stature wore robes down to their ankles. They moved gracefully in keeping with their social position. To run to his son, the prodigal’s father gathers up his robe, exposing his legs as he runs. This creates a scene that humiliates him before the neighbors. Yet his compassion compels him to gladly suffer public ridicule for his returning son.
Though nothing I experienced compares to the father’s humiliating act, I felt foolish and was treated as naive for pursuing friendship with a criminal. After Caligallo’s death, Ryan and I made attempts at defending Caligallo as a human being and God’s love as being big enough to reach such a “bad guy.” Neighbors wrote us off as out of touch with the real world. In a small way we shared in Caligallo’s humiliation.
Corrie’s joy in the hospital, though nothing like the father’s, was still remarkable. She exuded a gladness that welled up in her as praise and thanksgiving for a lost child of God who received her forgiving presence. As Corrie honestly reported, this joy came only after overcoming her fears. True love risks stepping out as the father does, running and embracing first without knowing how such a lavish display of compassion will be received.
We can imagine the villagers knowing of the son’s dishonorable departure. The young man’s reputation is in the mud. The shame attached to his disgraceful request is unimaginable. Such a step is unheard of and irreparable. His father’s careful eye on the road reflects a genuine concern that if his boy reaches the village and is recognized, the people may ridicule if not assault him.
As they stand together in the road, reuniting and restoring that which was broken, the young man no longer fears the hostile townspeople and their rejection. His dad’s overwhelming display of approval powerfully disarms the onlookers.
All the younger son hopes for, in his own words, is a measure of compassion from his father: “Treat me like one of your hired hands.” Jesus’ hearers no doubt resonate with this prospect. They, like many of us, would reason, “Yes, let the boy first acknowledge his guilt and then regain his father’s good graces as a hired hand.” The villagers will surely want to cut the young man off from community life, believing that the father, at best, might relent enough to allow him to work on his estate. They likely envision the father’s response to the approaching son as one of disgust and anger. But that’s not what happens.
Remember Corrie’s ring? He held my hand, the same hand from which he tried to rip my promise ring. Yet because God is good, there we were again. With a glance I could tell him that he is forgiven. Remember Ryan’s poster? He gave it to Caligallo with the words, I know you take things from others. But this is something that I want to give you. It symbolizes all the good gifts that the God who loves you wants to give you without you having to steal them.
Ryan and Corrie tapped into the beauty of the parable’s father. They acted like the forgiving dad, who freely gives the wandering heartbreaker what he has taken. By asking for his share of the father’s estate, the son wishes his dad’s death. He takes his dad’s life. Remarkably, the father says “yes,” giving him what he asks for. Upon the son’s return, his dad’s hug, not unlike Corrie’s extended hand with the promise ring or Ryan’s unmerited gift to one who had stolen, boldly declares to the son, “Here! I give you—freely and, yes, costly—more than the inheritance you wrongfully took from me. I give you my love, my trust—my very self!”
With Corrie, Caligallo received more than the ring. He received a hand—a hand extended in forgiveness, love, and trust. With Ryan, Caligallo received genuine forgiveness for wrongs committed and acknowledged: I know you steal, because that is what life has come to. The father too knows his son’s follies. He doesn’t sweep his wayward ways under the rug as if they never happened. He knows that what the son needs is a gift greater than his sin.
Calvary Love Revisited
How can a father be so happy in forgiving a scoundrel like that? Yet could this be what God in Christ did at Calvary? “God demonstrates his love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Rom 5:8). What a foolish God we have! While we were still street thugs, uppity religious snobs, and well-intentioned but misguided crusading believers—so unworthy of mercy—God surprised us by suffering the humiliation of a Roman cross for us.
If my neighbors are right, this means that God is out of touch with the real world. Does the father wait to see if his youngest child has repented before starting to run? Before taking him in his arms? Before showering him with kisses?
No. The father forgives the younger son before the boy confesses his sins. Dad initiates. He opens his arms in an unexpected act of forgiveness and reconciliation. The son simply falls into them. His repentance doesn’t open the dad’s arms. According to Kenneth Bailey, even this gives the son too much credit.1
Bailey believes that, according to the text, the son’s reason for going home is to fill his empty stomach, not to reconcile with his father. The phrase that he “came to his senses” is more accurately rendered, “the son returned to himself.” In other words, he realizes a way to save himself from his predicament. He crafts a speech to manipulate, not to repent. It resembles Pharaoh’s speech to placate Moses to stop the plagues. The son doesn’t ask to become a slave; he wants to become a worker so that he can repay his own way. In this condition the son starts his journey back to the father—with dirty rags and a contrived speech.
What a foolish dad! According to my instincts as a father who wants to raise sound children, the father’s behavior smacks of poor judgment and irresponsibility. Don’t I first confirm that my gestures of reconciliation will be received, that my efforts to make things right will be reciprocated? Contrary to such logic, the father in Jesus’ parable believes his love will be enough. His forgiveness will transform.
Scripture supports this view of God’s work on Calvary. Hebrews 9:26 states, “He has appeared once for all at the end of the ages to do away with sin by the sacrifice of himself.” The reference to sin in this text doesn’t highlight my sin and yours so much as the big problem of sin: that of humanity’s. God, in Christ, did away with the sin that separates us from God. This brings to mind John the Baptist’s declaration upon seeing God’s anointed one, “Look, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world” (John 1:29).
God’s Shalom
The father in the story stands with the restored younger son, taking the verbal abuse upon himself, yet without turning his back on the older son. There’s not a shade of dispassion or neutrality on the father’s part. He stands with one while moving toward and calling the other. His loving action toward one never compromises his obvious love for the other.
In the father’s love for both sons, witnessed first in his running out to the younger one then in his stepping out from the party to plead with the older, we are endowed with a breathtaking glimpse into the vastness of God’s nature. With the former, he embraces the one who wills his death for selfish gain. With the latter, he initiates reconciliation with the one who, in self-righteous decency, tries to destroy the restoration of the family by insulting his dad with public ridicule. This provides a beautiful window into God’s covenant faithfulness, a snapshot of God’s righteous, saving actions that restore us to the shalom for which we were created.
A Small Sign of God’s Big Shalom
Caligallo held up my friend José at gunpoint. While his buddy held the gun to José’s head, Caligallo took my friend’s shoes. A few days later, José told me about the incident. I was struck by the shame he felt walking home barefoot through the web of slum homes where nothing happens covertly. From José I learned how hard it is for a moderately macho man who follows Jesus to consider
