for his younger son to stay. He merely gives his sons their share of the property and to the younger son his freedom to leave.
Many have suggested that it was foolhardy for the father to grant his son's request. To jeopardize his financial support in his old age is something no father would do, especially amid the hard conditions of first-century Palestine. The listeners must be shaking their heads in disbelief saying, "What a foolish man." For the listeners, severe punishment or complete rejection would not be out of the question. To the surprise of all, the father grants the son's request. The more the parable unfolds, the clearer the father's love becomes. One central point that Jesus wants to get across in this parable is that this is not your ordinary father. The action of the father, being both amazing and surprising, certainly caught the attention of the listeners.
It is difficult for us to understand the cultural setting in which this story is taking place, especially its impact on the village. The role between the family and the community is a very important one. When the villagers discover what is taking place in the family, they may well cut the younger son off from the community. This may be difficult for us to comprehend, but what the son has done to his father is of serious consequence to the village. The son is not only breaking off relationship with his family, but in a radical way with the community-at-large.
There is no doubt that this family was in trouble. The younger son not only has no sense of shame, but there is no evidence of any family or community loyalty. Through the village gossip network there is no doubt that the villagers were aware of what was taking place. The younger son's request and the elder son's receiving two-thirds of the inheritance, while remaining silent and not coming to the defense of his father, left the villagers dumbfounded. There must have been some feeling among the villagers to isolate this family lest the contagion spread. There is more here than an errant son. The well-being of a family and its extended family is at stake. George Shillington points out that even the family's ability to call upon the village in time of need is in jeopardy. If the family should lose its honor, no one would marry its sons and daughters, patrons would disappear, and the family would be excluded from necessary social and economic functions. "Families that do not maintain solidarity with neighbors are quickly in trouble" (Jesus and His Parables, p. 147).
The elder son is mentioned twice in this opening scene. In these opening verses we are given evidence that this family's dysfunction may be more widespread than first thought. In verse 12 we discover that the eldest son also received his share of the inheritance, which is two-thirds. You would expect him to loudly refuse it and come to the defense of his father. The fact that he remains silent suggests that his relationship with his father is not what it should be. In first-century Palestine, the listeners would not only expect him to refuse the inheritance, but, to be culturally correct, he should act as the third party reconciler. His silence means he was willing to accept his share and to refuse to be a mediator. The final result was the father "divided his property between them." The younger son now prepares to leave home while the elder son takes his share of the inheritance and remains at home.
The younger son gathers his things, bids his father and elder brother farewell, and with his inheritance in hand leaves. The father stands quietly at the entrance of the door and watches his son depart. He is not thinking at this point about his success, or if he will mature in a distant land. As an anxious father he is asking himself, "Will I ever see him again?" The son may be acting within his rights, but he is destroying his closest relationships in the process.
He is now free. Free from parental control. He travels down a distant road that will lead him to all the things he has wanted and where he will become what he has always wanted to be. It is the same road that sons and daughters have traveled for centuries. There is nothing new about this story. It has been repeated ever since there have been parents and children. This young man was following the instincts of an uncontrollable, burning desire -- to do what he wanted to do, when and how he wanted to do it. Unfortunately, we learn to demand our rights before we learn to value our relationships.
He was traveling into an illusionary, fanciful world of his own making. He wanted liberty without law, but there is no such liberty. He wanted freedom without restraint, but there is no such freedom. He wanted life without responsibility, but there is no such life. As he begins his journey to a distant land feeling now he is free, he fails to see that no one is free from the restrictions imposed by other people. No one is free from the restrictions imposed by their own personality. No one can be free from the restrictions imposed by God. We are always in bondage. The question is: "What bondage?"
For the father, this was no time for argument. After all, it would have been foolish to do so. So the father let him go. There was no last minute emotional plea on his part. Anyway, what kind of home would it be for a boy who did not want to be there? The father let him travel into a distant country to learn for himself, although he was tempted to give in to that natural, fatherly desire to protect his son from the pain and anguish of such an experience. Like every father, he wanted to shield his son from the inevitable consequences of a bad decision. But he resisted that desire -- he let him go. It was the father's love that kept him from trying to keep his son home. It was a father's love that permitted him to let his son go and find his own life, even at the risk of losing it.
In this whole episode of the son's rebellion and departure, the father's pain was increased because the son was cutting himself loose from the way of living, thinking, and acting that had been handed down in this Jewish family from generation to generation as a sacred legacy. But this is one reason why the son is on the run, because this distant land is an appealing world where everything that was considered holy at home is disregarded.
Leaving home is much more than an historical event bound to time and space. Henri Nouwen states that "leaving home is a denial of the spiritual reality that I belong to God with every part of my being, that God holds me safe in an eternal embrace, that I am indeed carved in the palms of God's hands and hidden in their shadows. Leaving home means ignoring the truth that God has fashioned me in secret, moulded me in the depths of the earth and knitted me together in my mother's womb. Leaving home is living as though I do not yet have a home and must look far and wide to find one" (The Return of the Prodigal, p. 35). The psalmist in Psalm 139 discovered that even though he desired to flee from the presence of God, God will not go away. "Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence?" (v. 7). He discovered that even though he would ascend to heaven, make his bed in Sheol, take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, "even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast" (v. 10). The prodigal, like Jonah, traveled to a distant land, and like Jonah, the further he traveled from the father's house the more intense the storm became.
For some, no matter their current success the sun is always shining brighter somewhere else. In the movie Shadowlands, C. S. Lewis described his life as living in shadowlands, like a person who always feels that the sun is shining brighter in the next valley or on a distant mountain. Like the prodigal there are those who are always on the move for a search that never ends. Why would the son leave a place where all he wanted to hear can be heard? Why would he ever want to leave a place where all he wanted to be he could become? Why? Because he did not believe it. It all sounds too unbelievable, even for us, that in our lost state to think that God comes to us like an elderly father nearly blind, stooped over by the weight of a lost son, standing in a dusty pathway, his heart scarred by the pain of rejection, waiting for the lost to return. This is exactly how God appears, so unexpected, so full of grace and love.
The son, clutching his inheritance, travels toward a distant land. From a distance, the "far country" can be very appealing. The younger son is acting within his rights, but he is destroying those roots that for so long have nurtured him, guided him, and have served him so well. In these early years it was these roots, these antecedents, that when the going got tough and his way unclear, gave him meaning and direction. Now he was willing to cast these roots to the wind, and follow his yearning for a distant land. Many times, a distant land looks more interesting in imagination than reality. But this seems to be something that one has to find out for one's self.
There are those haunting words of the hymn, "prone to leave the God I love." At this point of the parable, the episode of the son's leaving provides us with an accurate understanding of the parable. Quite possibly, it is the part of the parable that most of us identify with. It is at this point that we recognize the prodigal within each of us. Nouwen asks, "Why do I keep ignoring the place of true love and persist in looking for it elsewhere?" (p. 38). We fail to realize that the love we seek away from God in the world is a love that is based on "ifs." Such conditional love is based upon "if" you succeed, "if" you are intelligent, good-looking, and educated. The "ifs" enslave, because there is no way one can fully respond to such demands. Such worldly love remains slavishly conditional. Whereas, God's love, that we are prone to leave in our search in a distant land, is unconditional. God's unconditional love does not require that we prove anything. We are loved regardless of what or who we are. Yet the hymn writer is right, I am "prone to leave the God I love." We are plagued by an unsettling conviction that happiness is always somewhere else.
How can we explain such rebellion on our part? Some may see this as a reflection of Adam's original rebellion, as seen in our rejection of God in whose love we are created and by whose love we are sustained. Now the prodigal with his newly-found freedom leaves home. But he leaves home with a flawed freedom, a fictitious freedom that knows no fear, no reverence, and no limits. The fact remains that the unconditional love of God is a love that leaves us free to leave home, as well as, a love with outstretched arms that is willing to accept us back home again.
Discussion Questions
1.
Insensitive. Is it possible that the desire to get, possess, and own is so strong that a person would wish the death of another person, even one's parent, in order to obtain it? How is it possible that a son could feel this way regarding his father? Have you ever desired anything that much? Have you ever experienced such insensitivity?
2.
Rebellion. When the younger son left home he was cutting loose from the way of living, thinking, and acting that had been handed down to him for generations as a sacred legacy. Everything considered holy at home is disregarded. Have you ever struggled over the value of your own religious heritage? Does a religious heritage have any significance for today's generation?
3.
Responsibility. Did you notice in the unfolding of the parable that the elder son received two-thirds of the inheritance? As the elder son, he is to be the protector and defender of his father. But regarding the harsh and unjust treatment of the father, he remains silent. Is this an indication that there is a breakdown between both sons and their father? Have you had moments when you remained silent, only to regret it later?
4.
Imagination. Do you agree that a distant land looks more interesting in our imagination than in reality? Like the prodigal, does a person have to find this out for oneself? What has been your experience?
5.
Searching. Why are we plagued by an unsettling conviction that happiness is always somewhere else? Consider Henri Nouwen's statement, "Why do I keep ignoring the place of true love and persist on looking for it elsewhere?" What has been the results of your personal searching?
Prayer
Today, O Lord,
let me put right before interest;
let me put others before self;
let me put things of the spirit before the things of the body;
let me put the attainment of noble ends above the enjoyment of present pleasures;
let me put principle above reputation;
let me put thee above all else.
O thou the reflection of whose transcendent glory did once appear unbroken in the face of Jesus Christ, give me today a heart like his -- a brave heart, a true heart, a tender heart, a heart with great room in it, a heart fixed on thyself, for his name's sake. Amen.
-- From A Diary of Private Prayer, John Baillie
Scholars point out that the request by the younger son seemed inappropriate for a first-century Jewish son, who like most sons at that time, knew the provisions of the mishnaic law (Brad Young, The Parables of Jesus, p. 138). The custom regarding inheritance was well known by Jewish families because inheritance was a critical question constantly being dealt within the Jewish community. Therefore, the son could not declare innocence as a result of ignorance.
It was not unusual for a Jewish father to draw up a testament regarding his property. What is unusual was for the father to allot to his younger son his portion prior to his death. A son by request could acquire title to his father's property, but the interest on the property would continue to come to the father until his death. Or, if the son sold the property, the purchaser would only take possession of it upon the death of the father.
Much has been written by scholars regarding the son's request and the father's action. Craig Blomberg has pointed out that the parable is not as lifelike as many have alleged (Interpreting the Parables, p. 176). He asks, would a first-century Jewish son have dared to ask his father for his share of the inheritance while the father is still in good health? Would the father have capitulated so readily? Probably not. Most agree that such behavior was deplorable. Kenneth Bailey goes so far as to interpret the son's request as equivalent to a death wish. He suggests that he was looking forward to his father's death with eager anticipation. If that is so, then the father's response is an incredible expression of grace and love (Poet and Peasant, p. 161). Other commentators have pointed out that the father's action was inappropriate. "The father who gives into his son is a fool" (Blomberg, p. 176). The thought is that by the son's action the father's place was usurped by his son and the father's authority and honor have been compromised.
Ibrahim Sa'id, from his cultural study of this parable, suggests that "the shepherd in search of the sheep, the woman in search of the coin, do not do anything out of the ordinary beyond what anyone in their place would do. But the actions the father takes in the third story (in Luke 15) are unique, marvelous, divine actions which have not been done by any father in the past" (Commentary on Luke, p. 395). I stated in the introduction that the father reveals God's love as seen through Christ and this is the lens through which we must view this parable. Therefore, this is not your ordinary father.
Verse 12 states, "So he divided his property between them." Between whom? It was between the elder son and the younger son. It is in this verse that the nature of the elder son emerges. On hearing that he gets his share of the inheritance as well, which is two-thirds of the inheritance since he is the elder son, he remains silent. The hearers would have expected a loud cry of protest from the elder son. This is the customary role for the elder son to play -- protecting and defending his father. To the amazement of all, he remains silent. There is no doubt that the elder son's silence shouts out loud at the first-century audience. They were saying to themselves, "In the name of decency, say something." But he never spoke a word. Scholars have pointed out that he is shameless and disloyal. Bailey states that even the father is suspect, since he gives in without any protest (p. 68). Even the villagers probably wondered about the sanity and functionality of this family. In order to understand the relationship between the family and the village, one needs to know something about the first-century Palestine ceremony of qesasah. Bailey describes the background and significance of this ceremony:
From the Jerusalem Talmud it is known that the Jew of the time of Jesus had a method for punishing any Jewish boy who lost the family inheritance to Gentiles. It was called the qesasah ceremony. Horror at such a loss is also reflected in the Dead Sea Scrolls. Such a violator of community expectations would face the qesasah ceremony if he dared to return to his home village. The ceremony is simple. The villagers would bring a large earthenware jar, fill it with burned nuts and burned corn, and break it in front of the guilty individual. While doing this, the community would shout, "So and so is cut off from his people." From that point on, the village would have nothing to do with the wayward lad.
When the villagers discover what is taking place in the family they may well "break the jar in the streets" and cut off the younger son from the community.
It was evident to all that there were serious rifts and disagreements both within the family and the village. The tension that is developing within the story is what makes the story so magnificent and compelling. In regard to the harshness of the younger son's action, Bernard Scott points out that first-century Palestine was a place of little opportunity. Life was brutal and harsh. It was natural that younger sons would cash in on their inheritance and go take their chances in a foreign land (Hear Then the Parables, p. 109).
In these first two brief verses we are introduced to the entire cast of three people and all three play a very important role in the drama. The audience expected the actors to play a different role. Brad Young points out that "Jesus loves to use reversal roles in his parabolic teachings to break normal reactions" (The Parables of Jesus, p. 140). Jesus skillfully uses this method to surprise his listeners and get their attention. Scholars call this tactic of Jesus the reversal of expectation, causing the dislocation of the hearer. Just when the hearer has lowered his guard feeling that he has things pretty well figured out, then zap -- with a sword-like thrust the parable drives its message home, leaving the hearer defenseless.
An interesting twist is given to this part of the parable by William Willimon, Dean of the Chapel at Duke University. He suggests that this parable is an image of our maturation which is most congenial to our society and that America was built by immigrants, people who left their parents to seek their fortune in a distant land of the New World. They in turn taught their children that the only way to get ahead was to immigrate, to leave home, severing parental ties. Willimon suggests, being a campus minister, that the far country is the average college campus where everyone is forced to abandon their parents and the church in order to grow up. He suggests that in today's world, the path to maturation comes not only from the college experience, but also from the influence of corporations who require their people to be ready to move at the drop of a hat. They need people who will move at a moment's notice, who are trained to subordinate family, traditions, friends, and values to the demands of the corporation. Willimon concludes that "such people are better managed than those who must still answer to the old man" (Pulpit Resources, January '95, p. 52).
Other writers have similar views as Willimon. One is the French writer Andre Gide who invents another ending to the parable, having the returning son sending his older brother into the far country so that he too can grow up and mature. Gide suggests that it is good for a son to be lost for a while. He feels it is good for him to rebel and sin, because everyone has to go through this sometime in life. He concludes that in the life of every son and daughter there is rebellion; this is one of life's essential passages.
The listeners, as they were drawn into the narrative, felt that they had pretty much figured things out. They probably expected the younger son to die of hunger. When he left home, they knew he would never come back. The father would never see him again. In their eyes, this was a punishment well-deserved. They probably expected the elder son to act as a mediator and defend his father's honor, because this was the normal role expected of the elder son. To their utter surprise he becomes disloyal and shameful in his actions regarding his father. What were their expectations of the father? No doubt they expected him to bring severe punishment against his abusive son who brought him such dishonor and public disgrace. This was completely justifiable punishment as far as the hearers were concerned because the two sons had broken the fifth commandment -- a commandment held with the highest esteem within the Jewish community. The audience is completely caught off guard by the father's compassion. Young concludes, "the plot of the story and the unexpected reversal of roles makes for a lively drama that captures the attention of the listeners and leads them to embrace the type of love that comes from God alone" (Young, p. 140). For those listening to this drama unfold, the greatest surprise of all is that Jesus is laying down the fundamental principle that God loves the sinner -- whether he travels to a distant land and loses it all or remains at home and becomes a stranger within his own house.
Reflections
Things were getting on the younger son's nerves. The discipline of his father was becoming unbearable and, he felt, unreasonable. This coupled with the tediousness of his dull older brother was more than he could stand. He needed his space. He craved freedom from it all. At every turn he found himself tripping over barriers and signboards of restraint. He felt he had had enough and now was the time to make the break.
In my mind's eye I can imagine the dialogue that may have gone something like this, the son saying to his father, "I want my freedom. I can't go on like this anymore. These everlasting restraints and restrictions, telling me constantly what I can and cannot do are more than I can bear. I need my space."
The father is silent. His son anxiously awaits his response. But his father keeps busy as though he did not hear him. The son is annoyed by his father's apparent disregard. Finally, his father looks up and breaks the silence by saying, "So, you think you have no freedom. You are my son. You can come and go as you please. You can tell me everything or anything that is troubling you. Look, what I have I share with you. I always have. You are free -- subject to no one. You give account only to me. Isn't that freedom?"
"No!" his son responds. "To be honest with you, I don't give a hoot for all of this! Freedom is to do what I want to do, when I want to do it. Accountable to no one!"
The father responds in a deliberate, matter-of-fact manner by saying, "We have differences of opinion regarding freedom. For me, freedom means that you should be free to be what you ought to be and are -- a son. My son. Freedom is to allow me to be your father. In your desire to be free, don't become a slave -- a slave to your desires, ambitions, and the need for recognition."
The son leaves his father, goes off to the barn, and climbs up in the hayloft to be alone. He says to himself, "He wants me to ignore my ambitions, desires, my need for recognition. These are the very things that are important to me. The old man doesn't understand. These are the very things I cannot ignore. I have a tremendous desire to live. I crave recognition for what I do and for who I am. Is that so bad? I'll show him that I can do it on my own. All I want is this one time, this one opportunity to prove myself and then I'll come back. Now I need a break, to get away to a place where God, church, and family don't matter." Within he could feel his pulses beating, his passions seething, along with an elemental force of a healthy vitality straining for expression. He is convinced that there is nothing wrong in letting all of this out and express how he really feels.
A short time later the father and his sons finished their chores and were quietly eating their dinner together. The younger son looks up from his eating and interrupts the silence by saying to his father, "Tomorrow, Father, I am leaving home." The elder son, in disbelief, drops his hands to the table and stares at his father, waiting for his reply.
For several moments the father sits motionless looking at his son without moving or saying a word. Then in a soft, calm low tone he asks him, "What did you say?"
"I said that I am leaving home," the son replied. "I know that this is a strange request, but would you consider giving me the portion of the family estate that belongs to me? I don't think this is unreasonable since it really does belong to me."
The son is treating his father with disrespect through his request. He is breaking deep and sacred Hebrew family ties and is treating his father as though he were already dead. In essence, the son is saying to his father, "Drop dead! Father, I cannot wait for you to die." The request is cruel and reveals a profound break between the son and his father. The lack of sensitivity at this point, on the son's part, suggests he is lost indeed. He is lost to feeling, respect, and reality. The reality is that he is oblivious to his father's love and care for all these years, as well as, his failure to understand his father's need for financial support in his old age.
It is said we often hurt those who love us the most and often are unconscious of how deeply we have hurt them. How true this was for the prodigal. It appears by all evidence that the son's actions echoed a death wish toward his father. His cold-hearted request was an act of painful rejection and rebellion. At this early stage of rebellion, he is not aware of the magnitude of his defiant action. It took the painful journey into a distant land to bring this to his consciousness.
William Barclay tells the story that in Hitler's Germany a man was arrested because he stood for freedom. He endured imprisonment and torture with great courage. Finally, with his spirit still unbroken he was released. A short time afterwards he committed suicide. Many wonder why. Those who knew him well knew the reason. They had discovered that his son was the one who had informed against his father. Barclay said treachery of his own son broke him in a way that the cruelty of his enemies was unable to achieve (Barclay, The Gospel of Mark, p. 313).
The prodigal's actions and words brought anguish to his father that was extremely difficult. It is one thing for a person to wish for your death, but when it is your son's desire, it causes pain that is impossible to bear. Two things stand out: the father's silence and the fact that he grants the son's request. In the Middle Eastern milieu, the father is expected to explode and discipline the boy for the cruel implications of his demand. Here is a dramatic illustration of the quality of love that grants freedom at the expense of rejecting the lover.
Without saying a word, the father gets up from his chair and leaves the room. The two brothers continue to eat together in silence. The elder son is still in shock and can't believe what he has just heard. Soon the father enters the room and gives to each of his sons a small leather bag containing their portions of the family inheritance -- "so he divided his property between them" (v. 12). The elder son is given two-thirds and the younger son one-third. There is no argument. No pleas are made for his younger son to stay. He merely gives his sons their share of the property and to the younger son his freedom to leave.
Many have suggested that it was foolhardy for the father to grant his son's request. To jeopardize his financial support in his old age is something no father would do, especially amid the hard conditions of first-century Palestine. The listeners must be shaking their heads in disbelief saying, "What a foolish man." For the listeners, severe punishment or complete rejection would not be out of the question. To the surprise of all, the father grants the son's request. The more the parable unfolds, the clearer the father's love becomes. One central point that Jesus wants to get across in this parable is that this is not your ordinary father. The action of the father, being both amazing and surprising, certainly caught the attention of the listeners.
It is difficult for us to understand the cultural setting in which this story is taking place, especially its impact on the village. The role between the family and the community is a very important one. When the villagers discover what is taking place in the family, they may well cut the younger son off from the community. This may be difficult for us to comprehend, but what the son has done to his father is of serious consequence to the village. The son is not only breaking off relationship with his family, but in a radical way with the community-at-large.
There is no doubt that this family was in trouble. The younger son not only has no sense of shame, but there is no evidence of any family or community loyalty. Through the village gossip network there is no doubt that the villagers were aware of what was taking place. The younger son's request and the elder son's receiving two-thirds of the inheritance, while remaining silent and not coming to the defense of his father, left the villagers dumbfounded. There must have been some feeling among the villagers to isolate this family lest the contagion spread. There is more here than an errant son. The well-being of a family and its extended family is at stake. George Shillington points out that even the family's ability to call upon the village in time of need is in jeopardy. If the family should lose its honor, no one would marry its sons and daughters, patrons would disappear, and the family would be excluded from necessary social and economic functions. "Families that do not maintain solidarity with neighbors are quickly in trouble" (Jesus and His Parables, p. 147).
The elder son is mentioned twice in this opening scene. In these opening verses we are given evidence that this family's dysfunction may be more widespread than first thought. In verse 12 we discover that the eldest son also received his share of the inheritance, which is two-thirds. You would expect him to loudly refuse it and come to the defense of his father. The fact that he remains silent suggests that his relationship with his father is not what it should be. In first-century Palestine, the listeners would not only expect him to refuse the inheritance, but, to be culturally correct, he should act as the third party reconciler. His silence means he was willing to accept his share and to refuse to be a mediator. The final result was the father "divided his property between them." The younger son now prepares to leave home while the elder son takes his share of the inheritance and remains at home.
The younger son gathers his things, bids his father and elder brother farewell, and with his inheritance in hand leaves. The father stands quietly at the entrance of the door and watches his son depart. He is not thinking at this point about his success, or if he will mature in a distant land. As an anxious father he is asking himself, "Will I ever see him again?" The son may be acting within his rights, but he is destroying his closest relationships in the process.
He is now free. Free from parental control. He travels down a distant road that will lead him to all the things he has wanted and where he will become what he has always wanted to be. It is the same road that sons and daughters have traveled for centuries. There is nothing new about this story. It has been repeated ever since there have been parents and children. This young man was following the instincts of an uncontrollable, burning desire -- to do what he wanted to do, when and how he wanted to do it. Unfortunately, we learn to demand our rights before we learn to value our relationships.
He was traveling into an illusionary, fanciful world of his own making. He wanted liberty without law, but there is no such liberty. He wanted freedom without restraint, but there is no such freedom. He wanted life without responsibility, but there is no such life. As he begins his journey to a distant land feeling now he is free, he fails to see that no one is free from the restrictions imposed by other people. No one is free from the restrictions imposed by their own personality. No one can be free from the restrictions imposed by God. We are always in bondage. The question is: "What bondage?"
For the father, this was no time for argument. After all, it would have been foolish to do so. So the father let him go. There was no last minute emotional plea on his part. Anyway, what kind of home would it be for a boy who did not want to be there? The father let him travel into a distant country to learn for himself, although he was tempted to give in to that natural, fatherly desire to protect his son from the pain and anguish of such an experience. Like every father, he wanted to shield his son from the inevitable consequences of a bad decision. But he resisted that desire -- he let him go. It was the father's love that kept him from trying to keep his son home. It was a father's love that permitted him to let his son go and find his own life, even at the risk of losing it.
In this whole episode of the son's rebellion and departure, the father's pain was increased because the son was cutting himself loose from the way of living, thinking, and acting that had been handed down in this Jewish family from generation to generation as a sacred legacy. But this is one reason why the son is on the run, because this distant land is an appealing world where everything that was considered holy at home is disregarded.
Leaving home is much more than an historical event bound to time and space. Henri Nouwen states that "leaving home is a denial of the spiritual reality that I belong to God with every part of my being, that God holds me safe in an eternal embrace, that I am indeed carved in the palms of God's hands and hidden in their shadows. Leaving home means ignoring the truth that God has fashioned me in secret, moulded me in the depths of the earth and knitted me together in my mother's womb. Leaving home is living as though I do not yet have a home and must look far and wide to find one" (The Return of the Prodigal, p. 35). The psalmist in Psalm 139 discovered that even though he desired to flee from the presence of God, God will not go away. "Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence?" (v. 7). He discovered that even though he would ascend to heaven, make his bed in Sheol, take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, "even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast" (v. 10). The prodigal, like Jonah, traveled to a distant land, and like Jonah, the further he traveled from the father's house the more intense the storm became.
For some, no matter their current success the sun is always shining brighter somewhere else. In the movie Shadowlands, C. S. Lewis described his life as living in shadowlands, like a person who always feels that the sun is shining brighter in the next valley or on a distant mountain. Like the prodigal there are those who are always on the move for a search that never ends. Why would the son leave a place where all he wanted to hear can be heard? Why would he ever want to leave a place where all he wanted to be he could become? Why? Because he did not believe it. It all sounds too unbelievable, even for us, that in our lost state to think that God comes to us like an elderly father nearly blind, stooped over by the weight of a lost son, standing in a dusty pathway, his heart scarred by the pain of rejection, waiting for the lost to return. This is exactly how God appears, so unexpected, so full of grace and love.
The son, clutching his inheritance, travels toward a distant land. From a distance, the "far country" can be very appealing. The younger son is acting within his rights, but he is destroying those roots that for so long have nurtured him, guided him, and have served him so well. In these early years it was these roots, these antecedents, that when the going got tough and his way unclear, gave him meaning and direction. Now he was willing to cast these roots to the wind, and follow his yearning for a distant land. Many times, a distant land looks more interesting in imagination than reality. But this seems to be something that one has to find out for one's self.
There are those haunting words of the hymn, "prone to leave the God I love." At this point of the parable, the episode of the son's leaving provides us with an accurate understanding of the parable. Quite possibly, it is the part of the parable that most of us identify with. It is at this point that we recognize the prodigal within each of us. Nouwen asks, "Why do I keep ignoring the place of true love and persist in looking for it elsewhere?" (p. 38). We fail to realize that the love we seek away from God in the world is a love that is based on "ifs." Such conditional love is based upon "if" you succeed, "if" you are intelligent, good-looking, and educated. The "ifs" enslave, because there is no way one can fully respond to such demands. Such worldly love remains slavishly conditional. Whereas, God's love, that we are prone to leave in our search in a distant land, is unconditional. God's unconditional love does not require that we prove anything. We are loved regardless of what or who we are. Yet the hymn writer is right, I am "prone to leave the God I love." We are plagued by an unsettling conviction that happiness is always somewhere else.
How can we explain such rebellion on our part? Some may see this as a reflection of Adam's original rebellion, as seen in our rejection of God in whose love we are created and by whose love we are sustained. Now the prodigal with his newly-found freedom leaves home. But he leaves home with a flawed freedom, a fictitious freedom that knows no fear, no reverence, and no limits. The fact remains that the unconditional love of God is a love that leaves us free to leave home, as well as, a love with outstretched arms that is willing to accept us back home again.
Discussion Questions
1.
Insensitive. Is it possible that the desire to get, possess, and own is so strong that a person would wish the death of another person, even one's parent, in order to obtain it? How is it possible that a son could feel this way regarding his father? Have you ever desired anything that much? Have you ever experienced such insensitivity?
2.
Rebellion. When the younger son left home he was cutting loose from the way of living, thinking, and acting that had been handed down to him for generations as a sacred legacy. Everything considered holy at home is disregarded. Have you ever struggled over the value of your own religious heritage? Does a religious heritage have any significance for today's generation?
3.
Responsibility. Did you notice in the unfolding of the parable that the elder son received two-thirds of the inheritance? As the elder son, he is to be the protector and defender of his father. But regarding the harsh and unjust treatment of the father, he remains silent. Is this an indication that there is a breakdown between both sons and their father? Have you had moments when you remained silent, only to regret it later?
4.
Imagination. Do you agree that a distant land looks more interesting in our imagination than in reality? Like the prodigal, does a person have to find this out for oneself? What has been your experience?
5.
Searching. Why are we plagued by an unsettling conviction that happiness is always somewhere else? Consider Henri Nouwen's statement, "Why do I keep ignoring the place of true love and persist on looking for it elsewhere?" What has been the results of your personal searching?
Prayer
Today, O Lord,
let me put right before interest;
let me put others before self;
let me put things of the spirit before the things of the body;
let me put the attainment of noble ends above the enjoyment of present pleasures;
let me put principle above reputation;
let me put thee above all else.
O thou the reflection of whose transcendent glory did once appear unbroken in the face of Jesus Christ, give me today a heart like his -- a brave heart, a true heart, a tender heart, a heart with great room in it, a heart fixed on thyself, for his name's sake. Amen.
-- From A Diary of Private Prayer, John Baillie
