Prodigal & Older Brother
The rabbis teach us what God is like by short story examples called parables. In at least one particular Jesus’ parables are peculiar. Jesus’ parables always contain a surprise, because God is surprisingly different than what listeners expect.
The parable of the prodigal is one of the best-known parables Jesus told. The parable of the prodigal is a universal story; listeners of every time and place can identify with a father’s compassion for his children.
But do we modern listener’s understand the parable as Jesus intended his listeners to understand it? More particularly, are we surprised by the part that Jesus intended to surprise? Surprise is a matter of expectations. Jesus’ original listeners had expectations about the way things are, expectations about how people behave in a given situation. But we live in a society vastly different than Jesus’ original audience. Our social expectations are different; we’re not surprised by the same things. We lack the necessary cultural information to be surprised. But if we’re not surprised, we’re not hearing what Jesus wants to tell us about God.
Sixty years ago there was an American missionary working in Lebanon who made a magnificent beginning. In the course of his work, Kenneth Bailey travel extensively among Middle Eastern villages, which were still remote at the time. Kenneth Bailey observed that foreign fashions and foreign rulers come and go, that religion and language change with the powers that be, but that traditional Middle Eastern society is as enduring as the hills. The attitudes of rural communities, way of life that Kenneth Bailey witnessed, which was rapidly fading, reminded him of things he had only read about — in the Book of books.
Bailey began asking people in Lebanese mountain villages about Jesus’ parables. These people were not Jewish, but they lived right across the mountains from Galilee, the region where Jesus’ original listeners lived. The Lebanese mountain villagers grew the same food crops, tended the same livestock, and built the same sort of houses as Jesus’ original listeners had.
Bailey not only interviewed faithful Christian villagers who know the parables well, but also Muslin villagers and Druze villagers who were hearing Jesus’ parables for the first time. Bailey made it a point to collect responses to Jesus’ parables from rural listeners from all over the Middle East. Thanks to the curiosity of this American missionary, we better know what surprised Jesus’ listeners. Luke 15:11, 12.
“There was a man who had two sons; and the younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of property that falls to me!’ And he divided his living between them.”
Think about that for a moment. When do sons inherit their father’s estate?
After the father’s death, of course. What is this estranged son really telling his father when he demands the inheritance, the living as the parable calls it, while his father is still alive? The son is saying, “Daddy, I am interested in what you can give me, but I am not interested in you.” The son is saying, “Daddy, I want your living, but I want it without you.” The son is saying, “Daddy, I wish you were dead.”
Bailey asked Middle Eastern listeners what they would do if a son demanded his inheritance from his father. Everywhere the reaction was one of stunned disbelief. Middle Eastern tradition has no precedent for dealing with such a thing, because no son would demand such a fool thing.
Then Bailey heard a story from Iraq. It seems during the early part of the 20th century there lived a well-to-do Jewish family in Baghdad. The father was a physician. And his brazen son actually asked him pointblank for his inheritance. The shock was so great the father suffered a stroke. The father lingered on a few days totally paralyzed, then passed to his rest.
“‘Father, give me the share of the property that falls to me!’ And he divided his living between them. Not many days later, the younger son gathered all he had and took his journey into a far country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living.”
It was no simple matter to convert a portion of the family farm into ready cash. For one thing, it went against the biblical ideal, and with Jesus’ listeners the biblical ideal still counted a great deal. You remember in the Bible what Navot said when King Akhav offered him cash in exchange for his vineyard? Navot replied,
“HaShem forbid that I should give you the inheritance of my fathers!” [1Kings 21:3]
According to the biblical ideal, the family farm should not be divvied up between the brothers, let alone be liquidated. Rather, the brothers should keep the estate intact, farming it jointly.
“Behold how good and how pleasant it is when brothers dwell together!” [Psalm 133:1]
We like to sing those lyrics as a suggestion how people in the congregation ought to treat each other. It’s a good suggestion. But literally the lyrics are about not divvying up the family farm. Brothers should farm their inheritance jointly. That’s the biblical ideal.
Another reason it was no simple matter to sell a portion of the farm was economic. The typical Jewish village organized its larger-scale agricultural enterprise as a cooperative. Anybody who suddenly cashed in, was hurting everybody else.
Few neighbors would have that kind of cash on hand. Probably only a traitorous tax collector or a wealthy non-Jew would have that kind of cash on hand. Rabbinic law expressly forbids the sale of property in the land of Israel either to Gentiles or to Jewish collaborators with Rome. We aren’t told the details, but somehow the son exchanged his father’s inheritance for cash. Undoubtedly he was forced to accept a low price. The subsequent story is well known, and I needn’t linger at every detail. Luke 15:14-20.
“And when he had spent everything, a great famine arose in that country, and he began to be in want. So he went and joined himself to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him into his fields to feed swine. And he would have gladly fed on the pods that the swine ate; and no one gave him anything. But when he came to himself he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have bread enough and to spare, but I perish here with hunger! I will arise and go to my father. And I will say to him, Father, I have sinned against Heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me as one of your servants.’ And he arose and came to his father.
But while he was yet at a distance, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and embraced him, and kissed him.”
The most shocking particular of Jesus’ parable most of us miss, because our cultural assumptions are so different from those of traditional Middle Easterners. What always grabs Middle Eastern villagers’ attention is that the father runs. To us running to meet a loved one is a natural gesture. To a traditional Middle Easterner running is an unimaginable breach of custom.
Perhaps it’s difficult for us to understand what’s all that surprising about a father who runs, because our culture glorifies athletic activity. Even our everyday clothing takes its styling clues from sporting togs. Men who’ve never seen the game, let alone played the game, wear polo shirts. Women who never get near a bicycle wear pedal-pushers. Teenage who never shoot hoops wear basketball shoes. The couch potatoes among us lounge in jogging suits.
In traditional Middle Eastern society the opposite holds true: respectable adults never run, and their clothing is seemingly designed to make running impossible. Children run, slaves run, madmen run, foreign soldiers run. Village elders do not run, educated people do not run, men of wealth do not run. Never, under any circumstances. This seems to have been true in the Middle East from time immemorial. Two hundred years before our Jesus, another Jesus, Jesus ben Sira [19:30] wrote in his book of proverbs:
“The attire, the teeth-baring laughter, and the walk of man tell us what he is.”
The rabbinic book of etiquette, Pirke Drabbenu HaQodesh, [Grunhut, Sefer Haliqutim, vol. 3, #66, p. 60], informs us:
“In three ways sages are recognized and these are they: by their words, by their walk, and by their attire.”
The attire and the walk, which these proverbs identify as the marks of respectable men, are obviously interrelated. The one reinforces the other. The dignity of long robes and slow walking has continued in the Middle East right on into modern times.
Years ago my friend Bjornar Storfjeld was a young teacher in Beirut. While driving he witnessed a terrible accident. A pedestrian in a long robe was crossing the freeway and taking his sweet time about it. The car bearing down on him honked and honked, but didn’t slow down. Now the pedestrian wasn’t so old that he couldn’t have picked up his pace and moved out of harm’s way. He simply would not subject himself to the indignity of being hurried in public. He was hit, flung over the hood, and dumped by the roadside with a sickening thud. As a traditionalist, he valued his dignity more than he valued his safety.
What is shocking in the parable Jesus tells is that when the father sees his son, the father runs. Crazed with love for his son, the old fool does the unthinkable. He raises his robe and runs. And we mustn’t imagine that this reunion was a private affair. Nothing takes place in a Middle Eastern village without an audience. If the father saw the son coming, so did half the village.
And who was this audience who saw the son coming and the amazing scene put on by the father? They were the very neighbors whom the son had cheated by cashing in!
The father’s running is a distraction. His son is struggling home in shame to a hostile reception. He will not let the boy take the heat all alone! He will share the scorn of the village with his son! Indecently exposing his bare legs, he has compassion, and runs, and embraces him, and kisses him!
We all know the rest of the story. Luke 15:21-32.
“And the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against Heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his servants, ‘Quickly, bring the best robe, and put it on him! And put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet! And bring the fatted calf and kill it! Let us eat and make merry; for this my son was dead, and he is alive again, he was lost and is found.’
And they began to make merry. Now his older brother was in the field; and as he came and approached the house he heard music and dancing. He called one of the servants and asked what this meant. He said to him, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf because he has received him safe and sound.’ But he was angry and refused to go in.
His father came out and entreated him, but he answered his father, ‘Lo, these many years I have served you, and have never disobeyed your command; yet you never gave me a kid that I might make merry with my friends. But when this son of yours came, who has devoured your living with harlots, you killed the fatted calf for him!’
And he said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. It was fitting to make merry and be glad, for this your brother was dead and is alive; was lost, and is found.’”
What about that older brother in the parable? The older brother is hostile towards to prodigal. Prodigal, by the way, means wasteful, a spendthrift. The hostility of the older brother is understandable. More than anyone else in the village, the older brother was cheated when his brother sold out to strangers and broke up the farm.
But if the Middle East is famous for feuds, it is equally famous for hospitality. The law of hospitality is inviolable. Yes, every village and every family has its grudges; at any given time certain individuals aren’t on speaking terms. This is precisely why a society obsessed with dignity must maintain face-saving customs. The routine existence of feuds is why hospitality cannot be left to the whim of pleasure; hospitality is an ironclad duty. Even to his worst enemy the traditional villager must extend hospitality.
The proper place of the older brother is at the door to greet the guests. He should also be washing their feet. By refusing to take his place, the older brother is insulting every guest present and bringing shame on his father’s house.
When Kenneth Bailey asked Middle Eastern villagers what next ought to be done in this situation, answers varied. Some villagers thought the father should beat the older son. Others thought the guests should beat the son, because it’s them he’s offended. Whatever listeners think should be done about it, it’s clear that this father has two estranged sons on his hands.
The surprise in the parable is the ridiculous extreme of the father’s love. A love so absurdly generous, that our Father actually accedes to our demand that he die! A love so self-forgetful, that our Father runs toward us! The whole village sees him taking our shame upon himself as he hangs naked on the cross!
A love so lavish, that our Father takes his own best robe, his immaculate robe, and covers our stinking, pig-stained bodies — just to restore our sense of worth, so we can take those last few steps home. A love so scandalous, that in the face of outrageous insult and insubordination, against every just expectation of punishment — he engages in gentle persuasion:
“Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.”
‘Son, come inside and join your brother’s party!’
Up to now we’ve considered the parable as though Jesus were addressing us as individuals. I’m sure Jesus is addressing us as individuals, but because the parable is found in the Gospel according to Luke, who also wrote the Book of Acts, I believe Jesus is also addressing the people of God. The Book of Acts is the story of Israel’s response to Jesus and his summons to the Gentiles to join God’s family without becoming Jewish. The ending of the Book of Acts is left very open-ended; in the story we don’t yet know how Israel will respond to the newcomers. Luke’s interest in Israel’s response to the Gentiles is already present in his Gospel.
In the parable of the prodigal, which only Luke records, the elder son who’s so critical of his brother represents the established leadership of the Jewish community. The “sinner” son who eats with the pigs represents the Gentiles. The terminology isn’t very flattering, but sometimes in 1st century Jewish documents the word “sinner” is simply a synonym for non-Jews. The operating assumption was that Gentiles are automatically sinners. We find this usage in Galatians 2:15, for instance.
“We who by nature are Jews and not sinners from the Gentiles...”
So the parable of the two sons is not only about our repentance as individuals, but about Israel’s attitude toward repenting Gentiles. The parable ends with the father reassuring his elder son of his unconditional love, but urging to him to accept his brother.
“He said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. It was fitting to make merry and be glad, for this your brother was dead and is alive; was lost, and is found.’”
The father has only one inheritance to bequeath his sons. There isn’t one inheritance for Israel and a separate inheritance for the Gentiles. Yet both brothers have behaved like the inheritance is entirely their own. The younger brother squanders the inheritance partying in a far country. The older brother wants to throw a private party, with his brother uninvited. Both brothers have expressed the desire to enjoy their father’s inheritance without the other’s company. But the father invites his sons to party in his house, at the same time, in the very same room.
The father dearly loves both his sons. He’s not about to disown either one, despite what each might recommend. The two brothers’ estrangement makes the father look like a fool in his own house. The father can only reassure Israel and appeal.
Like the ending in Luke’s other book, the readers don’t know how the parable ends. We the readers don’t know yet what Israel will decide. Maybe the brother who’s always kept the commandments will decide to accept his brother who was dead and is alive. Jesus’ parable is open-ended. We haven’t heard Israel’s decision yet. I believe that when Israel does decide, the answer will be every bit as shocking to the village as the extravagance of the father’s love. Big surprises run in God’s family.
“Behold how good and how pleasant it is when brothers dwell together!” [Psalm 133:1]
