Why We Don't Like The Prodigal Son Parable

The most popular of all Jesus’ parables is the one that has come to be known as “The Prodigal Son.” This story has inspired musicians to create music, poets to spin rhymes, and artists to render paintings and sculptures. It is the most marvelous picture of grace ever conceived, but we really don't like it.

In the opening line of the story Jesus said, “There was a man who had two sons …” The story is not only about one son, but about two sons (I know, brilliant exegesis). Yet we seem to often ignore the other, older son. Some claim this is done in innocence, due to the extravagant love of the father showered upon the younger. It's so beautiful that it’s all one can see.

I contend there is another reason – perhaps subconscious – that we ignore the older son. It’s because most of us are more like the older son than we ever would want to admit. It’s because we don’t like the kind of people the dad is running toward. Since we don’t like the people who are being embraced and loved by the father we would just as soon not go into the party. We’ll sit outside complaining about our father’s other son.

Let’s be honest, in our world there are people that we just don’t like. It’s true for me. Maybe you’re the kind of person who just likes every person you meet - I bet I could introduce you to some people who would change that. Beyond our petty differences there are those who have wounded us deeply.

Recently I was with a fellow who told an agonizing story about such a person. His wounds were fresh and deep. Often, as he was telling the story, tears would brim to the edge of his eye and he would go silent to compose himself. The wounds he was dealt affected everything - his finances, his marriage, his career, and his family. As I listened to my friend and watched him fight back tears in my heart I knew that the father would run past us both and embrace the guy who had wounded him. It just does not make sense.

A few days ago, an article that was written by a pastor enraged my friend. She emailed it to me and asked me to read it. It was terrible, arrogant, and deepened an already impassable divide. I was furious. I wanted to send him an email and tell him how miserable he was for patching together such condescending prose while passing it off as a helpful article - how could he do such a thing? He had just made the list of people I do not like (did I mention I am judgmental toward judgmental people?).

Then I got to the bottom of the page. While the article had been written and circulated, the pastor had issued an apology and asked forgiveness for writing it.

I saw the father running right past me to this guy. The father reached him and you know what he did? He threw his arms around him and kissed him. I think I even heard the father say, “This son of mine was dead and is alive again, he was lost and is found, let’s celebrate!”

Are you kidding? Dad, did you not see what he did - why would I ever go to that party? So I stood outside calling curses down on this guy for what he had just gotten away with. I heard the door of the house open and close which interrupted my curse-filled, inner monologue. I turned and saw the father coming to me. He put his arm around my shoulders and begged me to come inside the party to see my brother. Suddenly, I did not like where I was.

I am the older son.

It’s so much better to imagine ourselves in the position of the younger son. We are inside the party - music, drinks, friends, food, dancing – it’s the only part of the story Disney would ever adapt for the screen. It’s such a happy picture.

It’s when the people who have wounded us, the people we don’t like, the people from the other side of the aisle, or the people we call “them” are in the position of the younger son that we stop liking the story so much. It’s in this moment that we stand with the older son. Anytime we, through our words, thoughts, or actions, create a different picture of the father's response to the younger son we are guilty of creating God in our image.

We want to breeze through this story as we imagine the father running, hugging, and kissing us while we party with the people we like. It’s wonderful to be the younger son. However, we often find ourselves in the place of the older son don't we? It’s this twist that makes this story in all its simplicity very complex. That’s what makes this story so difficult and why I’m convinced so many of us just don’t like it very much.

What we must never forget is this. When we are in the place of the older son, as terrible as it feels, the story is not over. The father is still there with his arm around us, filled with love for us, begging us to come to the party. The question we are left with as we stand outside is this: “Will you come in and party with the brother you don’t like very much?”