parable. This has led to a lopsided, reductionistic vision of the gospel, something we will look at soon enough.
The Other Son in the Mirror
Perhaps less obvious than Caligallo’s role in our barrio parable is the similarity between my neighbors’ attitude and that of the older brother. Yet my neighbors’ judgment against Caligallo finds good company in the prodigal’s older brother, who judges him unworthy of the father’s acceptance and embrace. The offense I encountered in conversations with neighbors while (self-righteously?) trying to help them see God’s mercy and forgiveness for Caligallo is not unlike the offense the father faces in his conversation with the elder son.
Our ‘peace’ corner where Caligallo died
Before we get too comfortable with likening my neighbors to the obstinate older son, let’s be honest. Haven’t we all reacted like the hardworking, “deserving” older brother at one time or another? If we’re honest about human nature, we’re more like him than we wish to admit. Under ordinary circumstances we, no doubt like the elder sibling, manage to conform to the expected norms of moral conduct. Most of the time we control our anger and do what’s right.
We can also concede that it isn’t every day that our little brother returns under such extraordinary circumstances or that our father displays such extravagant compassion to an undeserving rat. Yet for the older son, his brother’s return precipitates an unparalleled crisis that puts the normally well-behaved brother over the edge.
When we lift our eyes beyond the narrow, exclusive preoccupation with the reckless younger son, previously unseen family dynamic come into view.
Two Heartbreakers
“I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders . . .” From listening to the older son you’d think the father is a taskmaster. The older son has been living with his father, conceivably his whole life, yet doesn’t seem to know his father. Rather than resting on first-hand experience of his father’s abundant generosity and graciousness, the older son seems oblivious to such qualities and solely preoccupied with his own performance.
What about the older son’s claim that he never disobeyed his father’s commands? Bailey points out that in traditional Middle Eastern culture, the expected role of the older son would be to intervene and become the mediator between family members in the face of the younger brother’s shameful request. Instead, the older son, as vv. 12–13 imply, remains silent and passive, accepting the division of the estate in which he receives his half.2
The older brother becomes furious at the news of the party and refuses to join in. When he speaks to his father, he breaks the protocol of respect and honor by launching into a lecture. He never addresses him as father.
Bailey points out here too that it’s difficult for us to imagine how insulting his behavior is. He suggests that to better appreciate the nature of the older son’s conduct, we should imagine a wealthy man hosting a black-tie, candlelit dinner for prestigious guests, only to have his son show up at the door unshaven, without shirt and shoes, verbally attacking the host. This analogy, according to Bailey, is too mild to convey the revolting nature of the older son’s behavior. Whereas the younger son’s request for his share of the estate embarrasses his father privately, the older son embarrasses him in front of the whole community.
What sins does the younger brother commit in that faraway land? Certainly he wastes his money on prostitutes and the like. Or does he? The Greek word for “squandered” does not connote immorality. The word means he lacked discipline with his money; he failed to watch his finances. This is important to note.
How do we know that he slept with prostitutes? Curiously, this information comes from the mouth of the older brother. How does he know what his younger brother did? He doesn’t. The comment is the elder brother’s attempt to destroy the restored relationship between the father and his younger sibling. In the context of their community, the elder son knows that if he can make the story stick, no father in the community will give his daughter in marriage to his little brother.
The older son did indeed work diligently in the field. He completed the many tasks that he knew were important to his father. But what does he miss? Where does his blindness lie? He can’t see himself and the true nature of his actions. He blindly uses his stature and fine reputation as the responsible older child to try to ruin the restored relationship between his father and brother. He is also blind to the true character of his father.
Rather than reading this parable as the story of a lawbreaker (the wandering young man) and a law-keeper (the dutiful older one), we must read it as the story of two heartbreakers, for both of them break their father’s heart.
Line Drawing
“Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged” (Matt 7:1–2). Isn’t the underlying assumption of Jesus’ command that no one is exempt from the snare of sin and guilt? The point isn’t the grave sins my neighbor might have committed. It’s whether I recognize what I’ve done. When I truly see myself and my actions for what they are, I dare not judge my neighbor. Jesus honored “sinners” and gentiles, who by outward appearances didn’t conform to the standards of decency or that of the Torah-abiding citizenry. Yet unlike the religious insiders, the outsiders saw themselves truthfully and knew they needed God.
One day during this episode Ryan pulled the blinders from my eyes with his provocative query: “Do we really know if Caligallo has killed anyone?” The question alone forced me to question the source of our data and the neighbors’ preoccupation with Caligallo’s sins. How much of his reputation was earned, and how much of it was fabricated by the “older brothers” of our community?
We will never know the exact truth. According to Jesus, this misses the point. Drawing a sharp line between “us” and “them,” the “good guys” and the “bad guys,” inevitably multiplies the bad guys’ sins. Whatever sins Caligallo committed against the community, we can be certain that the neighbors multiplied them, feeding their justification for revenge.
Some might object: Aren’t you judging your neighbors for breaking relationship with a street criminal? I hope not. I’m no different from them. My neighbors were too afraid of Caligallo to talk to him. They didn’t believe it possible to have a normal conversation with him, even though many knew him from birth. I too was afraid to approach him.
I also dare not judge my neighbors because I am different. As a newcomer to the neighborhood, I don’t share their long and beleaguered history of conflicts, misunderstandings, and offenses. The collective accumulation of anger and hurt in the slum escapes me. This clearly gives me and my team greater freedom to develop hopeful relationships.
There are other factors that make it easier for me to be a friend to Caligallo. We are mission workers who are cultural outsiders, and the trajectory that our neighborhood relationships take is into the community to identify with the life of the barrio. We take our missional cues from the “word made flesh,” who was sent in the humility of human flesh to redeem all flesh. This incarnational gospel propels us into the world “as the Father sent the Son” (John 20:21).
We pursue this missional lifestyle while simultaneously benefitting from additional identities that we never lose—our country of origin, our history and language, our family, and our mission community. These deeply meaningful sources of strength provide us with a wider, diversified sense of home and belonging. More important, they lie beyond the slums and therefore cushion us in incalculable ways.
