Son, You Are Always With Me

Last weekend, our son was home from college. He decided that he wanted to come home for a few days, and we were more than happy to welcome him.  

My wife, because she’s the best, cooked a fabulous meal intending to warm the soul. We sat down as a family and at some point she asked whether we would be going to church on Sunday. She directed the question to everyone, but largely to me—assuming that I generally have the strongest opinion one way or the other.  I thought about it, and said that we could probably take the day off, partly because I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone, but more importantly I didn’t want to deter our son from coming home in the future, lest he associate coming home with being forced to wake up early and go to church.  In my experience, kids—any kids, young or old—don’t like to wake up early on their day off to go to church.  It’s the rule.  

Then something weird happened. 

Our son, the one who was home just for the weekend, said we should go.  “I haven’t been to church in a while.  If you go, I’ll go.”  My sixth-grader sighed, definitely not thrilled, having the dream of sleeping in on a Sunday granteth and then immediately taken awayeth.  But I was heartened.

The next day, we all got up, got dressed all fancy-like, and, as promised, went to church.  When we opened the doors, the priest was already reading the Gospel.  For those unfamiliar with the Orthodox service, this means we were about thirty minutes late.  But since this was a Greek Orthodox church, we were right on time, arguably early.

The priest, Father Gerasimos, was clearly under the weather.  He was reading the Bible in the original Ancient Greek, but his words were raspy and hushed, and much slower than usual.  He had a hard time getting the words out.  But maybe it wasn’t just that he was sick. If I didn’t know any better, it seemed like he was emotionally affected by what he was reading.  This would be quite out of character for Father Gerasimos, who, although kind and approachable, is not one for the sentimental. This is someone who is not afraid to stand up in front of the parish every Sunday and loudly complain that no one comes to church—directly to the people who are actually in church.  A bold strategy, indeed.

When the Greek Gospel reading was over, he started again in English, as is the tradition. 

“A certain man had two sons.

And the younger of them said to his father. ‘Father, give me the portion of goods that falls to me.’  So he divided to them his livelihood. 

And not many days after, the younger son gathered all together, journeyed to a far country, and there wasted his possessions with prodigal living.”

Ah, yes.  It’s the only time you’ll ever hear that word.  I have never heard it in any other context other than this, the biblical story of the Prodigal Son.  I used to think that “prodigal” meant something like “returning,” but as seen in the Bible story, it is meant to characterize how the younger son lived once he left his father’s home.  Wasteful.  Reckless.  Sinful.

If you enter church during the Gospel reading, convention dictates that you stop and listen.  You don’t walk around lighting candles and finding an open seat.  You are supposed to listen.  So a small crowd starting forming in the vestibule of the church.  Father Gerasimos continued:

“But when he had spent all, there arose a severe famine in that land, and he began to be in want.

Then he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country, and he sent him into his fields to feed swine.

And he would gladly have filled his stomach with the pods that the swine ate, and no one gave him anything.”

Jeesh.  I understand that the younger son brought this upon himself, but it’s always hard to see someone hit rock bottom.  In that time, in that place, a son from a respectable family feeding pigs, and starving, that’s pretty much the definition of rock bottom. 

The story of the Prodigal Son is what is referred to as a parable.  It is a story told by Jesus during His ministry to teach a spiritual lesson. It was not intended to be factual.  It was intended to convey a deeper truth through a story.  Although its purpose was to teach something about the relationship between God and humankind, you don’t necessarily need to be a Christian to derive some level of meaning.  Don’t let the fact that this is from the New Testament turn you off, you heathen. This one is a pearl.  Reading on:

“But when he came to himself, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger!

I will arise and go to my father, and will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you,

And I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Make me like one of your hired servants.’”

This is the plea that the younger son makes in his moment of crisis.  Yes, his repentance here is at a moment when he really has no other choice.  His options seem quite limited.  And this “speech,” almost rehearsed, can be read with a certain degree of cynicism—a manipulative child looking to save his own hide. People resort to lots of out-of-character behavior when they are hungry.   

The Orthodox church, like other Christian churches, organizes its Gospel readings to coincide with the annual calendar.  Even if you are not a religious person, you may still be familiar with certain Christian holidays like Easter and Christmas, but you might not have an appreciation for the fact that every other day of the year is similarly, and intentionally, organized to bring into effect a larger spiritual purpose, anchored around the story of the life, ministry, and death of Jesus of Nazareth. 

The fact that the Bible reading of the Prodigal Son is happening now, on March 3rd, is intentional.  It is because Great Lent is about to start, which means Pascha, or Easter, is approximately nine weeks away (this year on May 5th).  The Church fathers knew what they were doing when they purposefully identified the three weeks before Great Lent as a period of preparation.  Preparation for what?  Preparation for a period of fasting, reflection, and, as manifest in the parable of the Prodigal Son, repentance.

“And he arose and came to his father.  But when he was still a great way off, his father saw him and had compassion, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him.

And the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and in your sight, and am no longer worthy to be called your son.’

But the father said to his servants, ‘Bring out the best robe and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand and sandals on his feet.

And bring the fatted calf here and kill it, and let us eat and be merry;

For this my son was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ And they began to be merry.”

Note that the father does not even wait to hear the son’s confession before falling on his neck and kissing him. The son is forgiven. By this point, Father Gerasimos was picking up steam, seeming to power through the affliction that was trying but failing to hold him back.

But the story is not over.  The crucial third act of the story is on deck, with a certain amount of unfinished business still to resolve. For the first time we are about to meet the older brother.  Remember, “[a] certain man had two sons.” Well, we’re about to meet the other son.  The one who stayed with his father.  The one who was loyal and dutiful.  And he’s not happy about any of this.  Father Gerasimos let out a long cough to make sure the rest of the story could be heard uninterrupted. 

“Now his older son was in the field.  And as he came and drew near to the house, he heard music and dancing.

So he called one of the servants and asked what these things meant.

And he said to him, ‘Your brother has come, and because he has received him safe and sound, your father has killed the fatted calf.’

But he was angry and would not go in.  Therefore his father came out and pleaded with him.

So he answered and said to his father, ‘Lo, these many years I have been serving you; I never transgressed your commandment at any time; and yet you never gave me a young goat, that I might make merry with my friends.

But as soon as this son of yours came, who has devoured your livelihood with harlots, you killed the fatted calf for him.’”

The older brother cuts right to the bone. These words are about as direct and compelling an indictment of the perceived injustice as can be articulated.  “You never so much as let me cook a goat with my friends, but you kill the fatted calf for this son of yours who spent your money on whores?!”  I know he’s probably killing it out in the fields, but in my opinion this guy needs to be a lawyer.

However, this is precisely the reason why the story works.  If the counterargument was not strong, this story would not be nearly as impactful. Through his tirade, the older brother stands in for the audience, asking the same question that the story begs to ask—how is any of this fair?  Not only to the older son, but to anyone?  The younger brother did this to himself.  He should be held accountable. Even the younger brother, in his moment of desperation, knew that the most reasonable thing to ask of the father was to return as a humble servant.  No one believed for a minute that the appropriate thing to do was to throw a party, give him a ring, or kill the fatted calf, let alone impliedly restore him to his prior position.   This kid needed to be taught a lesson.  And the older brother knows it.

Yet, as compelling as the older son’s argument may be, it is the response of the father that carries the day in this story.  This is the heart of the parable, and it is what makes it revolutionary today, just as it was likely revolutionary when it was recited by Jesus:  

“And he said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that I have is yours.

It was right that we should make merry and be glad, for your brother was dead and is alive again, and was lost and is found.’”

The End. 

What we just read above is literally the entire story, as it appears verbatim in the New Testament.  Not a word left out. If you are a Christian or a non-Christian, that’s okay.  You can read the words and decide for yourself whether they have anything to offer.  Whether they ring true.

Here is what I think.  The truth is I don’t know whether Father Gerasimos was emotionally affected by the story or not.  That’s his business.  The reality is I was probably projecting.  Because I did have an emotional reaction.  It’s the same reaction I have whenever I read or hear the story.  Everyone probably has a song, or a movie, or a book that for some reason just touches that part of your soul that generates chills, or tears, or whatever.  For me, the story of the Prodigal Son is one of those things.

“Son, you are always with me, and all that I have is yours.”

The lesson to take away here is ambitious. It is in many ways counter-intuitive.  The father explains to the older brother that what he, the father, is doing, is appropriate.  It is right.  And it is right because the older brother’s logic does not apply to the situation at hand.  This is because the brother’s argument is predicated on an earthly, material, conception of justice and morality.  In the father’s house, in heaven, on God’s moral plane, love is not a limited resource.  It is not scarce.  It is endless.  The world of far-away lands and famines and swine pods is one of scarcity.  The world of the father knows no bounds.  It’s a cheat, yes, but accepting that as a reality allows us to overcome the ethical quandaries that stem from constructing a moral apparatus predicated on limited resources. In order to understand the justice of the father, you need to think broader.  Rest easy, my son, there is more than enough to go around.

In the story, we never hear how the older brother responds to the father.  This is intentional.  The father’s explanation, as related by Jesus, is intended not only for the older son, but for the rest of us.      

On this particular day, last Sunday, as we listened to this parable, my son was standing next to me in the church vestibule.  My son, who literally lives in a frat house in a far-off land, choosing by his own volition to come to church on his weekend off.  I don’t know everything about what his day-to-day life is like at college, but I was there at the tailgate before the football game.  I know a little.  I also know that he is now more an adult than a child, and I am thankful beyond words that he decided to go to church on his own volition, that he put on slacks, and borrowed my shoes, and one of my shirts, and—man, we need to get this kid some of his own shit, no?   

In any event, I don’t know whether the parable of the Prodigal Son affected Father Gerasimos like it seemed, or whether he was just sick as a dog.  But I like to think it did, because it sure as heck gets me every time.