Prodigal - prodigy - prodigious grace

He showed promise.  At an early age, one and all decided that he was bound for greatness.  In the arts, of course - he was useless on the farm.  His solid, sensible older brother was not afraid to get his hands dirty.  He was a toiler; didn’t mind the heavy lifting.  But the other fellow, he was “going places”...

Maybe that’s why dad didn’t hesitate to sign the cheque.  Prodigy - that’s the word; there was no question that would succeed...until, of course, he failed.  Utterly.

Too far gone to expect sympathy.  Too far from home to rep quietly in through the back gate.  Even in failure, his mind was buzzing - trying to turn his misery into something positive.  This young man is not without his gifts, but he is still not ready for grace.

No one ever is.

********

I don’t know why it took me so long to make the connection - me, the language geek - between the words prodigal & prodigy.  Linked to the Latin prodigiosus meaning lavish, marvelous, amazing.  One of these words - prodigy - is unusually positive.  The other has become (for us) something else.

And yet, ‘prodigal’ is the more remarkable word - it links church and world through this one story.  People who know nothing else of Christian Scriptures use this word to describe particular people and their occasionally uncomfortable homecomings.  We seem to understand the basics of the story no matter our background.  Even my trusty Oxford Canadian English Dictionary (hardcover with the inscription from a classmate who was the chief lexicographer) refers to this parable as part of the ‘official’ definition:

“Recklessly wasteful”, says the OED - a ‘repentant wastrel (Luke 15:11-32)’. But now I have a problem.

A repentant wastrel (such a phrase!) seems oxymoronic.  This definition describes two competing urges...besides, the parable is about more than either repentance OR wastefulness - it is a parable on the surprising nature of grace.

We make a big deal out of the younger son’s machinations and the elder brother’s petulance, but Jesus begins and ends this parable with a demonstration of the father’s amazing grace.  Everything between “...he divided his property between them...” (v.12) and “...we had to celebrate...” (v.32) is a distraction.  The wasteful spending; the down-cast, pig-sty experience; the foot-stomping, juvenile tantrum - we get really excited about all that because we understand those things - we are intimately familiar with those reactions because we live them every day.  We want the ‘lesson’ to be about repentance - we talk about what it means to say the younger son “came to himself” as though that was the turning point. 

It’s not.

The father doesn’t establish a timeline for repayment, or lecture  on fiscal responsibility.  He mourns broken relationship (and lost communication) and then celebrates wildly at the return of a chance for relationship...just a chance is enough to get the party started.

To call this the parable of the Prodigal - as we do - is to bring attention to the wrong things.  I say this in the middle of Lent; the wandering son’s sudden, selfish realization that he’d be better off at home - his rationalized repentance and his carefully practiced confession (that he never gets to offer!) - none of that is good news!  The good news is that before, during and after this episode of reckless wastefulness, his father’s attitude towards him is UNCHANGED!

Whether the response is ‘take your share of all I have’, or ‘Thank God you’re home’, the father is grace personified. 

Jesus doesn’t tell parables to remind us of our inclination to bad habit - his parables place the constancy of God before us and our bad habits, and he dares to suggest that God, who sees them all, doesn’t obsess over any of them. 

Lost sheep are most earnestly sought after (and what does the rest of the flock do while the shepherd’s away…?)  Wandering children - and the stubborn, stay-at-home kind - are each valued because they are children, not for any particular way of being. 

The best part of parenting is when you realize that you don’t need to play favourites - that each child has a way of touching your heart.  Jesus doesn’t portray God as a powerful, disciplinarian parent, intent on showing children ‘ the way they should go’ - over and over again - and especially in this parable - Jesus points to God the generous - God the loving - God whom Jesus addresses as “Abi / Abba” - the Aramaic equivalent of daddy.  Not a juvenile familiarity, but a name steeped in loving affection. 

That is the figure that shares the inheritance without waiting for a funeral.  That is the figure that runs up the road at the first sight of the wanderer’s return.  That is the one who tries to reconcile two brothers.  Here is God, shown to us in a story about ourselves, who would rather die than see us suffer. 

We have - in the course of two thousand years - described this same God as one who demands perfection of us; we have posted rules and punished those who break them in the name of this patient, loving, gracious God.  We have committed atrocities in God’s name, and dared to gloat.  God’s grace has been hard for us to understand, and nearly impossible for us to emulate.  And still, God waits.

Patiently, eagerly, sorrowfully, God waits.  Enduring ridicule and shame - suffering the horror of the cross and the indignity of the grave, still God’s grace endures.  Waiting to welcome us back.  Ready to open our eyes to the fact that grace has always been ours for the asking - ours to experience;

“…you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours…”  That is the point.  That is the good news.  That is what this parable is really about.