Discerning the Prodigal

Due to unforeseen technical problems, yesterday's service was not recorded. As a result, today's Monday Musing is a little longer than usual, it's a reprint of yesterday's sermon on the story from Luke, The Prodigal Son(s).

 

Sermon from March 27, 2022, Fourth Sunday of Lent

It’s been said that the only thing better than owning a boat is having a best friend who owns a boat.

The technical legal term is usufruct, from the Latin term usus et fructus—use and enjoyment. Your friend may own the boat, but if that’s your best friend, you may have all the use and enjoyment of sailing without all the hassle and expense.

Over and over again through the decades, I have read and reread the story of the prodigal son, that rogue who squandered his inheritance on loose living. Unique to the Gospel of Luke, the story begins with a common trope: There once was a man with two sons.

Immediately we know this will be a story of compare and contrast—good son/bad son, faithful son/prodigal son.

Except this season, I noticed a few things I thought I knew in the story that just aren’t there, like the word “prodigal”. At no point is the younger son referred to as a prodigal son—that’s a notion superimposed on the story. It’s difficult to even use the word prodigal without instinctively filling in all the behaviors of the one who squanders his wealth on wild living, obviously linked to hard drink and fast women.

Except the Biblical account doesn’t specifically account for how he lived once he hit the road. The notion that the irresponsible brother spent all his money in brothels is the accusation leveled at him by the older brother when he’s attempting to curry favor with the father.

“This son of yours [not “my brother”, but “this son of yours”] who has devoured your property with prostitutes comes back…” How did the older brother have any idea? According to the story as written, neither he nor the father had received any tweets or texts from the sibling all these many years since he disappeared, let alone an NSFW TikTok of debauchery.

No, it is in his disdain that the older brother is scolded by the father who reminds him of the usufruct of their relationship. All these years he had the complete use and enjoyment of the entire estate of the father. If there was a failure to enjoy himself, it wasn’t the father’s fault. If he wanted a cookout with his friends complete with curried goat, it was entirely his right to arrange it. He didn’t need his father’s permission to use what was already his.

It snaps into focus that the older, more responsible brother is bitter and jealous; it’s easy to wonder which brother is more prodigal. The one who ran off irresponsibly and burned through his money recognizes that he had a good thing back home. Having indentured himself to a foreign pig farmer, he remembers that the servants of his father had a better life than did he. So, he determines to broker a deal as one of his father’s servants, claiming no right as a son. “Make me one of your hired hands,” he prepares to say, knowing full well that his own brother would also have the full use and enjoyment of his labor. He wasn’t asking for restoration to ownership; he was perfectly willing to live and work as a pitiful indentured servant.

Keep in mind this story is being told in the light of three stories Jesus shares in response to the indignity of the Pharisees. They’re introduced in the first two verses of Luke 15, “Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, ‘This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.’”

And so, Jesus tells them a few stories.

There’s a lost sheep…just a wayward lamb wandering from the fold, out upon the mountain so lonely and cold…come and follow me, hear the savior’s plea, safe upon my shoulders I’ll carry you home.

Then there’s the one about the OCD woman who has lost a coin—there are nine when she remembered having ten. The wealth or need doesn’t matter; there’s no reference to her being poor. She had a complete set, one is missing, and she’s going to tear apart the house until her even 10 have been reunited. Strangely enough, once having found that tithe, she gathers all her friends to celebrate the reunification of her silver set. Strange behavior, but permissible to make a point.

One sheep out of 100, one coin out of ten; to the rest of the world it would be inventory shrinkage, but to the one who loves them all, it’s an investment beyond return. It’s rejoicing because even the small percentage matters…

And then there was the guy that had two sons….

One lost everything and was willing to lose himself in return. The other had everything but was bitter and never chose to enjoy it.

Years ago, while serving as chaplain of cardiology at the University of Chicago Medical Center, I came into the room of a new patient. I recognized his name on the roster. This was Norman MacLean, professor of literary criticism, professor emeritus in the department of English. You may recognize his name as the author of the book A River Runs Through It, popularized by the 1992 Robert Redford film of the same name.

This, too, is a story about a man who had two sons—the elder, autobiographically Norman MacLean, my cardiology patient, and his younger brother Paul. Their father, a stern Presbyterian minister in rural Montana, educates his sons in the classics. One becomes a disciplined and respected university professor, and the other becomes a hard-drinking journalist with a gambling problem.

In my conversations with Professor MacLean, he told me that when he came to the University of Chicago at the age of 15, he had never been in a classroom before. At the time, every student was given a series of entrance exams. It was theoretically possible to be awarded a full bachelor’s degree solely on the score of these examinations. Young Norman was surprised to be told he needed only one class in classical literature to complete his bachelor’s and then could enroll as a master’s level student once the course was completed.

He enrolled in a class on The Iliad, and the assignments were substantial. In order to plow through the tome in a 10-week quarter, three full books were assigned each week, meaning nearly 100 pages of reading in preparation for each class. He told me he sweated bullets to complete the assignment and was jealous of his classmates who seemed to breeze through the text without problem.

It was during the third week of classes that he looked around the room and realized everyone else was reading a translation. His was the only copy in the original Greek. It was then he realized that perhaps his father had taught the two boys well.

A father who had two sons…one became a university professor, the other a ne’er-do-well journalist. In real life, Professor MacLean told me his little brother Paul was beaten to death on Chicago’s South Side for unpaid gambling debts. Norman became a noted literary critic who never wrote a word of fiction until after the death of his wife. As he told me, when she died, he had to do something beautiful to replace her. He had spent his entire life as a dedicated, safe, conservative scholar. When she was gone, he realized his life was flat; it lacked excitement, joy, risk.

All this I remembered while reflecting on the parable of brothers, one the risk taker, the other dutiful. One having tasted risk, perhaps to his own detriment, the other always waiting, hoping, dreaming for a party that might take place…tomorrow.

It became all the more clear to me as I remembered my first encounter with the crusty old scholar turned novelist. When I entered his room there in the Bernard Mitchell Hospital, I introduced myself. Professor MacLean barked at me, “Chaplain, huh? What’s your brand?”

“Presbyterian,” I responded.

“Presbyterian? Well then… What’s the chief end of man?”

In that moment I realized I was facing my own placement exam. My future at his bedside depended on my ability to pass this single-question quiz.

“To glorify God and enjoy him forever,” I responded. The first question and answer of the Westminster Catechism.

There was this guy who had two sons. One took some risks, faced some losses and came home weather-worn and embarrassed, but honoring the father. The other played it safe, took no risks and enjoyed nothing.

To glorify God and enjoy…that’s the point…to enjoy… If you’re living a joyless life, don’t blame the father. There’s the whole estate available to your usufruct, to use and enjoy.

Professor MacLean’s eye twinkled… “Young man, sit down!” And we began to talk. Amen.