"Back to Church" and the prodigal son

There is a small forum, on which I participate, on which various participants are priests. One ongoing thread is about ideas for sermons. One of the priests mentioned that his parish is having a 'back to church' Sunday, intended to welcome those who have not been members in the past, and that the text on which he is to preach was the parable of the Prodigal Son. I find that parable, even at its most basic level (I'll get beyond the surface a little later), to be enormously moving - an exquisite setting forth of the total love of the Father (whether one son effectively wished him dead by asking for the inheritance, and the other had a public quarrel which would have been nearly an equal insult in the time and place.)

What surprised me was that some comments on the thread seemed very self absorbed. For example, three first-born children disliked the treatment of the elder son. (I am a first-born, but, though I gave away a fortune through the years, I did not fall into squandering in the manner of the son in the parable. The chances of my younger sister's ever being prodigal in any sense are on a par with those of the entire Milky Way galaxy's being wiped out by a mega-asteroid this evening.) Yet it did remind me that this parable, perhaps more than any other, is one to stimulate intense emotional reactions. I would imagine that, in any congregation (particularly one composed of more than the average number of those who have been away from church involvement), images in the parable could strike painful chords. Repentance is difficult but a deep grace and joy - yet those who are on verge of it, or who are still pained by recognition of their sinfulness, could be very shaken. Those who have conflicts with their parent or sibling can find those thoughts intruding. A resentful 'elder brother' could be wary of who among the 'returnees' might not be good company for their kids. A 'prodigal' (or anyone who is in difficult financial conditions) could be shaken by the penniless state that can reduce one to feeding pigs - and may even be lost in thinking that, fatted calf banquet or not, the son in the tale is still broke!

'Back to church' efforts can be laudable, but also have their own problems. Sometimes such efforts are seemingly enthusiastic, yet the newcomers may be disillusioned to find that the only thing they are certain to be given are pledge cards and collection envelopes. The most enthusiastic 'greeters' often head volunteer committees, and will suddenly lose interest in those whom they seemed to find fascinating once the newcomer signs up. Those who would welcome spiritual guidance may find this is not on offer. Others, who may not have had any particular interest in churchgoing (or whose efforts in that direction were not encouraging), may be assumed to be 'alienated,' and pestered by those who assume they know the reason for the alienation (whether the assumptions bear the slightest relation to the truth or not.) If someone had a relatively wild life (at least by the general standards of the congregation), people may at first be moved by their honesty, then avoid them because they don't want the children to think that the past behaviour is acceptable. (Augustine or Francis of Assisi would not be welcomed, for example, in settings where staid lives focused on obedience to parents were the ideal. Matthew may have been outcast in the first century, but I imagine anyone industrious enough to have made a profit on collecting taxes might have a better chance for praise than Il Poverello - who cost his father a fortune I doubt the most prodigal of sons could match.)

I would imagine that one using the parable of the prodigal son would need to tread softly. All of us, however devout, have had reason for major repentance in some fashion - and this is a great grace. Still, those unfamiliar with this constant call to conversion could be uncomfortable if they heard a sermon from which they inferred, however excessively, that they were dredges who had to be converted merely because they had not been ones for parish membership. (Yes, that is a bit 'much' - but no more so than priests hating this parable because they are first-borns!)

Tom Wright, in his excellent "Jesus and the Victory of God," provides much insight, not only into this parable itself but into the larger framework of Jesus' message of the kingdom. The parable is part of a theme of exile and restoration - "What God had done for (Israel) in the Exodus - always the crucial backdrop for Jewish expectation - he would at last do again, even more gloriously. Yahweh would finally become king, and would do for Israel, in covenant love, what the prophets had foretold. Exile and restoration: this is the central drama that Israel believed herself to be acting out. ... But this is a highly subversive retelling. The real return from exile, including the real resurrection from the dead, is taking place, in an extremely paradoxical fashion, in Jesus' own ministry."

Wright goes on to explain that, in the parable of the prodigal son, what both sons did was unspeakable. Asking for an inheritance was tantamount to telling a father one wished he was dead, and to return was huge humiliation for the family. Having a public quarrel, as the other son did, shames the father as well, "and in turn suggests that he wished the father dead so that he could at last enjoy his share of the property; but again the father is astonishingly, unbelievably gentle."

The parable, as Wright notes, "creates a whole new world. Those who object to what Jesus is doing (cannot see that the resurrection and return from exile are happening." The entire parable concerns a complete call to reconciliation.

My brief summary cannot do justice to Tom Wright's excellent explanation, but, as usual, I had an associated thought. Those of you who follow this blog would know that, in the extensive study of the Old Testament (and its worship and theology) which I undertook over the past few years, I was privileged to have much new insight into the Hebrew scriptures. The exile indeed had been a time of loss and confusion for Israel. Yet the redactions which were post-exilic (of which I've written in previous posts) show how very much revelation had been realised through this painful experience and its aftermath. As a few simple examples - monotheism is developed. Redactions of Genesis show an awareness that we are in God's image - indeed, icons of the transcendent God. Yahweh is not territorial, but, even when defeat made the 'old gods' of Canaan, Babylon, or Persia seem the victors, Yahweh remained the God of all creation, working even when we cannot see his glory. Israel cherished the worship at the temple, but had further learnt that common worship can endure when there is no temple or sacrifices - and that would be exceedingly useful knowledge when the second temple was destroyed in 70 AD (not to mention to this day.)

Exile and return seldom would seem glorious for those who had been outside the pale, as it were, in the first place! But they are reminders, not only of God's eternal love and fidelity, but of how the life and worship of the community, not the word of the scriptures alone, are instruments of divine revelation. Worship often is all that unites us (both the Old and New Testaments do not give a rosy picture of warmth and consensus within Israel / the Church.) The history of both Israel and the early Christian centuries show how awareness of the depths of revelation (for example, Yahweh as the only God, or the Trinity) spring forth from worship.

It is all about call and response (and often 'return from exile') in the end. Whichever 'son' we happen to be at the moment, it is the Father's love which binds us to him - which can chase after us before we even are close enough to approach (and sometimes when we aren't even aware we want to be welcomed home, even if we are delighted that this happened when we have a bit of hindsight.)