The Prodigal Son Forty Years Later: A Parable

(This is not a sermon. It is a manifesto. It is addressed to those in the church whose fascination with lost sheep has blinded them to the value of the 99.)

You probably know the story of the Prodigal Son.

The son of a generous and good father, he tired of life on the family farm, asked for his inheritance in cash, took the money and went to a far country. There he blew his entire wad on wine, women and song. Destitute and desperate, he finally crawled back home planning to beg his father for employment as a servant. To his astonishment, his father reinstates him as a full-fledged member of the family and celebrates his return with a lavish party. The older brother, the responsible one, is disgusted by his father's spineless embrace of the wastrel and stays away from the party. The father goes looking for the older son, and tells him, “Son, you have always stayed by me, and everything I have is yours. We had to celebrate this happy day. For your brother was dead and has come back to life! He was lost, but now he is found!”

But perhaps you have not heard what happened next.

The father was unsuccessful in persuading his older son, Nicodemus, to come to the party, but gradually over the months Nick softened. He saw the pleasure his dad took in having his younger son around. Nick continued farming. The younger son, Saul, spent a lot of time hanging out with Dad in the big house. The estate prospered.

Both sons married and had kids. Dad couldn't be happier. He liked his new daughters. He adored his grandkids. Life was good.

A couple of years after his return, the younger son, Saul, came to his dad with an idea. “Dad, I keep thinking about my old friends up in Damascus, wishing I could do something to help them. Your astonishing forgiveness and graciousness transformed my life. I'm sure that if my old friends could experience your love the way I did, it would transform their lives. I'd like to invite a couple of my old friends to come and spend some time here on the farm.”

Dad thought it was a great idea. Saul managed to track down a couple of his old buddies. They came to the farm. They were charmed and eventually transformed by the Father. Then others came. And they, too, found new life on the farm. Saul and his wife lived in the Big House. Saul was the host, the talker, the public face of the estate. He entertained the guests, heard their stories of degradation and addiction and crime and recounted his own miserable history. He led the celebrations of rescue and dramatic transformation.

Meanwhile, Nicodemus managed the farm. When cows were calving, he was the one out in the pasture at three in the morning pulling a half-born, stuck calf. He saw to the construction and maintenance of the ditches and supervised the flow of irrigation water so fields and orchards had just the right amount moisture at precisely the right times for maximum production. He taught Saul's kids horticulture and the business skills needed for successful farming. He egged on the young people's curiosity and experimentation. He supported them when they wanted to try new crops and new livestock lines. Eventually he was even teaching the kids of people Saul brought to the farm.

Dad had died. The grandkids were growing up and getting married. Many of this third generation loved life on the estate and wanted to stay, but over time they felt increasingly out of place. They had no stories about their binge-drinking days or the merchants they had ambushed or the children they had fathered and abandoned. Saul and his friends in the big house regarded the routines of planting, irrigating, harvesting, pasture rotation, breeding management, and research as distractions from the real purpose in life—persuading losers to come to the farm.

Finally, after another kid and his wife and kids left, Nicodemus sat down with Saul to talk about the future of the farm. Nicodemus waxed eloquent in his description of the intelligence and goodness of the kids who had grown up on the farm. He talked about how important it was to provide meaningful opportunity for them to use their gifts in finding ever new and more effective methodologies. If they were encouraged, these young people would develop new varieties of apples, olives and wheat. They would breed sheep with richer fleece and higher lambing success rates. The farm would be different and better because of the experience, smarts, and drive of these third generation farmers. The social environment they were creating was transforming the region. But if the kids were going to stay, they would have to have a place at the table in the Big House. They were not going to be content to work for Saul as mere drones in his factory farm. They were not going to continue to allow themselves to be milked for their productivity while their life experience and minds were ignored or mocked.

Saul would have none of it. His life had been transformed by his father's gracious welcome. The point of the farm was to be a place of welcome—especially for people who were losers, lost, broken, addicted. He was living in the Big House because his work was closer to the intention of their father. He was not about to allow a bunch of mere farmers, people who were preoccupied with family life, business and agricultural research and production to shape the public face of the estate. His father had clearly shown his will when he welcomed Saul back home.

Nicodemus protested, “I'm talking your own kids, Saul, your sons. Don't you care about them? They're smart. They're good. They're conscientious. They're thinking about leaving because there's no place here for them except in the barn or the field. They know they are welcome only as long as they keep their mouths shut. They can't do that forever. Dad welcomed you back. He made room for you. Are you not willing to extend Dad's grace to your own children? And to mine?”