My Theology Hour

An expert on theology I’m not, but I give it the honor of thought and reflection. I love the Galilean and like to keep up with him. Also, I read the Good Book through and through every few years. It does me no harm and I believe that one can’t truly begin to understand western literature without it. Last week, I mentioned, following the death of my only brother, my long-time problem with the Parable of the Prodigal Son.

See, I always felt that my parents favored my brother over me. Maybe it was true, maybe not. In my more rational moments, I imagined that my perception had some truth due only to the fact that he needed extra love and understanding. I’ve had more than one parent tell me that happens.

At any rate, my reconciliation with the parable came about when I considered it in a chronological context. There is a tendency for folks who’ve never read the whole Bible or studied its origins (seems to me that most fundamentalists fall into that category), to imagine that the books in the New Testament were written in the order presented in the store-bought version of the document.

Not true, say the experts. Many believe that the book of James is the oldest in the New Testament. They say it was written about, maybe AD 47-50. It’s one of my favorites. I treasure many lines, such as the ones about looking at your face in the mirror and then forgetting what you looked like. But … my real favorite is Verse 26: “Those who consider themselves religious and yet do not keep a tight rein on their tongues deceive themselves, and their religion is worthless.” Can’t tell you why, it just is.

Anyway, there was an active Christian community by the time the Gospels were written starting in AD 50-50. And if one believes, as I do, that that individual humans, with personal agendas, wrote those Gospels, there could have been some hidden motivations. Some of those early Christians were a fairly rowdy lot, I mean, getting drunk on the communion wine? When they weren’t doing this, or worse, I can imagine that they bitched about everything and anything, much like some (certainly not all) of their contemporary brothers and sisters. Which brings us to the Parable of the Prodigal Son.

Imagine with me, if you will, that some of those early Christians may have drifted from the fold for a spell. Even the ultra-conservative Amish send their youth away temporarily to taste and, it is hoped, reject the foul and bitter fruits of the ungodly. As for those early Christians who did so, what happened when the wandering ones returned? Can’t you hear the rest of the congregation? “So we are just supposed to let them back in and feast upon the fatted calf, the calf, by the way, that we tended and nursed while they partied heartily? What about those of us who have stuck with one another through thick and thin and now see you letting the apostate return as if nothing happened? Is that what one gets for faithful and unbroken service? Well I never … .”

See the problem? What might work to sooth them better than, “Shut up?”

That’s right, a little teaching story from the (literary) lips of the Galilean himself. It won’t take away from the great words he uttered on the Mount and it might shut up the whiners. We’ll just slip it in and not say a word.

That’s the story of the Parable of the Prodigal Son in my opinion, for what the opinion of a “heathern” is worth.

Next, we’ll consider the parable that seems to suggest that rich men can pay their workers whatever the heck they choose and we should keep our mouths shut about it.

Embrace your wandering brother.
Better safe than sorry.