A British journalist by the name of Christopher Booker argues that all of
literature can be classified into seven basic narratives. Though many
would consider the idea itself deficient, Booker exhaustively identifies each
category in his book The Seven Basic Plots: Why We Tell Stories. One such
category he describes is the "Voyage and Return" plot. Here,
Booker lists, among other works, Alice
Among his list of "Voyage and Return" plots, Booker also identifies Jesus's parable of the Prodigal Son. He describes the parable as the way I have always understood it. The younger son demands his inheritance, travels to another country, squanders his money until he has nothing left, and finally decides to come home again pleading for mercy. When told or heard like this, it is a story fitting neatly into Booker's category, and neatly into my understanding of faith. It’s been my experience, over close to six decades now, my Journey to mature faith and to the Father have often been in stories of coming and going and returning again.
But it hasn’t been but a few days, rereading Henri J. M. Nouwen’s: The Return of the Prodigal Son; that I have been puzzling on the question; is this an accurate understanding of the parable of Jesus? Is the story of the prodigal son really about the son? Is my membership in the body of Christ about my coming and going or Christ's? By the way, I must recognize my CPE supervisor, Michael Harper as the one who introduced me to Nouwen’s works. Michael knew that they would become a powerful force in the ministry of chaplaincy.
My story of life as a Christian, cannot be told without some admittance of wandering to and from faith, in and out of God's will, walking with and without the Son. When I think of my place in the Christian assembly, the body of Christ, or the great cloud of witnesses, I am immediately aware of my drifting heart and less than perfect role in the story. I imagine my place in the assembly of martyrs and missionaries as I might image entering a grand ballroom of crowned guests and beautiful robes only to realize I am wearing a t-shirt and old jeans. The greater body of Christ—with its ardent disciples from early centuries and saints from today—does not seem like a place in which I readily belong. Of my place in the great cloud witnesses, sometimes I feel more like Groucho Marx, who once declined the offer of membership into an organization with the reply: "I don't care to belong to any club that would have someone like me as a member." If I, myself, am the main character, this is the story I must tell.
Thankfully, I am not. And Jesus's parable of the prodigal son is one more reminder of this among many. The parable of the prodigal son is only a "voyage and return" narrative in the way Booker describes it if the son is the subject of the story. But any study of the father in this story makes that an unlikely theory. Jesus says that it was while the son was still "a long way off" that the father saw him and "was filled with compassion for him" (Luke 15:20). Literally, this father was moved by this compassion. The Greek word conveys an inward movement of concern and mercy, but this man was also clearly moved outwardly. The father runs to the son, embraces him (literally, "falls upon his neck"), and kisses him.
As I read closely, I am discovering that Jesus describes a scene that is far more abrupt and shocking than the story than I often remember of a son who wanders away and returns home again. It is not the wayward son who runs to the father but the father who runs to his wayward son, and at that, without any assurance of his son's repentance whatsoever. In fact, the father runs without any promise that the son is even home to stay. Moreover, even if the famous portrait of the Prodigal defines the son kneeling in the story Jesus tells, for me, I think it better portrayed just the opposite. It is as if he is reminding me once again that I, along with the rest of humanity, have indeed fallen short of the glory of God, but that God has fallen to pick me up again and again, and to bring me home. Jesus gives a story whose merciful ending has far more to do with the actions of the father than any action of the son.
So it is with my story. My place in the body of Christ, my membership in the great cloud of witnesses is never valid because of who I am, but because of who Christ is. If I were to use Booker's headings to describe the journey of faith, the voyage was Christ's, so that I might forever return to the Father.
Among his list of "Voyage and Return" plots, Booker also identifies Jesus's parable of the Prodigal Son. He describes the parable as the way I have always understood it. The younger son demands his inheritance, travels to another country, squanders his money until he has nothing left, and finally decides to come home again pleading for mercy. When told or heard like this, it is a story fitting neatly into Booker's category, and neatly into my understanding of faith. It’s been my experience, over close to six decades now, my Journey to mature faith and to the Father have often been in stories of coming and going and returning again.
But it hasn’t been but a few days, rereading Henri J. M. Nouwen’s: The Return of the Prodigal Son; that I have been puzzling on the question; is this an accurate understanding of the parable of Jesus? Is the story of the prodigal son really about the son? Is my membership in the body of Christ about my coming and going or Christ's? By the way, I must recognize my CPE supervisor, Michael Harper as the one who introduced me to Nouwen’s works. Michael knew that they would become a powerful force in the ministry of chaplaincy.
My story of life as a Christian, cannot be told without some admittance of wandering to and from faith, in and out of God's will, walking with and without the Son. When I think of my place in the Christian assembly, the body of Christ, or the great cloud of witnesses, I am immediately aware of my drifting heart and less than perfect role in the story. I imagine my place in the assembly of martyrs and missionaries as I might image entering a grand ballroom of crowned guests and beautiful robes only to realize I am wearing a t-shirt and old jeans. The greater body of Christ—with its ardent disciples from early centuries and saints from today—does not seem like a place in which I readily belong. Of my place in the great cloud witnesses, sometimes I feel more like Groucho Marx, who once declined the offer of membership into an organization with the reply: "I don't care to belong to any club that would have someone like me as a member." If I, myself, am the main character, this is the story I must tell.
Thankfully, I am not. And Jesus's parable of the prodigal son is one more reminder of this among many. The parable of the prodigal son is only a "voyage and return" narrative in the way Booker describes it if the son is the subject of the story. But any study of the father in this story makes that an unlikely theory. Jesus says that it was while the son was still "a long way off" that the father saw him and "was filled with compassion for him" (Luke 15:20). Literally, this father was moved by this compassion. The Greek word conveys an inward movement of concern and mercy, but this man was also clearly moved outwardly. The father runs to the son, embraces him (literally, "falls upon his neck"), and kisses him.
As I read closely, I am discovering that Jesus describes a scene that is far more abrupt and shocking than the story than I often remember of a son who wanders away and returns home again. It is not the wayward son who runs to the father but the father who runs to his wayward son, and at that, without any assurance of his son's repentance whatsoever. In fact, the father runs without any promise that the son is even home to stay. Moreover, even if the famous portrait of the Prodigal defines the son kneeling in the story Jesus tells, for me, I think it better portrayed just the opposite. It is as if he is reminding me once again that I, along with the rest of humanity, have indeed fallen short of the glory of God, but that God has fallen to pick me up again and again, and to bring me home. Jesus gives a story whose merciful ending has far more to do with the actions of the father than any action of the son.
So it is with my story. My place in the body of Christ, my membership in the great cloud of witnesses is never valid because of who I am, but because of who Christ is. If I were to use Booker's headings to describe the journey of faith, the voyage was Christ's, so that I might forever return to the Father.
