On the Fourth Sunday of Lent, the Revised Common Lectionary offers a familiar story, the parable of the Prodigal Son.
LUKE 15:1-3, 11b-32
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."
So Jesus told them this parable:
"There was a man who had two sons. The younger of them said to his father, 'Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.' So he divided his property between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. But when he came to himself he said, 'How many of my father's hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands."' So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. Then 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 slaves, 'Quickly, bring out a robe--the best one--and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!' And they began to celebrate.
"Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. He replied, 'Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.' Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. But he answered his father, 'Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!' Then the father said to him, 'Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.'"
Over the years, I’ve heard scores of sermons and reflections on this text. And I’ve preached more than a few! Like every good story, it lends itself to a multiplicity of interpretations and retellings — sometimes the emphasis is on the father, sometimes the younger son, and sometimes the older one. I’ve even heard preachers take thirty minutes to carefully explain the theological meaning of the “fatted calf.”
This Lent, I’ve been focussing on Holy Thursday in what I’d call an exercise in theological imagination. Since writing Grateful, I’ve wondered what it would be like if Christians shifted the spiritual import of the Passion away from Good Friday toward Maundy Thursday. What if we emphasized the Table more than the Cross? What would Christianity be like if it saw the central act of Jesus’s last week as a meal instead of an execution?
It would probably look at great deal like this parable.
Since I’ve been thinking about tables and meals, what “pops” for me reading the Prodigal Son this year is the food. The story about a father and two sons. But look at all that food! The text begins with a complaint about Jesus’s dinner guests — “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” The younger son takes a job feeing pigs, winds up eating pig food, and decent people refuse to feed him. The whole story changes when he cries out, “I am starving!” He goes home to his father because he is hungry.
The joyful father throws a feast, complete with music and dancing. The older brother gets angry at the attention his profligate brother has received and complains, “You killed the fatted calf for him” and refuses to partake of the feast. We always read the elder brother as jealous — that he wants the fatted calf. But maybe the elder just wanted to keep things as they’ve always been — a familiar pattern of sustenance based on obligation and duty. The father reminds the elder brother that, yes, they have always eaten together, and they have shared many meals. And that’s been good. For them at least. But there is something even better — a feast that does away with old roles and expectations and opens the table with generosity to anyone who wishes to eat.
Perhaps this story is less about personal forgiveness (are you the younger or older brother?) and more about the feast. A precursor of the supper that lies ahead? A type of the revolutionary meal Jesus will institute the night before he was murdered? A meal structured on mutuality and equality, based in humble service to one another and unconditional forgiveness? The old order was good for some, but the new table will be beyond your wildest imaginings.
Indeed, the parable describes the “meals” offered by the world — how food is structured into social division, brokenness, and inhumanity. The Jesus supper overcomes social divides, heals brokenness with reconciliation, and treats everyone at the table with dignity. The Prodigal Son rehearses this theological possibility in story, anticipating (and explaining) the actual practice of such a meal by Jesus.
Both the parable and Holy Thursday contrast two feasts. The “last supper” of the world of death, the sort of meal that starves and excludes, the tables set by “Caesar” (the “pigs” in the parable). Yet they also open toward the “first feast” of God’s desire for humanity, a table set with true forgiveness and equality, in a world of genuine love, a table where everyone is seated and sated.
Thus, today’s story is a foretaste of what is to come on Holy Thursday and the forever feast of the Kingdom of God. The old table is passing away; the banquet is being set. As Paul says in the Corinthians passage, “Everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!”
Welcome to the revolution of fatted calfs and endless feasts.
Please consider donating to World Central Kitchen and the work of Chef Jose Andres for the refugee crisis in Ukraine. Donate HERE.
I don't want you just to sit down at the table.
I don't want you just to eat, and be content.
I want you to walk out into the fields
where the water is shining, and the rice has risen.
I want you to stand there, far from the white tablecloth.
I want you to fill your hands with the mud, like a blessing.
― Mary Oliver
START YOUR SUMMER RIGHT!
Join me, Brian McLaren, and friends at the SOUTHERN LIGHTS CONFERENCE
In person at the beach; or online at home!
May 27 - 29, 2022
Epworth By The Sea
St. Simon Island, Georgia
For 17 years, Southern Lights: An Adventure In Progressive Christianity (formerly January Adventure) has encouraged attendees to think more deeply about their faith and live their lives as followers of Jesus in today's fast-changing world.
This year Southern Lights will be hosted and led by me and Brian McLaren and features Anthea Butler and Kaitlin Curtice with special musical guests Odessa Settles, Solveig Leithaug, and Ken Medema.
You can register to attend the event live or watch it virtually in the comfort of your own home. Either way, all registrants will also have access to stream the event until July 15, 2022, so you can re-watch your favorite sessions.
For more information and to register CLICK HERE.
I bow to the sacred in all creation.
May my sprit fill the world with beauty and wonder.
May my mind seek truth with humility and openness.
May my heart forgive without limit.
May my love for friend, enemy, and outcast be without measure.
May my needs be few and my living simple.
May my actions bear witness to the suffereing of others.
May my hands never harm a living being.
May my steps stay on the journey of justice.
May my tongue speak for those who are poor without fear of the powerful.
May my prayers rise with patient discontent until no child is hungry.
May my life's work be a passion for peace and nonviolence.
May my soul rejoice in the present moment.
May my imagination overcome death and despair with new possiblilty.
And may I risk reputation, comfort, and security to bring this hope to the children.
— Mary Lou Kownacki, OSB
Diana, I did it! In our small parish, we agreed to shift the focus of the Passion from the Cross to the Table. I adapted readings from Maundy Thursday to follow the Liturgy of the Palms and preached a sermon on Jesus' final teaching to his disciples, the last time they were all together. I included a lot of juicy stuff the lectionary leaves out. At our second service, the deacon preached a narrative sermon in story form which covered the same themes. One of the best liturgies I've ever done and I want to thank your magnificent theological imagination for helping to make it possible. I introduced the theme to my congregation with the Prodigal Son, as you suggested and let it grow on us. It's a beautiful non-violent antidote in these violent times. Thank you. Carol Luther, St. Aidan's Episcopal Church, Bolinas, California.
I think "supper club" is a good approximation to the Galilean ministry