The Prodigal Son (Luke 15)

Alongside Revelation 19 :10, the story of the Prodigal Son has been foundational in our formation as a faith community over the past 20 years. One of our early catch-phrases was ‘Edge - a home for the Prodigals’, and that, teamed up with our desire to see the ‘next generation’ find a safe place that they could call home became our mantra, our guiding star or kaupapa that we followed. 

It’s interesting to look back and see the ways in which our interpretation of stories change over time and how that plays itself out in our particular responses. It would be true to say that in those early days our mandate was to see as many young people as possible come through our doors and somehow encounter a community, (and a God) who would extend open arms to the disconnected, discouraged and disenfranchised. And they did, and we did also. But on reflection and in the context of this story I wonder if some of our inclusion came with a few conditions, holding a stance a bit like that of the elder son in the story whose body language gave an aura of ‘contempt’ at his younger brother’s lifestyle, and annoyance at his father’s lack of concern over what it had cost him.  

The image of the Prodigal Son, painted by Rembrandt at the end of his life can be found today at the Hermitage in St Petersburg. Henri Nouwen, receiving special permission to ‘sit with’ the painting over a period of hours wrote a book called, ‘The Return of the Prodigal Son’, in which he interpreted the work, not just limited to the story of a lost boy, an indignant brother and a loving Father, but also including others that would have been a part of the family or community to which the boy belonged. Nouwen offered ways of including these ones, also present. 

First, there is the onlooker (interpreted as being Rembrandt himself) sitting slightly to the side, not engaging but observing what might happen next. Then tucked away in the shadows are two women who are watching intently yet from a safe distance, one of whom is his mother, barely seen in the dark corner of the frame. This woman who probably cried herself to sleep each night, grief stricken and not knowing if she would ever see her boy again, now able to also rejoice at his return. And then there is the tall, rigid elder son who stands to the side, arms crossed in judgement and scorn, attempting to dominate the space.

I like to think that our mandate still stands, but our practice of it has evolved and transformed to be more like the Father who didn’t ask questions or make demands; rather he extended his beautiful red cloak out and around his wayward son’s shoulders, drawing him close to his chest, placing his mother-father hands on his back and welcoming him back home. 

This timeless story continues to capture our imagination as a community and invites us to consider who we are in the scene that is unfolding. I would like to suggest that at any stage of our lives we are all of the characters in this play, but now every generation holding a unique and special place in our unfolding story. As we change and come to understand the meaning of unconditional love, we too can become a people who open our hands and our hearts to those who don’t necessarily fit the norms that we are used to. 

This is our hope and challenge as we become a community that not only accepts, but affirms everyone, which is at the heart of this story.

Linda Burson Swift