Commentary on the Text of Luke 15.13-19
by Lee Magness
15.13
And after not many days having gathered everything
the younger son departed into a distant region
καὶ μετ’ οὐ πολλὰς ἡμέρας συναγαγὼν πάντα
ὁ νεώτερος υἱὸς ἀπεδήμησεν εἰς χώραν μακράν,
The younger son who seized the initiative in verse 12 continues to control the action in verse 13. “After not many days” is a figure of speech (one that Luke loved to use; compare Acts 1.5) meaning “only a few days later.” The son’s actions remain precipitous—his request for his inheritance was sudden (and thoughtless?), as are the liquidation of his property and the leavetaking from his family that we are about to encounter.
His first action is to “gather everything together.” Since the inheritance was likely to have been in land (and perhaps some livestock), the younger son would have had to quickly liquidate his holdings, turning all his assets into cash. He would have had to sell, no doubt at a loss, to neighbors who, with some embarrassment for the father, would have still eagerly seized the opportunity to add land and livestock at a bargain.
The second action is to “depart,” that is, to set off on a journey. And this journey was not to Jerusalem or Jericho, but to a “far” country, a “long” way away (the Greek word is “makros,” macro). Notice that if it were a distant country it was surely a Gentile land. The younger son not only distances himself from his family, he may be distancing himself from his faith, surrounding himself with those who did not honor God. Of course there was nothing odd about a young Jew in Jesus’ day journeying to a distant city—Antioch, Alexandria, Ephesus, Corinth, Rome—to engage in business and make money. But this young man’s goal seems to have been to spend money!
What do we learn from the younger son’s actions?
1) The younger son’s actions in this parable (except perhaps the hard and humiliating decision to return home) are all
so precipitous, so rash, so ill-conceived, and ultimately so hurtful that they stand as a warning not only in their
wrongness or wastefulness but in their hastiness. This parable illustrates the longsuffering and patience of a
compassionate father in part by contrasting them with the hastiness and foolhardiness of the son.
2) Not only does the younger son disrespect his father but he also disregards the family estate, the covenant heritage
perhaps passed down for centuries. This parable reminds us that our imperishable spiritual heritage, the
presence and promises of God, should not be lightly traded away for the very appealing but very perishable
things of this world.
3) Jesus calls us to a journey. He is the way, he meets us on our way, he sends us out on his way, to encounter
others on their way, and by so doing they and we become the Way. But his way is not the path of escape or
self-aggrandizement. This parable hints that our path is the path of finding our true home not escaping it, of
self-sacrifice not self-service.
4) Jesus calls his followers to a journey that often, maybe always, leads to “far countries,” to pagan lands. Those far
countries are filled with the possibility of alienation and temptation and rejection and regret, but they are also full
of the possibility of fulfillment. This parable holds out hope that the very unbelievers who may be the source of
our spiritual undermining might become the object of our spiritual outreach.
and there he squandered his substance living unwholesomely.
καὶ ἐκεῖ διεσκόρπισεν τὴν οὐσίαν αὐτοῦ ζῶν ἀσώτως.
The third action of the younger son is to “scatter,” a verb that implies squandering or wasting one’s resources. The opening words of verse 14—“having spent everything”—confirm this negative reading. His “scattering” forms an interesting contrast to the action of “gathering” mentioned earlier in the verse. This notion of scattering suggests that the young man spends his money in a variety of ways, ways which are not specified. But there is no doubt what he scatters—“his substance.” It is the same term used in verse 12 for material possessions or property. Verse 14 clarifies how much he scatters, “everything,” reminiscent of the “everything” he has demanded from his inheritance in verse 12.
Finally we learn how he scatters, squanders his possessions—“by unwholesome living.” The word “unwholesome” can suggest inappropriate behavior, loose living, debauchery, sin; but it may only reinforce the concept of wastefulness. It is this statement—and there he “wasted” his possessions in “wasteful” living—that provides the popular title for this parable, the Prodigal Son. The English word “prodigal” means wasteful, spendthrift, extravagant, lavish, or reckless.
The sentence that comprises verse 13 appears to focus exclusively on the actions of the younger son, but the other two main characters are still very present. The word “son” reminds us that there is a father, and the word “younger” reminds us that there is a brother. And once we notice them, we realize that the actions of the younger son—“gathered,” “departed,” “squandered”— impact them directly and direly as well. The possessions the younger son gathered and squandered were still legally at the disposition of the father and their liquidation and loss would have negatively affected the family’s assets. And the leave-taking of the younger son was personal not just geographical. When he departed, he left not just a land or a home but a father and a family. He not only wasted his finances, he squandered his filial and familial relationships.
And in noticing the father at this point in the parable, we are forced to yet another striking realization—the father’s permissiveness. He let his son have the inheritance, he let his son leave home and family, and he let his son live wildly and wastefully in the far country. This astounding permissiveness, this liberality, this gratuity, lays the basis for our understanding and appreciation of the father’s amazing compassion, his grace, his love at the son’s return.
From this pivotal point in the plot of the parable we learn even more.
1) The behavior of the younger son in the far country may not have been “sinful” in the typical sense of that word. But
his scattering, his squandering, suggests a certain lack of focus that speaks to missed opportunities. This
parable calls us to a focused life, life that is not just moral but is meaningful.
2) The “substance” (“being”) that the younger son squandered was precisely the property, the material possessions at
his disposal. This parable reminds us that, although they do not define us, our possessions and their use are
an important part of our relationship to God and our life before him.
3) There is no evidence that the younger son was promiscuous or a drunkard or a gambler. His error is prodigality,
the expenditure of his possessions to no purpose. This parable teaches us about prodigality—the dangerous
prodigality of expending possessions to no purpose and the delightful prodigality of lavish love and extravagant
mercy.
4) As we consider the life of the younger son in the far country, we would do well not to forget the presence of the
father. The son never does. This parable reminds us that all of our resources—those we employ wisely and
those we use wastefully—were provided by God, should honor God, and always belong to God.
5) The son said, Give, and the father gave. The father stands by when the son sells their heritage. The son leaves
and the father lets him. The father looks on as the son loses it all. This parable forces us to face a stark reality
about God—God’s permissive will—which forms the context of his compassion and mercy.
15.14
And when he had spent everything there was a strong famine across that region,
and he began to be in want.
δαπανήσαντος δὲ αὐτοῦ πάντα ἐγένετο λιμὸς ἰσχυρὰ κατὰ τὴν χώραν ἐκείνην,
καὶ αὐτὸς ἤρξατο ὑστερεῖσθαι.
Verse 14 begins by reasserting the spendthrift life of the younger son in the far country. “Spending” means just what it says, but there is some evidence that “wasteful” spending is implied. This connotation reaffirms our understanding the verb “squandered” in verse 13. The prodigal son has expended his possessions prodigally. What about the word “everything”? It may be a hyperbole, a deliberate exaggeration to emphasize his dire financial straits. Luke and other biblical writers (most ancient writers for that matter) were fond of hyperbole to make dramatic points. Mark 1.5, for example, affirms that every inhabitant of Jerusalem and Judea came to listen to John the Baptist preach. The point? Huge crowds came to hear John preach. On the other hand, Jesus may mean “everything,” given the desperate circumstances of the younger son described in the next verse.
“Strong” was the way ancient writers characterized a severe and unremitting drought and hunger it caused. Famines were fairly common in Palestine. Rainfall was limited and there were no permanent rivers, only intermittent streams called wadis that swelled to torrent after a rain and then dried up to nothing but a river of rocks. From Genesis to Revelation, from the famine that drove the Israelites to Egypt to Elijah, famines were seen as both divine punishments and divine opportunities. This famine is not localized. It spreads across and throughout the whole far country to which the son had traveled.
The rest of verse 14 literally reads, “and he himself began to be lacking.” The emphatic subject, “he himself,” implies that even he, wealthy as he was, is suffering the effects of the famine. Those effects may have crept up on him little by little—“began” to be in want. On the other hand this construction may be a Semitic idiom (which Luke had picked up from the Septuagint) which means nothing more than “and he was in want.” As a result of two factors—his spendthrift ways and the unexpected famine—the son now “lacks” the resources he needs to sustain life, experiences “deficiency” instead of his former sufficiency, and sinks into abject poverty.
Speaking of poverty, it is important to remember that poverty has different causes. Poverty can be caused by circumstances. Physical developments, like droughts and famines, sometimes suddenly sap people’s resources. Poverty can be caused by life choices. Some people “live” themselves into poverty, through extravagant living, through gambling, through greedy and unwise investments. But here is nothing inherently sinful about poverty. Some “give” themselves to the brink of poverty. Remember the generous widow of Luke 21.1-4, who gave “out of her poverty all she had to live on.” Remember the generous believers in the churches of Macedonia mentioned in 2 Corinthians 8.1-4, whose “extreme poverty overflowed in a wealth of generosity.”
A couple of insights emerge from this part of the narrative.
1) The drought was not the son’s fault, but the wasteful expenditure of his possessions left the son vulnerable to the
physical and financial consequences of the drought. This parable hints at the importance of wise spending as
opposed to wasteful spending.
2) Poverty in itself is not sin. This very parable offers an example of someone willing to divest himself of all his
possessions for the sake of others—the father. This parable highlights the difference between a poverty of
wastefulness and a poverty of generosity.
15.15
And he went and joined himself to one of the citizens of that region,
and he sent him into the fields to feed pigs,
καὶ πορευθεὶς ἐκολλήθη ἑνὶ τῶν πολιτῶν τῆς χώρας ἐκείνης,
καὶ ἔπεμψεν αὐτὸν εἰς τοὺς ἀγροὺς αὐτοῦ βόσκειν χοίρους,
The younger son knows he has to act. He “journeys” and he “joins” himself to one of the citizens of that country—the far country to which he traveled (verse 13), the country suffering under the famine (verse 14). The meaning of the main verb is interesting. Its root means “glue.” Luke often uses the verb for especially close personal relationships. Matthew 19.5 (from Genesis 2.24) describes the marital bond with the same word: “For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be ‘glued’ to his wife.” In this context the term implies a financial ensnarement; the son is trapped in a cycle of poverty and indentured servitude with little hope of betterment or escape.
The political term “citizen” may itself refer to a Gentile. This identification was originally hinted at by the phrase “a far country” and is surely confirmed by the mention of pigs. The only other reference to pigs in Luke comes in the story of the Gerasene demoniac (8.26-39). Gerasa was in the Decapolis, “ten cities” populated by Gentiles and lying to the east of the Sea of Galilee. Jesus (and his listeners) may well have been envisioning the far country as the Decapolis and the pig farmer as one of the Gentile “citizens” of the “Ten Cities.” Jews were urged to avoid contact with Gentiles for any reason. The fact that the son has entered a close, nearly inescapable relationship with a Gentile further illustrates the depth of his desperation.
The “he” of the next clause is the Gentile farmer, not the younger son. The landowner sends him into “his fields.” It is fields like this that surround the home from which the son has fled. It is a field like this in which his older brother will later stand, equally alienated from the father. But it is worse than a field. It is a pig field! Leviticus 11.7 taught that “the pig is unclean for you”—eating pig, owning pigs, tending pigs, feeding pigs. It was that last unclean and abominable practice that the son was sent to do.
Is there anything to be learned from this seemingly straightforward description of the son’s desperate situation?
1) “Glued to a Gentile” was a concept that would have horrified the Pharisees and teachers of the law to whom Jesus
was speaking this parable. It was the circumstance in which Jewish tax collectors found themselves, working
for Gentile oppressors, and for which Pharisees despised them (see Matthew 18.17). This parable speaks to
those of us whose life circumstances have trapped us in “unclean” and oppressive relationships.
2) The irony of this point of the parable is that Jesus did go into the far country, into the Decapolis, into Gentile territory,
where he ministered to Gentiles in the same ways he ministered to Jews. There he found followers, like the
Gerasene demoniac of Luke 8. This parable reminds us that to follow the way of Jesus means to reach out to
those our culture calls “unclean,” even to our enemies.
3) The food laws of Leviticus 11 had a powerful influence on the people of Jesus’ day, on their dietary habits and their
interpersonal relationships. Jesus did not teach these restrictions to his followers. Instead he said, “Eat
whatever is set before you.” (10.8) By declaring “all foods clean” (Mark 7.19), Jesus redefined our relation to
the law and to other people. This parable encourages us to view all of creation and each person as the good
creation of God.
4) Of all the animals, pigs came to symbolize “uncleanness” for Jews. When a cruel oppressor wanted to desecrate
the Jewish temple in 167 BC, he had his soldiers sacrifice a pig on the altar. Nothing would have seemed
worse to Jesus’ fellow Jews than to be among pigs. This parable reminds us that we can still see home from
the pigpen, that holiness is more a matter of the heart than of our circumstances.
15.16
and he kept desiring to fill his stomach from the pods
which the pigs were eating, and no one was giving him [anything].
καὶ ἐπεθύμει γεμίσαι τὴν κοιλίαν αὐτοῦ ἀπὸ τῶν κερατίων
ὧν ἤσθιον οἱ χοῖροι, καὶ οὐδεὶς ἐδίδου αὐτῷ.
In this verse the younger son reaches rock bottom, the farthest corner of the far country. How do we define the depths of his despair? It was not so much his poverty, his expenditure of all his material resources. It was not so much his sin; there is no proof that his “prodigal” lifestyle was a sinful lifestyle. It was not so much being forced to work for a living rather than living off his largesse. It was not so much living among Gentiles or even working for a Gentile. It was not so much pigs or feeding pigs. It was not even just his gnawing hunger. It was his utter abandonment by anyone who would provide anything to sustain or enrich his life. It was a crisis of relationship.
The verb “kept desiring” invites two somewhat different interpretations. It may mean, “he was so hungry he would have liked to eat the carob pods, but he just could not stomach it.” Or it could mean, “he was so hungry he wanted to eat the carob pods, and in his desperation he actually did.” There is also some discussion over whether carob pods where impossible for a human to consume or whether the poorest of the rural poor were at times driven to share this nearly indigestible animal fodder. Either way—whether he actually ate food fit only for pigs or not—the point is the extremity of his hunger not his menu, and as it turns out the real crisis is not only his hunger for food but for friendship.
If the younger son has had friends in the far country, they have probably been getters rather than givers. But now that his resources have dried up like carob pods, his friends have disappeared. The word “anything” does not appear in the sentence. The absence of this direct object shifts the focus back to the subject and the action—“no one” and “was giving.” The grammatical form of the verb implies on-going action, a persistent disregard for the needs of this once flush now flat broke immigrant. The subject invites us to imagine friends who have enjoyed the free-spending ways of this wealthy foreigner. But now there is “no one”—not only no funds, no fun, and no food, but no friends and no family.
No family. This last fact, this last lack, this “no one,” recalls the image of the one person who has given, who has sacrificially, painfully, humbly, and generously made provision for the son—the father, who is now very present in the story by his absence. Someone has given to the son, given his very living. Someone has never said, “no,” “enough,” “too much,” “no more.” Now how will the younger son respond, now that he has confronted “no one,” something even more terrifying than “nothing”?
What do we gain from standing with the younger son at the moment he reaches rock bottom?
1) We are not surprised that Jesus couches the crisis of this parable as a crisis of relationship. It was a crisis of
relationship—the Pharisees’ accusation that “Jesus welcomes sinners and eats with them”—that occasioned the
parable. This parable confronts us with two crises of relationship—one caused by the contempt of the
Pharisees and another called forth by the compassion of Jesus.
2) Some of us can still remember the unpleasant task of carrying a day’s worth of kitchen scraps and garbage to a pig
pen. The thought of eating those off-scourings trampled in the mud and manure of the sty is disgusting enough.
Actually eating them is unthinkable! This parable assaults our senses and confronts us with the desperate
depths to which many of us—even his followers—sink when we abandon life with the father.
3) The language of utter abandonment—“no one was giving him”—climaxes the son’s descent into desperation and
despair. As necessary as it is to consider all the ways that abandonment manifested itself, we dare not forget
that what the son lacks the most, needs the most, is his father. This is a parable not only about a son who was
lost but also about a son who had lost not only resources but relationships, not only funds and friends but a
father.
15.17
And having come to himself he said,
εἰς ἑαυτὸν δὲ ἐλθὼν ἔφη,
Having reached the nadir of the younger son’s circumstances, the parable now introduces a turning point in his convictions. “Having come to himself” may mean something like what we mean by “having come to his senses,” “having faced up to reality.” But if it means that, about what has he come to his senses, to what reality has he faced up? One answer is, he came to his senses regarding his situation. He now realizes—given the loss of all his possessions, the abandonment by his friends, his famished body, the unclean citizenry with whom he must associate, the disgusting work in which he is engaged, and the foul food he is forced to eat—that something must change. He longs for a return, but not a reunion. He longs for rescue, but not reconciliation. He longs for home, but not a homecoming. He needs to reevaluate his life, but there is no need for repentance.
But there is another way to read this “having come to his senses.” This phrase may well represent not just a reevaluation of his situation but a reassessment of his life direction, his decisions. Perhaps he is in fact facing up to the reality of his sin—either the sinful life he has lived in the far country or the sin of disgracing and disregarding his father or both. Perhaps the realization represented by these words his true repentance, the recognition of his need for forgiveness, for the restoration of his father’s favor.
A third interpretation depends on a more literal translation of the phrase—“having come to himself.” This turning point may involve not so much a reassessment of his situation or repentance of his sin but a reevaluation of himself. He remembers who he is and whose he is, a child of the father, an heir of the father. True repentance, true coming to oneself, is something even more fundamental than turning away from sin. It is a turning toward, a return to, our best selves, our true selves. Human beings, all human beings, Pharisees and teachers of the law and tax collectors and sinners, are after all made in the image and likeness of God. (Genesis 1.27-28) This understanding revolutionizes our relationship with God, our estimate of our selves, and our attitude toward others.
Each of these interpretations teaches us something.
1) Sometimes the circumstances of our lives become so chaotic, so out of control, so painful, that we are forced to
rethink our course and do the only thing more desperate than running away--stumbling home. This parable
illustrates what can happen when the only way forward is back, the only way on is up, the only way away is
home again.
2) Sometimes the sin in our lives is so black, so cold, that we know that we must turn away from it, be done with it, if
we are ever to experience the light and love of the Son again. This parable holds out the hope of real
repentance, even in the fading light and frigid landscape of our far country.
3) Sometimes the sub-human lifestyles we choose and the inhuman ways we treat others become so painfully clear
that they allow us, they force us, to come to ourselves, to see the human beings we were created to be. This
parable teaches us that to come to God is to come to ourselves, to recall who we are and whose we are, the
image and likeness of God, the children and heirs of God.
How many hired hands of my father are being filled with bread-loaves,
and I am dying here with hunger,
Πόσοι μίσθιοι τοῦ πατρός μου περισσεύονται ἄρτων,
ἐγὼ δὲ λιμῷ ὧδε ἀπόλλυμαι,
When the younger son “comes to himself,” the first thing he thinks of is the father, his father. No matter how far he has fled from his father, the relationship still remains. No matter how far he has fallen in his father’s expectations, the relationship still remains. And when he thinks of his father, he thinks of how his father treats others. He does not think of those family members for whom the father is obligated to show care—the sons begotten of the father or the slaves and servants beholden to the father. He thinks of the day laborers, the hired hands, the men who occasionally work on the farm as the cycle of seasonal demands dictates. The son clearly remembers how, even to these workers, the father was generous, compassionate, prodigal, extravagant in his care. The language itself is extravagant—they abound, they overflow, with bread. Even to these men who are lower in status than sons and less secure than slaves the father provides an overflowing abundance of food.
We know from verse 14 that a severe famine of long duration had descended on the far country to which the younger son has traveled. Buffered at first from the effects of the famine by his wealth, the son eventually “began to be in want.” Now reduced to abject poverty he feels its full force. The word used here means either “hunger,” the personal effects of a famine, or “famine,” the general cause of the hunger. Verse 14 appears to be referring to the cause, the famine, while verse 17 refers to the effect, the hunger. The adverb “here” emphasizes the contrast with life back home, where his father’s thoughtful generosity makes provision for all in his acquaintance.
What about “I am dying”? The language is at least dramatic. The word translated “dying” literally means “perishing,” “falling into ruin,” “being destroyed.” The language may also be hyperbolic, a powerful way of highlighting his poverty, his hunger, his suffering, his lack of material possessions, the absence of any buffer between himself and life’s hardships. On the other hand the assertion may not be intended as an exaggeration at all. The young man may well have felt his very life slipping away from exposure and malnourishment and the disease that almost universally accompanies famine. In either case the language is intensely personal; the “I” of “I am dying” translates an extra, emphatic pronoun unnecessary to the grammar. In stark contrast to the father’s family, staff of servants, and even his hired hands, the son despairs of life.
The contrasting circumstances reflected in the son’s words are suggestive.
1) When the younger son “came to himself,” he did think about other people (the “hired hands”) who were in better,
safer circumstances than he, and he did think about the possessions that he was sorely lacking (most basically
“bread”). But he thought about these things in the context of thoughts about his father—his father’s resources,
his father’s generosity. This parable is first and foremost about a relationship, an ongoing relationship with God
that neither distance nor dire straits can destroy.
2) It is important to remember that the son compares his circumstances not to the father’s other son or to the father’s
servants but to hired hands, workers who had no direct connection to the father and to whom the father had no
obligation. This parable affirms the father’s provision, perhaps, prodigal provision, for all people.
3) It is hunger that forces the son to think about home. His hunger is physical of course, but there are other hungers,
other areas of emptiness in his life. He lacks possessions to expend for himself or others, he lacks meaningful
work, and he lacks friends or at least friends who can or will come to his aid. This parable highlights several
horrible hungers—a famine of resources, a famine of respect, a famine of relationships.
4) Whether or not the son was near death physically, his resources and relationships were in ruins. There is nothing
exaggerated about the father’s words at the end of the parable—“This, your brother, was dead and has come
back to life.” This parable reminds us that there are many ways to die—relationally, economically, socially,
psychologically, and spiritually.
15.18
I will rise and go to my father and say to him,
Father, I sinned against heaven and before you,
ἀναστὰς πορεύσομαι πρὸς τὸν πατέρα μου καὶ ἐρῶ αὐτῷ,
Πάτερ, ἥμαρτον εἰς τὸν οὐρανὸν καὶ ἐνώπιόν σου,
The younger son’s regret turns to resolve. He will act. He must act. And he must act decisively. That is the point of the words, “rise and go.” I will go at once. No more waiting, no more wallowing. But go where? Not to his homeland, not to his village, not even home. He wants to go to his father, his father. This confirms that what the son has abandoned is not a place but a person, that the parable is about broken relationships. He trembles at the thought of that first encounter—what should he do, how should he act, what should he say? It is no wonder that the son rehearses his opening words.
The first word of the homecoming speech is “Father.” The father is the main character of the parable—“a certain man.” The father is the object of the younger son’s ill-conceived request—“Father, give me.” And the father is the actor in the distribution of the inheritance—“and so he divided.” Life with father is where the son’s mind turns in his extremity. Now he plans to journey to his father. And the first word out of his mouth will be “Father.” The father is present even when the son is absent, never far from the mind of the son even when he is far away in the far country.
His next words constitute a confession. Some readers hear only manipulation in the words of verses 18 and 19, as if the son is doing no more here than maneuver himself into a position of economic viability. They suggest that all he wants is a job not the joy of a restored relationship. Others point out that this rehearsed script may be remorse but not full repentance. They suggest that he may be willing to express some sorrow but not to experience a real change. On the other hand “I have sinned” certainly sounds like real remorse, and remorse is frequently the first step toward full repentance.
Accepting his words as a sincere confession of sin, we wonder what sin he is confessing. Is it the abandonment of familial responsibilities, his poor stewardship of the inheritance, his wastefulness, the sinful ways he spent his money—drunkenness, promiscuity, gambling, eating unclean food, consorting with unclean people? One thing we know about the nature of his sin is that he considers it a sin “against heaven,” that is, against God. Jews in Jesus’ day were reticent to speak the name of God, so “heaven” served as one of their euphemisms for God. He has violated his covenant relationship with God.
The other thing we know is that he has sinned “in the presence of his father.” This wording, “in the presence of,” may point to the fact that the real sin was the original request, when he was standing before his father, demanding the inheritance, and in effect wishing him dead. It may also suggest that the father was ever present with the son even in the far country, even as he acted in imprudent and inappropriate ways. Whatever moral codes he may or may not have broken, the younger son has sinned by breaking, dishonoring, disrespecting his relationship with his God and his father.
An interesting footnote to verse 18 is the mention of God and the father in the same literary breath. We are so accustomed to equating the father of the parable with God, in other words we are so accustomed to treating this parable as an allegory, that we forget that the father is a human character in a story, not just a place-holder for God. The father does not “equal” God, but taken as a whole the parable—with all its events and all its characters—stands in part as a testimony to God’s compassion toward sinners.
What do we learn from the son’s resolve to return and his decision to confess?
1) We might remind those who say that God is not only the main actor but the only actor in this parable of grace and
forgiveness that the younger son does act—he comes to himself, he reassesses his circumstances, he
remembers his father, he resolves to return, and he rehearses his confession. This is a parable not only about
a God who acts but a son who acts, about a son who acts not only foolishly and sinfully but also in ways that
open him to God’s redemptive acts in his life.
2) The father in the parable represents the God who is there. He is at home, waiting. But he is also off in the far
country, on the heart, in the mind, on the lips of the younger son. And, as we will soon see, he is also out in the
field with the older son, assuring him that he is ever-present there as well—“you are always with me.” This is a
parable in which Jesus teaches us about the God who is there, present at every point and in every place, now
and always, near and far away.
3) The main point of this parable is the compassion of God. But compassion can be rejected, refused. It is not
without significance that the younger son opens himself to the father’s compassion with confession and
contrition. It is only the first step toward full repentance, but it is a step. This parable exemplifies how pivotal
sincere sorrow for sin and honest confession is in the process of divine forgiveness.
4) “I have sinned”—just what sin or sins is the son confessing? Interpreters and artists have often depicted a younger
son drinking in excess, carousing with prostitutes, or gambling. Later (verse 30) the older son claims that his
brother acted prodigally and promiscuously, not only wastefully but wantonly. But the older son may be
inventing these accusations out of jealousy. And the older son, while carefully living up to his father’s moral
expectations, refuses to share his father’s compassion. This parable demonstrates that sin is not limited to
moral failings but involves falling out of love with the God who lavishly loves us.
15.19
No longer am I worthy to be called your son,
make me as one of your hired hands.
οὐκέτι εἰμὶ ἄξιος κληθῆναι υἱός σου,
ποίησόν με ὡς ἕνα τῶν μισθίων σου.
In verse 19 the younger son continues to plan his homecoming speech. He moves from confession (“I have sinned”) to admission (“I am no longer worthy”). “Worthy” suggests a moral fitness that would make the son deserving of compassion from the father. The fact that he felt ”no longer” worthy implies that he once thought himself worthy of his father’s love, before he asked for his inheritance, before he left home, before he squandered all his possessions, before he lived among unclean people and pigs. The son’s greatest confusion, perhaps his greatest sin, may be revealed here, the notion that he was ever worthy, that his father’s love was ever based on worthiness. But coupled with this great confusion is a great insight. “Unworthy to be called your son” clarifies the son’s offense in his mind and ours. However much he misunderstands his father’s mercy, however much he underestimates his father’s grace, he at least knows that it is his relationship with his father, his sonship, which he had violated.
Finally we move from confession to admission to resolution. However humiliated the son may be, he is still unfortunately giving orders. First it was “give me” and now it is “make me.” The demand seems humble enough, but the intent is unclear. He does not ask to be restored to his status as a son, but neither does he ask to be made a slave or servant in the household, although this is the way the request is often interpreted and even translated. He plans to ask his father—the father who has already raided his assets to come up with a third to a half of the inheritance—to pay him wages as a hired hand, a day laborer. There would be no restoration of the relationship, no reunion of father and son, no repayment of the lost inheritance, just a salary.
The question remains—does this planned speech flow from a repentant heart or a desperate, manipulative heart? Some read these words as repentance—a humble, sincere repentance that no longer presumes on the father’s generosity. Others are convinced that there is no repentance at all in these words, only a last-ditch attempt to position himself for an escape from the pig sty and the attainment of a reasonable standard of economic stability. If these words stood alone—“make me as one of your hired hands”—it would be easier to accept the wholly negative reading. But the resolution flows from an open admission (“I am no longer worthy”) and that from an honest confession (“I sinned”) and all in the context of the real issue, not a misuse of money but an abuse of relationship.
Are there any lessons we can take away from these somewhat ambiguous words?
1) The son’s “epiphany in the pigpen” is enlightening. It highlights the negative tendency, the temptation to think that
our relationship with God is based on our worthiness. God does not spurn a relationship with us when we are
unworthy, and we cannot earn a relationship with God by being worthy. This parable reminds us that, since
God does not evaluate our standing before him on the basis of our worthiness or unworthiness, we dare not
either.
2) On the positive side, even though the younger son mistakenly focuses on his unworthiness, he does at least realize
that what has suffered is his relationship with God. If we take the words “no longer” literally, they suggest that
the son remembered the father-son relationship he had once enjoyed. This parable forces us to admit that the
crisis we find ourselves in is a crisis of relationship, not of wasted resources but of wasted relationships.
3) We can hardly fault the son’s resolve to return, but it is all on his own terms. He imagines himself ordering his
father around—“make me.” He still thinks he knows arrangement, the best solution for their estrangement.
This parable helps us face up to the face that “father knows best,” that the ones whose resolve to leave home on
his own disastrous terms probably should trust the father to set the terms of our return.
4) Call it true repentance or not, but something in the younger son is changing. After weeks, months, years of turning
away from the father, the son is turning back toward the father. That, after all, is what repentance is, a
reorientation of one’s self toward God on the basis of a recognition of a relationship with God. This parable
encourages us to honor even fledgling repentance, even first steps back toward God.
And after not many days having gathered everything
the younger son departed into a distant region
καὶ μετ’ οὐ πολλὰς ἡμέρας συναγαγὼν πάντα
ὁ νεώτερος υἱὸς ἀπεδήμησεν εἰς χώραν μακράν,
The younger son who seized the initiative in verse 12 continues to control the action in verse 13. “After not many days” is a figure of speech (one that Luke loved to use; compare Acts 1.5) meaning “only a few days later.” The son’s actions remain precipitous—his request for his inheritance was sudden (and thoughtless?), as are the liquidation of his property and the leavetaking from his family that we are about to encounter.
His first action is to “gather everything together.” Since the inheritance was likely to have been in land (and perhaps some livestock), the younger son would have had to quickly liquidate his holdings, turning all his assets into cash. He would have had to sell, no doubt at a loss, to neighbors who, with some embarrassment for the father, would have still eagerly seized the opportunity to add land and livestock at a bargain.
The second action is to “depart,” that is, to set off on a journey. And this journey was not to Jerusalem or Jericho, but to a “far” country, a “long” way away (the Greek word is “makros,” macro). Notice that if it were a distant country it was surely a Gentile land. The younger son not only distances himself from his family, he may be distancing himself from his faith, surrounding himself with those who did not honor God. Of course there was nothing odd about a young Jew in Jesus’ day journeying to a distant city—Antioch, Alexandria, Ephesus, Corinth, Rome—to engage in business and make money. But this young man’s goal seems to have been to spend money!
What do we learn from the younger son’s actions?
1) The younger son’s actions in this parable (except perhaps the hard and humiliating decision to return home) are all
so precipitous, so rash, so ill-conceived, and ultimately so hurtful that they stand as a warning not only in their
wrongness or wastefulness but in their hastiness. This parable illustrates the longsuffering and patience of a
compassionate father in part by contrasting them with the hastiness and foolhardiness of the son.
2) Not only does the younger son disrespect his father but he also disregards the family estate, the covenant heritage
perhaps passed down for centuries. This parable reminds us that our imperishable spiritual heritage, the
presence and promises of God, should not be lightly traded away for the very appealing but very perishable
things of this world.
3) Jesus calls us to a journey. He is the way, he meets us on our way, he sends us out on his way, to encounter
others on their way, and by so doing they and we become the Way. But his way is not the path of escape or
self-aggrandizement. This parable hints that our path is the path of finding our true home not escaping it, of
self-sacrifice not self-service.
4) Jesus calls his followers to a journey that often, maybe always, leads to “far countries,” to pagan lands. Those far
countries are filled with the possibility of alienation and temptation and rejection and regret, but they are also full
of the possibility of fulfillment. This parable holds out hope that the very unbelievers who may be the source of
our spiritual undermining might become the object of our spiritual outreach.
and there he squandered his substance living unwholesomely.
καὶ ἐκεῖ διεσκόρπισεν τὴν οὐσίαν αὐτοῦ ζῶν ἀσώτως.
The third action of the younger son is to “scatter,” a verb that implies squandering or wasting one’s resources. The opening words of verse 14—“having spent everything”—confirm this negative reading. His “scattering” forms an interesting contrast to the action of “gathering” mentioned earlier in the verse. This notion of scattering suggests that the young man spends his money in a variety of ways, ways which are not specified. But there is no doubt what he scatters—“his substance.” It is the same term used in verse 12 for material possessions or property. Verse 14 clarifies how much he scatters, “everything,” reminiscent of the “everything” he has demanded from his inheritance in verse 12.
Finally we learn how he scatters, squanders his possessions—“by unwholesome living.” The word “unwholesome” can suggest inappropriate behavior, loose living, debauchery, sin; but it may only reinforce the concept of wastefulness. It is this statement—and there he “wasted” his possessions in “wasteful” living—that provides the popular title for this parable, the Prodigal Son. The English word “prodigal” means wasteful, spendthrift, extravagant, lavish, or reckless.
The sentence that comprises verse 13 appears to focus exclusively on the actions of the younger son, but the other two main characters are still very present. The word “son” reminds us that there is a father, and the word “younger” reminds us that there is a brother. And once we notice them, we realize that the actions of the younger son—“gathered,” “departed,” “squandered”— impact them directly and direly as well. The possessions the younger son gathered and squandered were still legally at the disposition of the father and their liquidation and loss would have negatively affected the family’s assets. And the leave-taking of the younger son was personal not just geographical. When he departed, he left not just a land or a home but a father and a family. He not only wasted his finances, he squandered his filial and familial relationships.
And in noticing the father at this point in the parable, we are forced to yet another striking realization—the father’s permissiveness. He let his son have the inheritance, he let his son leave home and family, and he let his son live wildly and wastefully in the far country. This astounding permissiveness, this liberality, this gratuity, lays the basis for our understanding and appreciation of the father’s amazing compassion, his grace, his love at the son’s return.
From this pivotal point in the plot of the parable we learn even more.
1) The behavior of the younger son in the far country may not have been “sinful” in the typical sense of that word. But
his scattering, his squandering, suggests a certain lack of focus that speaks to missed opportunities. This
parable calls us to a focused life, life that is not just moral but is meaningful.
2) The “substance” (“being”) that the younger son squandered was precisely the property, the material possessions at
his disposal. This parable reminds us that, although they do not define us, our possessions and their use are
an important part of our relationship to God and our life before him.
3) There is no evidence that the younger son was promiscuous or a drunkard or a gambler. His error is prodigality,
the expenditure of his possessions to no purpose. This parable teaches us about prodigality—the dangerous
prodigality of expending possessions to no purpose and the delightful prodigality of lavish love and extravagant
mercy.
4) As we consider the life of the younger son in the far country, we would do well not to forget the presence of the
father. The son never does. This parable reminds us that all of our resources—those we employ wisely and
those we use wastefully—were provided by God, should honor God, and always belong to God.
5) The son said, Give, and the father gave. The father stands by when the son sells their heritage. The son leaves
and the father lets him. The father looks on as the son loses it all. This parable forces us to face a stark reality
about God—God’s permissive will—which forms the context of his compassion and mercy.
15.14
And when he had spent everything there was a strong famine across that region,
and he began to be in want.
δαπανήσαντος δὲ αὐτοῦ πάντα ἐγένετο λιμὸς ἰσχυρὰ κατὰ τὴν χώραν ἐκείνην,
καὶ αὐτὸς ἤρξατο ὑστερεῖσθαι.
Verse 14 begins by reasserting the spendthrift life of the younger son in the far country. “Spending” means just what it says, but there is some evidence that “wasteful” spending is implied. This connotation reaffirms our understanding the verb “squandered” in verse 13. The prodigal son has expended his possessions prodigally. What about the word “everything”? It may be a hyperbole, a deliberate exaggeration to emphasize his dire financial straits. Luke and other biblical writers (most ancient writers for that matter) were fond of hyperbole to make dramatic points. Mark 1.5, for example, affirms that every inhabitant of Jerusalem and Judea came to listen to John the Baptist preach. The point? Huge crowds came to hear John preach. On the other hand, Jesus may mean “everything,” given the desperate circumstances of the younger son described in the next verse.
“Strong” was the way ancient writers characterized a severe and unremitting drought and hunger it caused. Famines were fairly common in Palestine. Rainfall was limited and there were no permanent rivers, only intermittent streams called wadis that swelled to torrent after a rain and then dried up to nothing but a river of rocks. From Genesis to Revelation, from the famine that drove the Israelites to Egypt to Elijah, famines were seen as both divine punishments and divine opportunities. This famine is not localized. It spreads across and throughout the whole far country to which the son had traveled.
The rest of verse 14 literally reads, “and he himself began to be lacking.” The emphatic subject, “he himself,” implies that even he, wealthy as he was, is suffering the effects of the famine. Those effects may have crept up on him little by little—“began” to be in want. On the other hand this construction may be a Semitic idiom (which Luke had picked up from the Septuagint) which means nothing more than “and he was in want.” As a result of two factors—his spendthrift ways and the unexpected famine—the son now “lacks” the resources he needs to sustain life, experiences “deficiency” instead of his former sufficiency, and sinks into abject poverty.
Speaking of poverty, it is important to remember that poverty has different causes. Poverty can be caused by circumstances. Physical developments, like droughts and famines, sometimes suddenly sap people’s resources. Poverty can be caused by life choices. Some people “live” themselves into poverty, through extravagant living, through gambling, through greedy and unwise investments. But here is nothing inherently sinful about poverty. Some “give” themselves to the brink of poverty. Remember the generous widow of Luke 21.1-4, who gave “out of her poverty all she had to live on.” Remember the generous believers in the churches of Macedonia mentioned in 2 Corinthians 8.1-4, whose “extreme poverty overflowed in a wealth of generosity.”
A couple of insights emerge from this part of the narrative.
1) The drought was not the son’s fault, but the wasteful expenditure of his possessions left the son vulnerable to the
physical and financial consequences of the drought. This parable hints at the importance of wise spending as
opposed to wasteful spending.
2) Poverty in itself is not sin. This very parable offers an example of someone willing to divest himself of all his
possessions for the sake of others—the father. This parable highlights the difference between a poverty of
wastefulness and a poverty of generosity.
15.15
And he went and joined himself to one of the citizens of that region,
and he sent him into the fields to feed pigs,
καὶ πορευθεὶς ἐκολλήθη ἑνὶ τῶν πολιτῶν τῆς χώρας ἐκείνης,
καὶ ἔπεμψεν αὐτὸν εἰς τοὺς ἀγροὺς αὐτοῦ βόσκειν χοίρους,
The younger son knows he has to act. He “journeys” and he “joins” himself to one of the citizens of that country—the far country to which he traveled (verse 13), the country suffering under the famine (verse 14). The meaning of the main verb is interesting. Its root means “glue.” Luke often uses the verb for especially close personal relationships. Matthew 19.5 (from Genesis 2.24) describes the marital bond with the same word: “For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be ‘glued’ to his wife.” In this context the term implies a financial ensnarement; the son is trapped in a cycle of poverty and indentured servitude with little hope of betterment or escape.
The political term “citizen” may itself refer to a Gentile. This identification was originally hinted at by the phrase “a far country” and is surely confirmed by the mention of pigs. The only other reference to pigs in Luke comes in the story of the Gerasene demoniac (8.26-39). Gerasa was in the Decapolis, “ten cities” populated by Gentiles and lying to the east of the Sea of Galilee. Jesus (and his listeners) may well have been envisioning the far country as the Decapolis and the pig farmer as one of the Gentile “citizens” of the “Ten Cities.” Jews were urged to avoid contact with Gentiles for any reason. The fact that the son has entered a close, nearly inescapable relationship with a Gentile further illustrates the depth of his desperation.
The “he” of the next clause is the Gentile farmer, not the younger son. The landowner sends him into “his fields.” It is fields like this that surround the home from which the son has fled. It is a field like this in which his older brother will later stand, equally alienated from the father. But it is worse than a field. It is a pig field! Leviticus 11.7 taught that “the pig is unclean for you”—eating pig, owning pigs, tending pigs, feeding pigs. It was that last unclean and abominable practice that the son was sent to do.
Is there anything to be learned from this seemingly straightforward description of the son’s desperate situation?
1) “Glued to a Gentile” was a concept that would have horrified the Pharisees and teachers of the law to whom Jesus
was speaking this parable. It was the circumstance in which Jewish tax collectors found themselves, working
for Gentile oppressors, and for which Pharisees despised them (see Matthew 18.17). This parable speaks to
those of us whose life circumstances have trapped us in “unclean” and oppressive relationships.
2) The irony of this point of the parable is that Jesus did go into the far country, into the Decapolis, into Gentile territory,
where he ministered to Gentiles in the same ways he ministered to Jews. There he found followers, like the
Gerasene demoniac of Luke 8. This parable reminds us that to follow the way of Jesus means to reach out to
those our culture calls “unclean,” even to our enemies.
3) The food laws of Leviticus 11 had a powerful influence on the people of Jesus’ day, on their dietary habits and their
interpersonal relationships. Jesus did not teach these restrictions to his followers. Instead he said, “Eat
whatever is set before you.” (10.8) By declaring “all foods clean” (Mark 7.19), Jesus redefined our relation to
the law and to other people. This parable encourages us to view all of creation and each person as the good
creation of God.
4) Of all the animals, pigs came to symbolize “uncleanness” for Jews. When a cruel oppressor wanted to desecrate
the Jewish temple in 167 BC, he had his soldiers sacrifice a pig on the altar. Nothing would have seemed
worse to Jesus’ fellow Jews than to be among pigs. This parable reminds us that we can still see home from
the pigpen, that holiness is more a matter of the heart than of our circumstances.
15.16
and he kept desiring to fill his stomach from the pods
which the pigs were eating, and no one was giving him [anything].
καὶ ἐπεθύμει γεμίσαι τὴν κοιλίαν αὐτοῦ ἀπὸ τῶν κερατίων
ὧν ἤσθιον οἱ χοῖροι, καὶ οὐδεὶς ἐδίδου αὐτῷ.
In this verse the younger son reaches rock bottom, the farthest corner of the far country. How do we define the depths of his despair? It was not so much his poverty, his expenditure of all his material resources. It was not so much his sin; there is no proof that his “prodigal” lifestyle was a sinful lifestyle. It was not so much being forced to work for a living rather than living off his largesse. It was not so much living among Gentiles or even working for a Gentile. It was not so much pigs or feeding pigs. It was not even just his gnawing hunger. It was his utter abandonment by anyone who would provide anything to sustain or enrich his life. It was a crisis of relationship.
The verb “kept desiring” invites two somewhat different interpretations. It may mean, “he was so hungry he would have liked to eat the carob pods, but he just could not stomach it.” Or it could mean, “he was so hungry he wanted to eat the carob pods, and in his desperation he actually did.” There is also some discussion over whether carob pods where impossible for a human to consume or whether the poorest of the rural poor were at times driven to share this nearly indigestible animal fodder. Either way—whether he actually ate food fit only for pigs or not—the point is the extremity of his hunger not his menu, and as it turns out the real crisis is not only his hunger for food but for friendship.
If the younger son has had friends in the far country, they have probably been getters rather than givers. But now that his resources have dried up like carob pods, his friends have disappeared. The word “anything” does not appear in the sentence. The absence of this direct object shifts the focus back to the subject and the action—“no one” and “was giving.” The grammatical form of the verb implies on-going action, a persistent disregard for the needs of this once flush now flat broke immigrant. The subject invites us to imagine friends who have enjoyed the free-spending ways of this wealthy foreigner. But now there is “no one”—not only no funds, no fun, and no food, but no friends and no family.
No family. This last fact, this last lack, this “no one,” recalls the image of the one person who has given, who has sacrificially, painfully, humbly, and generously made provision for the son—the father, who is now very present in the story by his absence. Someone has given to the son, given his very living. Someone has never said, “no,” “enough,” “too much,” “no more.” Now how will the younger son respond, now that he has confronted “no one,” something even more terrifying than “nothing”?
What do we gain from standing with the younger son at the moment he reaches rock bottom?
1) We are not surprised that Jesus couches the crisis of this parable as a crisis of relationship. It was a crisis of
relationship—the Pharisees’ accusation that “Jesus welcomes sinners and eats with them”—that occasioned the
parable. This parable confronts us with two crises of relationship—one caused by the contempt of the
Pharisees and another called forth by the compassion of Jesus.
2) Some of us can still remember the unpleasant task of carrying a day’s worth of kitchen scraps and garbage to a pig
pen. The thought of eating those off-scourings trampled in the mud and manure of the sty is disgusting enough.
Actually eating them is unthinkable! This parable assaults our senses and confronts us with the desperate
depths to which many of us—even his followers—sink when we abandon life with the father.
3) The language of utter abandonment—“no one was giving him”—climaxes the son’s descent into desperation and
despair. As necessary as it is to consider all the ways that abandonment manifested itself, we dare not forget
that what the son lacks the most, needs the most, is his father. This is a parable not only about a son who was
lost but also about a son who had lost not only resources but relationships, not only funds and friends but a
father.
15.17
And having come to himself he said,
εἰς ἑαυτὸν δὲ ἐλθὼν ἔφη,
Having reached the nadir of the younger son’s circumstances, the parable now introduces a turning point in his convictions. “Having come to himself” may mean something like what we mean by “having come to his senses,” “having faced up to reality.” But if it means that, about what has he come to his senses, to what reality has he faced up? One answer is, he came to his senses regarding his situation. He now realizes—given the loss of all his possessions, the abandonment by his friends, his famished body, the unclean citizenry with whom he must associate, the disgusting work in which he is engaged, and the foul food he is forced to eat—that something must change. He longs for a return, but not a reunion. He longs for rescue, but not reconciliation. He longs for home, but not a homecoming. He needs to reevaluate his life, but there is no need for repentance.
But there is another way to read this “having come to his senses.” This phrase may well represent not just a reevaluation of his situation but a reassessment of his life direction, his decisions. Perhaps he is in fact facing up to the reality of his sin—either the sinful life he has lived in the far country or the sin of disgracing and disregarding his father or both. Perhaps the realization represented by these words his true repentance, the recognition of his need for forgiveness, for the restoration of his father’s favor.
A third interpretation depends on a more literal translation of the phrase—“having come to himself.” This turning point may involve not so much a reassessment of his situation or repentance of his sin but a reevaluation of himself. He remembers who he is and whose he is, a child of the father, an heir of the father. True repentance, true coming to oneself, is something even more fundamental than turning away from sin. It is a turning toward, a return to, our best selves, our true selves. Human beings, all human beings, Pharisees and teachers of the law and tax collectors and sinners, are after all made in the image and likeness of God. (Genesis 1.27-28) This understanding revolutionizes our relationship with God, our estimate of our selves, and our attitude toward others.
Each of these interpretations teaches us something.
1) Sometimes the circumstances of our lives become so chaotic, so out of control, so painful, that we are forced to
rethink our course and do the only thing more desperate than running away--stumbling home. This parable
illustrates what can happen when the only way forward is back, the only way on is up, the only way away is
home again.
2) Sometimes the sin in our lives is so black, so cold, that we know that we must turn away from it, be done with it, if
we are ever to experience the light and love of the Son again. This parable holds out the hope of real
repentance, even in the fading light and frigid landscape of our far country.
3) Sometimes the sub-human lifestyles we choose and the inhuman ways we treat others become so painfully clear
that they allow us, they force us, to come to ourselves, to see the human beings we were created to be. This
parable teaches us that to come to God is to come to ourselves, to recall who we are and whose we are, the
image and likeness of God, the children and heirs of God.
How many hired hands of my father are being filled with bread-loaves,
and I am dying here with hunger,
Πόσοι μίσθιοι τοῦ πατρός μου περισσεύονται ἄρτων,
ἐγὼ δὲ λιμῷ ὧδε ἀπόλλυμαι,
When the younger son “comes to himself,” the first thing he thinks of is the father, his father. No matter how far he has fled from his father, the relationship still remains. No matter how far he has fallen in his father’s expectations, the relationship still remains. And when he thinks of his father, he thinks of how his father treats others. He does not think of those family members for whom the father is obligated to show care—the sons begotten of the father or the slaves and servants beholden to the father. He thinks of the day laborers, the hired hands, the men who occasionally work on the farm as the cycle of seasonal demands dictates. The son clearly remembers how, even to these workers, the father was generous, compassionate, prodigal, extravagant in his care. The language itself is extravagant—they abound, they overflow, with bread. Even to these men who are lower in status than sons and less secure than slaves the father provides an overflowing abundance of food.
We know from verse 14 that a severe famine of long duration had descended on the far country to which the younger son has traveled. Buffered at first from the effects of the famine by his wealth, the son eventually “began to be in want.” Now reduced to abject poverty he feels its full force. The word used here means either “hunger,” the personal effects of a famine, or “famine,” the general cause of the hunger. Verse 14 appears to be referring to the cause, the famine, while verse 17 refers to the effect, the hunger. The adverb “here” emphasizes the contrast with life back home, where his father’s thoughtful generosity makes provision for all in his acquaintance.
What about “I am dying”? The language is at least dramatic. The word translated “dying” literally means “perishing,” “falling into ruin,” “being destroyed.” The language may also be hyperbolic, a powerful way of highlighting his poverty, his hunger, his suffering, his lack of material possessions, the absence of any buffer between himself and life’s hardships. On the other hand the assertion may not be intended as an exaggeration at all. The young man may well have felt his very life slipping away from exposure and malnourishment and the disease that almost universally accompanies famine. In either case the language is intensely personal; the “I” of “I am dying” translates an extra, emphatic pronoun unnecessary to the grammar. In stark contrast to the father’s family, staff of servants, and even his hired hands, the son despairs of life.
The contrasting circumstances reflected in the son’s words are suggestive.
1) When the younger son “came to himself,” he did think about other people (the “hired hands”) who were in better,
safer circumstances than he, and he did think about the possessions that he was sorely lacking (most basically
“bread”). But he thought about these things in the context of thoughts about his father—his father’s resources,
his father’s generosity. This parable is first and foremost about a relationship, an ongoing relationship with God
that neither distance nor dire straits can destroy.
2) It is important to remember that the son compares his circumstances not to the father’s other son or to the father’s
servants but to hired hands, workers who had no direct connection to the father and to whom the father had no
obligation. This parable affirms the father’s provision, perhaps, prodigal provision, for all people.
3) It is hunger that forces the son to think about home. His hunger is physical of course, but there are other hungers,
other areas of emptiness in his life. He lacks possessions to expend for himself or others, he lacks meaningful
work, and he lacks friends or at least friends who can or will come to his aid. This parable highlights several
horrible hungers—a famine of resources, a famine of respect, a famine of relationships.
4) Whether or not the son was near death physically, his resources and relationships were in ruins. There is nothing
exaggerated about the father’s words at the end of the parable—“This, your brother, was dead and has come
back to life.” This parable reminds us that there are many ways to die—relationally, economically, socially,
psychologically, and spiritually.
15.18
I will rise and go to my father and say to him,
Father, I sinned against heaven and before you,
ἀναστὰς πορεύσομαι πρὸς τὸν πατέρα μου καὶ ἐρῶ αὐτῷ,
Πάτερ, ἥμαρτον εἰς τὸν οὐρανὸν καὶ ἐνώπιόν σου,
The younger son’s regret turns to resolve. He will act. He must act. And he must act decisively. That is the point of the words, “rise and go.” I will go at once. No more waiting, no more wallowing. But go where? Not to his homeland, not to his village, not even home. He wants to go to his father, his father. This confirms that what the son has abandoned is not a place but a person, that the parable is about broken relationships. He trembles at the thought of that first encounter—what should he do, how should he act, what should he say? It is no wonder that the son rehearses his opening words.
The first word of the homecoming speech is “Father.” The father is the main character of the parable—“a certain man.” The father is the object of the younger son’s ill-conceived request—“Father, give me.” And the father is the actor in the distribution of the inheritance—“and so he divided.” Life with father is where the son’s mind turns in his extremity. Now he plans to journey to his father. And the first word out of his mouth will be “Father.” The father is present even when the son is absent, never far from the mind of the son even when he is far away in the far country.
His next words constitute a confession. Some readers hear only manipulation in the words of verses 18 and 19, as if the son is doing no more here than maneuver himself into a position of economic viability. They suggest that all he wants is a job not the joy of a restored relationship. Others point out that this rehearsed script may be remorse but not full repentance. They suggest that he may be willing to express some sorrow but not to experience a real change. On the other hand “I have sinned” certainly sounds like real remorse, and remorse is frequently the first step toward full repentance.
Accepting his words as a sincere confession of sin, we wonder what sin he is confessing. Is it the abandonment of familial responsibilities, his poor stewardship of the inheritance, his wastefulness, the sinful ways he spent his money—drunkenness, promiscuity, gambling, eating unclean food, consorting with unclean people? One thing we know about the nature of his sin is that he considers it a sin “against heaven,” that is, against God. Jews in Jesus’ day were reticent to speak the name of God, so “heaven” served as one of their euphemisms for God. He has violated his covenant relationship with God.
The other thing we know is that he has sinned “in the presence of his father.” This wording, “in the presence of,” may point to the fact that the real sin was the original request, when he was standing before his father, demanding the inheritance, and in effect wishing him dead. It may also suggest that the father was ever present with the son even in the far country, even as he acted in imprudent and inappropriate ways. Whatever moral codes he may or may not have broken, the younger son has sinned by breaking, dishonoring, disrespecting his relationship with his God and his father.
An interesting footnote to verse 18 is the mention of God and the father in the same literary breath. We are so accustomed to equating the father of the parable with God, in other words we are so accustomed to treating this parable as an allegory, that we forget that the father is a human character in a story, not just a place-holder for God. The father does not “equal” God, but taken as a whole the parable—with all its events and all its characters—stands in part as a testimony to God’s compassion toward sinners.
What do we learn from the son’s resolve to return and his decision to confess?
1) We might remind those who say that God is not only the main actor but the only actor in this parable of grace and
forgiveness that the younger son does act—he comes to himself, he reassesses his circumstances, he
remembers his father, he resolves to return, and he rehearses his confession. This is a parable not only about
a God who acts but a son who acts, about a son who acts not only foolishly and sinfully but also in ways that
open him to God’s redemptive acts in his life.
2) The father in the parable represents the God who is there. He is at home, waiting. But he is also off in the far
country, on the heart, in the mind, on the lips of the younger son. And, as we will soon see, he is also out in the
field with the older son, assuring him that he is ever-present there as well—“you are always with me.” This is a
parable in which Jesus teaches us about the God who is there, present at every point and in every place, now
and always, near and far away.
3) The main point of this parable is the compassion of God. But compassion can be rejected, refused. It is not
without significance that the younger son opens himself to the father’s compassion with confession and
contrition. It is only the first step toward full repentance, but it is a step. This parable exemplifies how pivotal
sincere sorrow for sin and honest confession is in the process of divine forgiveness.
4) “I have sinned”—just what sin or sins is the son confessing? Interpreters and artists have often depicted a younger
son drinking in excess, carousing with prostitutes, or gambling. Later (verse 30) the older son claims that his
brother acted prodigally and promiscuously, not only wastefully but wantonly. But the older son may be
inventing these accusations out of jealousy. And the older son, while carefully living up to his father’s moral
expectations, refuses to share his father’s compassion. This parable demonstrates that sin is not limited to
moral failings but involves falling out of love with the God who lavishly loves us.
15.19
No longer am I worthy to be called your son,
make me as one of your hired hands.
οὐκέτι εἰμὶ ἄξιος κληθῆναι υἱός σου,
ποίησόν με ὡς ἕνα τῶν μισθίων σου.
In verse 19 the younger son continues to plan his homecoming speech. He moves from confession (“I have sinned”) to admission (“I am no longer worthy”). “Worthy” suggests a moral fitness that would make the son deserving of compassion from the father. The fact that he felt ”no longer” worthy implies that he once thought himself worthy of his father’s love, before he asked for his inheritance, before he left home, before he squandered all his possessions, before he lived among unclean people and pigs. The son’s greatest confusion, perhaps his greatest sin, may be revealed here, the notion that he was ever worthy, that his father’s love was ever based on worthiness. But coupled with this great confusion is a great insight. “Unworthy to be called your son” clarifies the son’s offense in his mind and ours. However much he misunderstands his father’s mercy, however much he underestimates his father’s grace, he at least knows that it is his relationship with his father, his sonship, which he had violated.
Finally we move from confession to admission to resolution. However humiliated the son may be, he is still unfortunately giving orders. First it was “give me” and now it is “make me.” The demand seems humble enough, but the intent is unclear. He does not ask to be restored to his status as a son, but neither does he ask to be made a slave or servant in the household, although this is the way the request is often interpreted and even translated. He plans to ask his father—the father who has already raided his assets to come up with a third to a half of the inheritance—to pay him wages as a hired hand, a day laborer. There would be no restoration of the relationship, no reunion of father and son, no repayment of the lost inheritance, just a salary.
The question remains—does this planned speech flow from a repentant heart or a desperate, manipulative heart? Some read these words as repentance—a humble, sincere repentance that no longer presumes on the father’s generosity. Others are convinced that there is no repentance at all in these words, only a last-ditch attempt to position himself for an escape from the pig sty and the attainment of a reasonable standard of economic stability. If these words stood alone—“make me as one of your hired hands”—it would be easier to accept the wholly negative reading. But the resolution flows from an open admission (“I am no longer worthy”) and that from an honest confession (“I sinned”) and all in the context of the real issue, not a misuse of money but an abuse of relationship.
Are there any lessons we can take away from these somewhat ambiguous words?
1) The son’s “epiphany in the pigpen” is enlightening. It highlights the negative tendency, the temptation to think that
our relationship with God is based on our worthiness. God does not spurn a relationship with us when we are
unworthy, and we cannot earn a relationship with God by being worthy. This parable reminds us that, since
God does not evaluate our standing before him on the basis of our worthiness or unworthiness, we dare not
either.
2) On the positive side, even though the younger son mistakenly focuses on his unworthiness, he does at least realize
that what has suffered is his relationship with God. If we take the words “no longer” literally, they suggest that
the son remembered the father-son relationship he had once enjoyed. This parable forces us to admit that the
crisis we find ourselves in is a crisis of relationship, not of wasted resources but of wasted relationships.
3) We can hardly fault the son’s resolve to return, but it is all on his own terms. He imagines himself ordering his
father around—“make me.” He still thinks he knows arrangement, the best solution for their estrangement.
This parable helps us face up to the face that “father knows best,” that the ones whose resolve to leave home on
his own disastrous terms probably should trust the father to set the terms of our return.
4) Call it true repentance or not, but something in the younger son is changing. After weeks, months, years of turning
away from the father, the son is turning back toward the father. That, after all, is what repentance is, a
reorientation of one’s self toward God on the basis of a recognition of a relationship with God. This parable
encourages us to honor even fledgling repentance, even first steps back toward God.
