The Prodigal Father

This morning, I want to finish this trilogy of sermons on the prodigals by looking at the story from the perspective of the father. We saw two weeks ago that the younger son was a prodigal in terms of his materialism; last week we was the elder son was a prodigal to duty. The father is a prodigal in love and forgiveness.

The story is familiar to most, by now, and I don’t want to rehash it entirely. First, the father’s heart is broken by the request of the younger son, who demands his share. The father had every right to refuse, but he loved his son so much that he relented, dividing all he had between his two sons.

While the younger son was away, the father was full of grief. The scriptures don’t tell us what happened back home during the younger son’s absence, but I suspect it went something like this: The elder son threw himself into his work, trying to make up for the loss of his brother. As the elder son worked, he became embittered by the father’s grief. Why did he continue to mourn for the loss of his brother? The father should just bury his grief and give his full attention to him. These thoughts began to create barriers between the father and his eldest. At first, it was just an iciness in their conversation, then it became more, until they could hardly communicate at all. The son began to work longer, to avoid his father’s company. That is why he was not around when his brother stumbled up the lane.

And the father, filled with love and forgiveness ran down the lane. He fell upon his son, kissing him. In that instant, the grief was lifted and relationship was restored. What could the father do but welcome back his son with the best robe, the signet ring that had set upon the young man’s bed since he left, sandals for his feet, and the fatted calf prepared for the celebration?

It was a time for making merry, but when the father learned his eldest son had returned and not entered in, the father left the party. He begged him to come into the feast. But in his jealousy and bitterness, the elder son could only see that his irresponsible brother was receiving more attention than he himself, and concluded that he was the less loved of the two. This was not the father’s intention, but the jealousy is there nonetheless. He failed to realize that the father loves all of his children equally, and so there was no thought to delay the celebration of the younger son’s return until the elder son was present. Indeed, the father wishes only that his eldest would enter into the joy he has over his son’s return.

It is very clear from the context of the biblical passage that the father represents our heavenly Father. He loves us each equally, and that becomes very hard for you and I to accept.

In a world that constantly compares people, ranking them as more or less intelligent, more or less attractive, more or less successful, it is not easy to really believe in a love that does not do the same. When I hear someone praised, it is hard not to think of myself as less praiseworthy; when I read about the goodness and kindness of other people, it is hard not to wonder whether I myself am as good and as kind as they; and when I see trophies, rewards, and prizes being handed out to special people, I cannot avoid asking myself why that didn’t happen to me.

The world in which I have grown up is a world so full of grades, scores, and statistics that, consciously or unconsciously, I always try to take my measure against all the others. Much sadness and gladness in life flows directly from my comparing, and most, if not all, of this comparing is useless and a terrible waste of time and energy. (Nouwen, The Return of the Prodigal Son, 103)

As we move to practical application, it is easy to see aspects of the elder and younger sons in my own spiritual journey. But often, we see the father as “the other, ” a goal and resting place for my journey. But though I am both the younger son and the elder son, I am not to remain them. Instead, I must become the father. Do I really want to become like the father? (Luke 6:36) You see, returning to my father’s house and living there requires me to make that life my own and in doing so, allow myself to be transformed into the father’s image.

So how do I become like the father? As I see it, there are three ways to a truly compassionate fatherhood.

First, I must enter into grief as a means of compassion. Is my heart broken by sin and the brokenness of others around me? When I consider the immense waywardness of God’s children, our lust, our greed, our violence, our anger, our resentment, and when I look at them through the eyes of God’s heart, I cannot help but weep and cry out in grief. This grief leads me to prayer, where I lift not only the sinfulness of culture before God’s throne, but also the individuals who are caught in the grip of this culture. To be like the father, I have to shed countless tears and so prepare my heart to receive anyone who comes, regardless of their journey thus far.

This leads to the second step: I must walk in forgiveness. The forgiveness of the father is unconditional. Unconditional love requires me to step over: “It calls me to step over my arguments that say forgiveness is unwise, unhealthy, and impractical. It challenges me to step over all my needs for gratitude and compliments. Finally, it demands of me that I step over that wounded part of my heart that feels hurt and wronged and that wants to stay in control and put a few conditions between me and the one whom I am asked to forgive.” (Nouwen, 130) Am I willing to step over? During the civil war, Lincoln was asked how he would treat the rebellious southern states when they were defeated and wished to return. His answer was a model of unconditional forgiveness: I will treat them as if they had never been away.

Finally, I can live a life of generosity. In the parable, the father not only gives his departing son everything he asks, but also showers him with gifts on his return. And to his elder son he says, “All I have is yours.” There is nothing the father keeps for himself: He pours himself out for his son. Am I willing to pour myself out for others? Just as the Father gives his very self to his children, so must I be willing to give my very self to my brothers and sisters.

As I become like the father, I have to believe that all that the human heart needs can be found at home. And I can be there as the one who welcomes the wayward child home. As we close, I want to ask you: Are you ready to become like the father?