The Prodigal Son

Carol, my spiritual director, has asked me what my Bible study is like. I don’t like to admit it, but it’s pretty weak. I grew up Catholic, and there’s not a lot of emphasis on Bible study in that religion. Even though I went through nine years of Catholic education, I don’t remember once being asked to read something from the Bible for school, only to memorize prayers. I told Carol that I do have some favorite stories and Bible verses, though. I like “My peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you.” Sorry, but I don’t have the book, chapter and verse number memorized, just the passage. But my favorite Bible story has always been the parable of the prodigal son. I had a child’s book of it with illustrations when I was a kid. I remember there was a picture of the son sitting in a pen of pigs, and the pigs were eating these big, juicy-looking ears of corn. Aside from the pictures, the most compelling part of the story was that even though the son did wrong, he was welcomed and forgiven when he got home.

Carol sent me home with her copy of Henri Nouwen’s The Return of the Prodigal Son. Nouwen traces his discovery of Rembrandt’s painting of the parable and how the painting has moved him, and what questions it raises and answers. The painting is very straightforward in depicting the father embracing the son who has returned, while the son who stayed home, and some others, look on. Nouwen proposed that the different characters can symbolize different people in the Bible. There are the Pharisees and others who the story is directed at, but Christ also had to leave His father, live a life of hardship, and then return to Him. And we leave God our Father and return to Him when we sin and ask forgiveness, or stay with Him and feel twinges of anger when others get better things in life than we do when we’ve been doing right all along.

Nouwen asks readers to explore where they would put themselves in the picture. There are many, many times where we find ourselves as the prodigal son, wallowing in self-pity and misery, caught up in a mess we have created for ourselves. We have done this because we were selfish and didn’t think of anyone but ourselves, or because we were lazy, or because we just didn’t want to deal with life. But, we know deep in our hearts that we can change, turn back home, and return to God and ask forgiveness. And as the story tells us, we will be welcomed with open, loving arms if we are willing to be embraced.

But, we can also be like the son who stayed home. We do what is expected of us, follow the rules, and don’t cause trouble. We aren’t treated badly at all— in fact we enjoy the things we have. But we also take those things for granted, or don’t think to ask for more than what we are given as our lot in life. And then, someone else gets more than what we have, or better, or something we would have liked to have ourselves. We feel angry that we aren’t given what we think we’re due, and jealous that someone else less worthy is given something at all. But we also feel guilty, knowing we should behave better. Nouwen points out that the brother figure in the painting has an ambiguous expression and holds his hands where we can see them, but clasped. He has the chance to open them, but will he be able to given the battle going on inside him?

And sometimes we feel like the father. We forgive with a generous heart because we know that people make mistakes, because we love our family and friends even when they do wrong. We are happy that they come to us, ask us to help them. We are able to share the goodness of God’s love through ourselves, a shining light in a dark world.

At times we move back and forth from one figure to the other. For months I stray from prayer, or I do something I know is wrong and am riddled with guilt. But I return, knowing that I will be taken back into God’s love. But other times, I do what I should in my work, my family and my church. I give of my time, talent, and money. I bite my tongue when I want to say something mean. I forgive people for all sorts of things. And yet, there are people who will get away with lies, or meanness. And they have “more” in life than me, more financial security or better health or less stress. And yet, I know that when I act in love toward even the people I dislike, when I look for God’s light in everyone and open my arms to the possibility of love and forgives, I’m the happiest and nothing else matters.

Nouwen goes into much more depth than this, and explores many more facets of the painting and story than I can here, but the exercise is a worthwhile one. Where are you in the painting? Where do you want to be?