This Sunday’s lectionary reading is the parable of the prodigal son in Luke 15, though it is perhaps as well called the parable of the loving father, or the parable of the father and the two sons. (I realise that many will be focussing on Mothering Sunday, but it would be a shame to miss out on preaching on this passage if you follow the lectionary in your preaching.) It’s a passage I have known well for a long time, and can still remember quite vividly listening to the late Michael Green teaching on it during a student mission when I was an undergraduate. But I have recently come across two quite different readings of the parable which highlight some important issues in how we interpret it.
The first was in Jane Williams’ Lent book for this year The Merciful Humility of God. In her introductory chapter, she takes three of the short pages to explore the parable, and rather than seeing it as an exposition of Jesus’ ministry, she sees it as a notable contrast:
The infinite patience of God is more active than that of the father of the Prodigal, because God does more than wait; in Jesus Christ, God enters into the way of the Prodigal so that even here, while the Prodigal is still assuming that he is fine on his own, the love of the father is present…The life of Jesus means that we can turn and find God beside us, everywhere.
I have explored previously some of the theological problems with this reading, but we ought to note how strange this is as a narrative reading. After all, this chapter in Luke is introduced by the complaint of the Pharisees and scribes that Jesus ‘receives sinners and eats with them’. In other words, Jesus tells these three parables in response to the comment that he is too close to the ‘prodigals’, so it would be odd if the very parable he tells us contrasts so sharply with the ministry that it is explaining.
The second interpretation came from a friend with whom I was in conversation a couple of years ago, and also draws attention to the location of the father. God does not take delight in us, my friend said, in an unconditional sense, but only delights when we turn to him. After all (he went on) I don’t delight in my son if he wastes his time or squanders his gifts, but only when he applies himself or does well—just as the way my father delighted in me when I did well. After all (he clinched his argument), the father in the parable does not follow the son into the foreign country, but waits for him at the gate of his property.
Both these readings make the same point, but in support of opposite conclusions: the father does not pursue the son, and either that is a bad thing which Jesus contradicts or it is a good thing we should learn from.
Jesus’ parables are challenging to interpret, and even his best-known ones are commonly (and demonstrably) misinterpreted in contemporary preaching and teaching. This is partly because they are narratives making an implicit point, rather than prose discourse that presents an explicit argument; partly because Jesus uses provocation and hyperbole to make his point in a dramatic way; and partly because much of the impact of the parables relies on contextual information which is not explicit in the text.
Some years ago, German scholar Joachim Jeremias argued (in his The Parables of Jesus) that the parables had essentially one main point, and so we should look for that rather than focussing on the minutiae of the other details. This was made in reaction to earlier tendencies to allegorise Jesus’ parables, which often allowed readers to go on flights of fancy in their readings which became detached from the narrative and context of the parable itself (the best known being interpretations of the parable of the good Samaritan). But the problem with Jeremias’ thesis is that Jesus explicitly makes several points when interpreting his own parables, the most obvious being in the parable which is also a parable about parables, the story of the sower in Mark 4 and parallels. In explaining the parable, Jesus is clear that each of the sower, the seed, and the different soils all ‘stand’ for something. And in the parable of the prodigal, there are at least three key narrative foci in the three main characters.
But we also need to note that this is the third of three parables, and contrary to the cut-and-paste job suggested by the lectionary, I think we need to read all three together—and carefully! The first tells us about a foolish shepherd, who is so anxious about the one lost sheep that he abandons the other 99 (‘in the open country’, Gk eremos ‘wilderness’) in search of the one, and continues to forget about the others whilst he has a party! This is hardly a model for pastoral ministry! The second story, of the woman and her lost coin, is less obviously foolish, but once again focusses on urgency of the search and the rejoicing when it is successful. In other words, these two are about the one doing the searching, rather than the ones being searched for, and they make the simple point about the searcher’s passion.
In the third of the three parables, the emphasis shifts decisively. The story itself has much more detail, includes a more complex situation, introduces three main characters with some realism, and involves a shift of focus. Much of the emotion on the part of the father is implicit and borne in the narrative detail, whilst the focus is turned decisively to the characters being ‘sought’, the younger and the older son, with their emotions being described explicitly, in contrast to the previous parables where the things being sought played no real part in the story.
The story opens with the younger son demanding his inheritance now, rather than waiting to the due time, and this is where we begin to see the importance of reading in cultural context. Unlike our context, where we might indeed want to pass on an inheritance early, for Jesus’ hearers this is like the son saying that he wishes his father were dead—and the father, shockingly, agrees to the request. Our contextually attuned ears can hear the audible gasps of Jesus’ audience. The parable suggests that our own acts of rebellion, in which we take from God the life and the blessings he offers, but refuse to acknowledge his authority over our lives, is effectively wishing him dead. Sin is death-dealing not only to us, but to God himself, as we wish him dead in the claims he makes over us.
The narrative then follows the son on his journey downwards—away from his loving home, down into an immoral life, down into poverty, down into disgrace, and finally down into hunger and neglect as no-one pays attention to his needs. For a Jewish audience, the son’s job of looking after the unclean pigs shows that he has reached the lowest point possible. The turning point in the narrative is when he ‘comes to his senses’, literally ‘he came to himself’—which intriguingly suggests the way that sin not only separates us from others, but separates us from our true selves. From this point, the son makes a journey of ascent—out of the pig sty, out of hunger, out from the strange land and up to the threshold of his former home. But he cannot imagine anything like the full restoration to sonship that awaits him.
Once more we need to read attentively and contextually. How does the father notice the son whilst he is ‘still a long way off’? We can only infer that that father has, daily, been awaiting his son’s return with longing. And, though the son intends to make the journey himself, it is not a journey he completes, since the father runs to meet him—the reunion does indeed involve journeying by both parties. Contextually, this again would have been shocking, as the father dispenses with the dignity of an older member of the community who (in the hot climate of the Near East) could never have run in public. Despite his son’s actual and ritual uncleanness, the father dramatically embraces him in the sight of all. All this flows from a key word, which appears (as in other narratives in Luke) to be actually (numerically) central to the telling of the story: ‘he was moved with compassion’, splagchnizomai, his guts were stirred.
The son brings out his rehearsed speech, recognising the error of his ways—but he is not able to finish it before the father lavishes on him the signs of sonship in the ring, the robe and the sandals to put on his bare and filthy feet, and prepares to celebrate with a feast. And where the story of the younger son reaches its climax, the story of the elder son begins with the second’s jealousy and resentment. He has cast his position in the family as dependent on duty, law and obedience, and has failed to understand the nature of the relationship between father and son that is his true inheritance.
Where does that leave the two interpretations that I started with? Jane Williams’ observation does have a point; from the perspective of the one doing the searching, there appears to be nothing that he would not do in order to find that which was lost, and this is communicated most clearly in the two shorter parables preceding this one. The foolish shepherd and the anxious woman will not rest until they recover their lost possessions. Yet what she appears to miss is the reciprocal aspect of searching and finding that becomes the focus of the third parable. It is not enough to be sought; one has to be found, and the one being found has to respond to the one doing the searching. Jesus makes this point not once, but twice: the younger son has to come to himself, and make the decision to turn and embrace the father that he has betrayed, even at the cost of admitting he was wrong. But the older son must also ‘come to himself’ and recognise the reality of sonship and what it means. He might have been in ritual and physical proximity with his father, but he was not in relational proximity. Although Luke does not (unlike elsewhere) note that this parable was told ‘against’ the Pharisees and scribes, the two-part shape to the narrative and its finality at the end of the chapter (following which the focus turns to the disciples) makes this plain. They might be in ritual and physical proximity with God (through living in the land or obeying the law or coming to the temple) but they are not in relational proximity. They, too, need to change and turn for this relationship to become a reality.
The second interpretation that I mentioned gets one thing right: when the younger son is far from his father, there is a real distance and absence in that relationship, and (according to Jesus’ teaching) that distance is not closed until the son makes his change of direction. (It is worth comparing this with the parable of the two sons told only in Matt 21:28–32; the first son does make sonship a reality until he ‘changes his mind’.) And yet the possibility of restoration depends, within the narrative, on the unwavering longing and compassion of the father, which (theo)logically precedes the repentance of the son and is necessary for the narrative to reach its completion. The restless searching of God for the lost is already communicated powerfully in the first two parable.
As an afternote, there is an interesting parallel drawn on the Wikipedia discussion of this parable.
A similar parable of a lost son can also be found in the Mahayana Buddhist Lotus Sutra.[26][27] The two parables are so similar in their outline and many details that several scholars have assumed that one version has influenced the other or that both texts share a common origin.[28] However, an influence of the biblical story on the Lotus sutra is regarded as unlikely given the early dating of the stratum of the sutra containing the Buddhist parable.[28] In spite of their similarities, both parables continue differently after the two meet for the first time at the son’s return. In the biblical story, there is an immediate reunion of the two. In contrast, in the Lotus sutra, the poor son does not recognize the rich man as his father. When the father sends out some attendants to welcome the son, the son panics, fearing some kind of retribution. The father then lets the son leave without telling him of their kinship. However, he gradually draws the son closer to him by employing him in successively higher positions, only to tell him of their kinship in the end.[26] In the Buddhist parable, the father symbolises the Buddha, and the son symbolises any human being. Their kinship symbolises that any being has Buddha nature. The concealment of the kinship of the father to his son is regarded as a skillful means (Sanskrit:upāya).[29]
The grace of God means that the restoration of the son in Jesus’ parable is not only immediate, but is known immediately. Here is no long, uncertain path to enlightenment, but the sudden, grace-filled embrace of our heavenly father.
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Definitely the most economical (and also Lukan) reading could be to see it as about Jews and Gentiles, making a similar but not identical point to Matthew’s Two Sons (which it has been seen as an expansion of: cf. seed-growing-secretly and tares). The Lotus Sutra thing is very interesting -tho’ a father and 2 contrasting sons (plus inheritance) are stock contents for a story, and there are only so many ways one can tweak that.
I think Blomberg is right to divide parables into one-point, two-point, simple three-point, complex three-point: they don’t have limitless points, nor ought the parables first found in each of the respective evangelists necessarily to be analysed under one head.
‘Eis heauton’ for coming to oneself is not only here in Luke 15.17 but also in Acts 12.11 – from a distant state back to home base, quite a jolt.
In the spirit of reading closely and carefully, I found verse 3 in the ESV:
“So he told them this parable.” The use of ‘so’ in this translation connects the telling more directly to the preceding two verses than does the NIV’s ‘then’. I don’t know if this is justified.
Who are the ‘them’ in this verse? Does it refer to the tax collectors and ‘sinners’ of verse 1, who, I note are coming to Jesus rather than Jesus going to them? Or does it refer to the Pharisees and teachers of the law in verse 2 who are grumbling about Jesus’ company?
Then there is the singular ‘this parable’. This suggests to me that we should very much take the three stories as a unit, and in the context of the first two verses of the chapter. The first two stories have the same basic form of something lost, a search finds it and then there is a celebration of the recovery. The core point is the celebration, for Jesus links this to joy in heaven over a sinner who repents.
The third story varies the pattern, in that what is lost is recovered not by searching, but by something much more akin to repentance. It still has the celebration, and the connection between the father in the story and God in heaven in the explanation of the first two stories is clear. However, there is a new element in this third story in the elder son, who is resentful of the celebration of the return of his younger brother.
It seems to me that the force of the stories was directed at the Pharisees, with the elder son carrying the thrust. “There is joy in heaven over a sinner who repents. So why do you mutter and grumble when sinners come to the one who can enable them to repent and find forgiveness and restoration?”
Actually, the ‘so’ is no very strong; it is translating the Greek ‘de’ which is perhaps the weakest of the connectives, and certainly nothing like ‘dia touto’ ‘therefore’ or such like.
I agree with you though that the antecedent to ‘them’ is the scribes and pharisees, which becomes clear when Jesus says ‘suppose one of *you* has 100 sheep’, presuming they themselves are not the lost.
And I also agree with you about the threefold emphasis on joy. The sharpness in the third episode though is that joy should always mark the relationship with the Father, and if the scribes etc are not living in the joy of the Father’s love, then they have fundamentally misunderstood and are missing out.
Having thought again, and read through the comments, I think I have changed my mind on who ‘them’ refers to.
Actually, I think it is both groups. This is not so evident in the first two parables, but is in the third. There is something that needs to be done both by those near and those far away in order to actually receive and live in the love of God.
To my mind, Ian, this parable is perhaps best understood as that of The Prodigal Father’, whose prodigality exceeds that of his younger son. God’s prodigality extends, always, to the Lost, for whom his Son’s sacrifice on the Cross is always redemptive. This is why we, in Christchurch New Zealand, can readily equate the suffering of Mary at the Cross (Stabat Mater) with the suffering of a Muslim woman in Christchurch’s recent mosque tragedy for her firstborn son together with that of her husband, who also died. God’s love for God’s human children is endless!
Indeed. But as Jesus emphasises twice in the third parable, God’s love is to no effect until it is received.
And of course we might all experience such tragic grief—but only Jesus’ death, causing Mary’s grief, was atoning.
Whatever else we make of the parable we should also note the words of the father to the elder son, ‘Child, thou always with me art, and all my things are thine’ – both a rebuke and a moving appeal to the Pharisees and scribes, to enter in to their true inheritance – the ‘adoption and the glory and the covenants and the giving of the law and the service and the promises’ – by recognising and submitting to the Christ.
Phil Almond
I am sure you are all aware of Ken Bailey’s excellent series of lectures starting with https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5d8hF84qMPg well worth the 2 ours investment to play them all!
Thanks for the link…
I agree with Ian; I see the three parables in Luke 15 to be taken as a whole and very carefully aimed at the mixed audience that had gathered. “Now the tax collectors and sinners were all gathering round to hear Jesus. But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law muttered, ‘This man welcomes sinners, and eats with them.’”
The lost sheep corresponds to the tax collectors and sinners who were outcasts and knew it. The coin corresponds to the Pharisees and teachers of the law who had lost their way but, like an inanimate object, did not even realise it.
Then the third parable brings the two together to compare and contrast – two lost sons; one who simply acknowledged he was lost and therefore was found, and one who was so unaware of how far he had drifted from his father he couldn’t see he was actually further away from him than his wild-living brother.
Thanks John–that is an interesting analysis of the different parables which I had not come across before. Does it have support in commentaries?
I have not actually looked it up in my commentaries, Ian, and am away from home at the moment so cannot do so now. I heard it preached that way when I was a young Christian, I can’t even remember where it was now, and have taken the same approach whenever I have preached on it since.
I have long been troubled by the apparently inactive father who does not seek out the lost son. Important to note, as Paul says, that the father is daily watching and waiting.
“Though the son intends to make the journey himself, it is not a journey he completes, since the father runs to meet him” This is what I find difficult- it is patient of a semi-Pelagian interpretation i.e. the initial decision to return to the Father comes before the grace of God, which assists only once the journey is begun. Semi-Pelagianism is wrong, God seeks us out when we are lost and his grace assists us in beginning the return home.
Thanks Russell–I think then that you are sharing the interpretation of both of my discussion partners, though siding with the first in *not* liking this pattern.
What do you make of the fact that this appears to be Jesus’ quite clear teaching, which has relevance particularly to the ‘tax collectors and sinners’, where the elder son has particular relevance to the pharisees? He appears to be saying that both, in their different ways, need to do something to receive the love of God.
I don’t think it is fair to call the requirement to repent to receive God’s love as ‘Pelagian’; we are not doing something to merit the gift, but are simply making the decision to receive the gift, which in itself brings demands—as Jesus consistently makes clear.
I can’t remember where I read it, but Warfield has an article on the parable in which he warns about the danger of trying to get the whole gospel out of it. If my memory is serving me he says something like this attempt ‘has born bitter fruit in the world’. He points out that the parable has no atonement and, taking your point about the inactive father, not the Father of the Bible! The parable teaches ( in addition to my March 26 post) that there is no state of sin however deep from which repentance and return will not be joyfully welcomed by God.
I think you are right that it helps if we read the three parables together. The sheep owner seeks out the lost sheep. The woman seeks the lost coin. What is the parallel in the third parable? I think the clearer parallel is that the father seeks out the elder son. The father comes out of the house and pleads with the elder son. It might be better to call the third parable, ‘The Parable of the Elder Son.’
Of course I am over-emphasizing to make a point. Clearly we are meant to consider the younger son as well. I just think that in a culture that is very apt to fall into Pelagianism, we need to very carefully balance the Prodigal Son with the clear teachings elsewhere that God seeks out the lost. People might easily read this parable as saying that God is waiting at home, indifferent to our plight as younger sons, unless and until we make a first move unaided by him.
That is why I am most grateful for you pointing out that the father has probably been watching, eagerly, urgently, on a daily basis, from the gate, for the younger son to return. He is definitely not indifferent to the son’s plight. That insight helps me to see this parable as having more akin to the foregoing two parable that I had previously thought.
On Pelagianism– Article X makes clear, does it not, that we cannot turn by our own natural strength to faith, but that we need the grace of God?
The younger son, surely, does what is the purely human thing – claiming an inheritance that he saw as rightly his (via God’s gift of Free Will?).
The ‘law-abiding’ son does what seems natural to him – because of his own relationship to the Jewish culture and its basic teaching (Law and Duty).
The real conflict comes when the younger son repents of his waywardness and returns home to a loving Father’s welcome and rejoicing. The real nub is Jesus’ statement in another parable that there will be ‘more rejoicing over the one that was lost, than the ninety-nine who had not strayed’. None of us is ‘entitled’ to God’s gift of Redemption. We cannot earn it, ever.
While one might empathise with the obedient son (a law-abiding Pharisee, who is seen as resenting God’s (the Father’s) prodigality towards the ‘Lost’ one. We need to remember that God’s way of justice sometimes defeats our understanding of what ‘ought to happen’ (vis-vis the parable of the ‘Unjust Steward’). God’s prodigality is beyond our human comprehension!
It is this RESENTMENT towards God’s prodigal action towards the Lost who has been Found that reminds us of the jealousy of Cain towards Abel that God found to be unsatisfactory!
This is right at the heart of many of our modern ethical dilemmas. For instance: Why does God love LGBTI people – whom the heterosexual ‘law-abiding’ people find to be unworthy of God’s care and loving attention – while heterosexual people are doing what they perceive to be their duty, according to their understanding of the Scriptures? Still, ALL of us are sinners!
Again, why would God love faithful peace-loving Muslims, when we Christians know that the only way to salvation is through the Sacrifice of the Father’s only-begotten Son, Jesus? Our recent trauma in Christchurch, with the slaying of 50 Muslims at Friday Prayers – by a White Supremacist – has resulted in an outpouring of public sympathy for our Muslim sisters and brothers; whose faith some conservative Christians believe will never afford them the level of redemption we claim for ourselves? Does God love the culprit? There’s another problem!
I guess the clue here comes directly from Jesu’ instruction to his disciples. “Love God, and love your neighbour”. (“They’ll know you’re my disciples by your love!”)
Ron,
The younger son, surely, does what is the purely human thing – claiming an inheritance that he saw as rightly his (via God’s gift of Free Will?).
Did you not read what Ian wrote:
The story opens with the younger son demanding his inheritance now, rather than waiting to the due time, and this is where we begin to see the importance of reading in cultural context. Unlike our context, where we might indeed want to pass on an inheritance early, for Jesus’ hearers this is like the son saying that he wishes his father were dead—and the father, shockingly, agrees to the request.
Even in our time for a child to demand of their parent their share of the inheritance would be entirely inappropriate and presumptive. A parent nowadays might choose to bestow some of the child’s inheritance before their death – “Bank of Mum and Dad.” You need to consider all that would be involved in the son getting his share. It was not money in the bank which simply needed to be withdrawn. It was land and flocks. These would need to have been sold to realise cash for the son to take away and squander in self-indulgent pleasure. The land belonged to the family, it was ancestral. This whole process would have been deeply offensive.
Yet, despite the offence, the father still yearns for the return of his son. However, this can only happen when the son comes to his right mind, and realises the unworthiness of his actions which took him away from home.
God’s love is for the unlovely. If Luke 15 teaches us anything, it is that God rejoices over us, not in our sinfulness, but when we repent and turn from our sin.
David, you’re still talking about an ‘earned’ redemption. Whereas, as Ian says, redemption is always there, waiting for acceptance. (n.b. the lost son had not actually voiced his repentance!)
If I am talking about “earned” redemption, it is because that is the pattern in Luke 15! There is rejoicing in heaven when a sinner repents. Redemption is not forced on people. The invitation is there, “come to me”, “follow me”, “repent and believe”. Response to the invitation is needed, which is not actually “earning”, and part of this response is acknowledging in the repentance of the need for redemption as a result of our sinfulness. The son did express his repentance, ‘The son said to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.”’ (v21)
The point Jeremias made is really valid. I always worry that parables are over-interpreted and lead to misunderstandings whereas if we stick to the single message Jesus was giving we can’t go far wrong. For instance, my friend insists that 25% of the sower’s seed went on the path meaning a quarter of people do not hold on to the word! I would never want to use the parable of the sower as advice on how to run my allotment if that wastage is normal!
Is it not possible to use the parables in a way that anthropomorphises God? This always seems a risk with the parable of the Prodigal. Again, if we stray from the main point we end up in muddy waters: are we to emulate the behaviour of the Shrewd Steward in Luke 16; is God really like the king in Luke 19 who wanted his enemies slain before him?
When compared with real life, the parables are just that – a parabolic view of life to make a point. Did the shepherd lose one of his sheep because he fell asleep and then acted irresponsibly with the 99 because of guilt? The woman should have noticed her coin was coming loose and repaired it in time rather than ignoring it and creating loads of extra work! That could be a real life view, but parabolically it is used to make the point about the importance of each individual to God.
But is the Prodigal’s father really the perfect example he is portrayed as? In real life he would be a terrible father who ignored his oldest son and didn’t bother creating a meaningful relationship with him whilst doting on his youngest to the point of ignoring all the warning signs regarding his personality. He then indulged him with a third of the estate knowing he would blow it all and in doing so imperilled the livelihoods of all those he employed. He then suffered from guilt and spent all his time looking for his return instead of directing his energies on his business. That’s a harsh analysis but in my experience more true to real life. The father in the story always reminds me of David with his son Absalom and the way he was so blind to the realities of the monster he had created in his own son.
I can see why Russell above mentioned Pelagianism, as this parable (along with the Good Samaritan) have become de rigueur for how people should behave in order to be ‘good’ and acceptable to God.
I love Kenneth Bailey’s teaching on this. His book in the 3 parables is excellent.
My memory is that he says the father not only humiliated himself by running to his son but that there was an urgency to do so to save his son from the villagers. Once the son had been spotted the villagers would have been so angry at him wishing his father dead that they would have attacked him.
Secondly showed his love for his son by running to his son and showing he had spent every day looking for him but also he did not know why his son was coming home. He did not know his son was sorry and was repenting. He just knew his son had come home to visit.
Thanks—that’s helpful.