Prodigal Children

Here is the 17th century “Return of the Prodigal” by the Dutch artist, Rembrandt. As our gospel today is the parable of the Prodigal Son, I went digging into someone's reference to Henri Nouwen's book on this topic.  It is said that Nouwen spent hours in front of this painting and then wrote his reflections in his book, The Return of the Prodigal Son. 

The painting represents the spiritual homecoming of all of humankind. The prodigal child is being welcomed his father. To one side the elder brother looks on and in the background are other unknown figures who, like ourselves, contemplate the scene. As you look at the prodigal son, what do you see? As you look at the father, what strikes you? 

Focusing on the Father: this is a painting of a man in a great red cloak, tenderly touching the shoulders of a disheveled boy kneeling before him. We are drawn by the intimacy between the two figures, the warm red of the man’s cloak, the golden yellow of the boy’s tunic, and the mysterious light engulfing the two. But most of all, it is the hands, the old man’s hands, as they touch the boy’s shoulders, that perhaps can reach in us a place where we perhaps have never before been reached. 

What we come to see in the painting is a father and a son, God and humanity, compassion and misery, in one circle of love: the mystery of death and life, of reconciliation, forgiveness, inner healing. Today can we dare to step out of the role of observer or bystander, and step into the place of the young man, kneel down in spirit, and let ourselves be held by our loving God? 

It’s the place of “coming to our senses”, falling on our knees, and letting our tears flow freely, because we are HOME. 

Focusing on the son: the son had left home with much pride and money, determined to live his own life far away from his father and his community. He returns with nothing: his head is shaven like a criminal; his money, his health, his honor, his self-respect, his reputation, everything has been squandered. The son is oblivious to the stares of the bystanders, only aware of the presence of the father and the heart beat of this elderly man who holds him to his chest. 

The father’s face reminds us of parents searching for their child. The mother searching the streets; the father searching among the homeless. Even when they fail to make contact their search never ceases. They are always waiting, always hoping. But as we continue to gaze at the painting another image may come to mind: the sheltering wings of the mother bird. Remember Jesus’ words about God’s maternal love: “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, How often have I longed to gather your children as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings…yet you refused!” 

Who these people are and what role they play in the painting is a puzzle, but perhaps they call us to reflect on our own involvement in things this Lenten season. A life lived without passion, without risk and commitment, gives us only a shadowy kind of existence. 

Henri Nouwen recounts in his book that one day he had a long discussion with one of his close friends and after talking with her about being the younger son or the older son, she said to him: Whether you are the younger son or the older son, you have to realize that you are called to become the father – look at the father in the painting and you will know who you are called to be. 

Isn’t that the real question for us as well. Do we want to be like the father? Do we want to be not just the one who is being forgiven, but also the one who forgives? Not just the one who is welcomed home, but also the one who welcomes others home; not just the one who receives compassion, but the one who offers to others the same compassion that he has offered to us. The return to the Father is ultimately the challenge to become like the Father in all that we do and all that we are.

A prayer from Walter Brueggemann:

"Things fall apart,

the center cannot hold."

We are no strangers to the falling apart;

We perpetrate against the center of our lives,

and on some days it feels

like an endless falling,

like a deep threat,

like rising water,

like ruthless wind.

But you...you in the midst,

you back in play,

you rebuking and silencing and ordering,

you creating restfulness in the very eye of the storm.

You...be our center:

cause us not to lie about danger,

cause us not to resist your good order.

Be our God.  Be the God you promised,

and we will be among those surely peaceable in your order.

We pray in the name of the one through whom all things

hold together.

Amen.