LatchKeyKid: But stating those qualities leads us into the danger (IMHO) of trying to turn narrative theology into propositional theology.
I must confess that I’m not conversant with the distinction between narrative and propositional theology and the dangers of not recognising the pitfalls. Perhaps I might be enlightened. All I can claim is that I’ve tried to resist eisegetical temptations, though I’m sure you can point them out.
Let me set out why I think Martin54 gets a central point of the parable:
The elder brother regards himself as Justified in that he has fulfilled his obligations to his father and, therefore, has a right to be regarded as Righteous. The father, consequently, is obligated to fulfil his side of the relationship by bestowing on him what is his right. Indeed, he is reassured that he will receive whatever is due to him in that context.
The younger brother, by contrast, is neither Justified nor has any claim to be regarded as Righteous. He smells of pig. Indeed, operating on the same religious assumptions as his brother, he accepts that he has no claim to be recognised as a son. The father, however, unjustly treats him as a son, because he loves him, and is over-joyed that he has been found.
The elder brother, although he is in line to receive his deserts, resents the fact that the prodigal will not receive his. What, after all, is the point of being good if the bad are equally, if not better, treated? (The same question is raised regarding the payment of workers in the vineyard).
The traditional view, exemplified by the elder brother, is that the relationship between God and Israel is a contractual one in which God has to deliver his side of a bargain in return for Israel meeting its obligations. God and Israel have just claims on each other. In the NT, however, the concept of Grace seeks to transform that way of thinking. The father, in this parable, treats the younger son not on the basis of what he, the prodigal, has done or not done, but on the basis of his own nature as a God of Grace who loves his children.
Does not St. Paul set this out in his letter to the Romans, where he insists that the righteous life is impossible, and describes himself as ‘the chief of sinners’ who is accepted as Righteous through the Righteousness of Christ.
It is for these reasons that I believe Martin54 gets to the point, identifying “those who think they have no rights upon Him and those that think they do.
I don’t think Martin54’s observation lies outside the ‘lost and found’ context in that it relates to ‘those who have no rights on him’ exemplified in the case of the prodigal. Perhaps we might speculate at to whether ‘those that think they do’ are the truly lost, though that might be considered by some as taking too many liberties with the narrative.
Incidentally, Martin54, I thought your earlier comment, to which nobody responded, gets to the core of the issue.
Martin54: There are simple, timeless qualities to the story about how God responds to those who turn to and on Him, those who think they have no rights upon Him and those that think they do.
I did not respond because, although the idea seems nice, those qualities are not clearly expressed to me. Perhaps you instinctively know the qualities that Martin54 is referring to, but it seems quite likely that you both think differently. But stating those qualities leads us into the danger (IMHO) of trying to turn narrative theology into propositional theology.
What, the quality of the Father who runs to us regardless of our theology?
The traditional view, exemplified by the elder brother, is that the relationship between God and Israel is a contractual one in which God has to deliver his side of a bargain in return for Israel meeting its obligations. God and Israel have just claims on each other. In the NT, however, the concept of Grace seeks to transform that way of thinking. The father, in this parable, treats the younger son not on the basis of what he, the prodigal, has done or not done, but on the basis of his own nature as a God of Grace who loves his children.
LatchKeyKid:But stating those qualities leads us into the danger (IMHO) of trying to turn narrative theology into propositional theology.
I must confess that I’m not conversant with the distinction between narrative and propositional theology and the dangers of not recognising the pitfalls. ...
Nor am I. And thank you Kwesi for what strikes me as an excellent exegesis and something that would make an excellent sermon.
It's struck me, though, going back to what I said earlier about the narrative being the message, which applies both to the large part of the Bible that is simply narrative, and to the parables, is that narrative works more directly and below the level of the conclusions we draw from it.
It's a bit like when you're standing in front of a good painting, particularly a representational one. You can say 'this is a picture of X'. You can, if it is your way, discourse about the composition, the brushwork, and sometimes the symbolism. But those are merely part of your effort to engage with your response to the painting, rather than how you engage with the painting itself. It actually strikes you more directly than that.
What, after all, is the point of being good if the bad are equally, if not better, treated? (The same question is raised regarding the payment of workers in the vineyard).
It’s a question to which I am yet to hear a satisfactory answer, much less a convincing one.
What, after all, is the point of being good if the bad are equally, if not better, treated? (The same question is raised regarding the payment of workers in the vineyard).
It’s a question to which I am yet to hear a satisfactory answer, much less a convincing one.
In what sense is it truly good if only done in order to be better treated?
What, after all, is the point of being good if the bad are equally, if not better, treated? (The same question is raised regarding the payment of workers in the vineyard).
It’s a question to which I am yet to hear a satisfactory answer, much less a convincing one.
What is the reason for buying your wife flowers if she would love you just the same if you did not?
What, after all, is the point of being good if the bad are equally, if not better, treated? (The same question is raised regarding the payment of workers in the vineyard).
It’s a question to which I am yet to hear a satisfactory answer, much less a convincing one.
In what sense is it truly good if only done in order to be better treated?
So your position is that “good” is something worth doing in and of itself, regardless of any personal reward?
You must be a better person than me. Not that that matters, of course, if we’re going to end up with the same eternal outcome anyway. May as well have a little fun along the way
What, after all, is the point of being good if the bad are equally, if not better, treated? (The same question is raised regarding the payment of workers in the vineyard).
It’s a question to which I am yet to hear a satisfactory answer, much less a convincing one.
What is the reason for buying your wife flowers if she would love you just the same if you did not?
Because I love her and want to make her happy. Not to mention that her being happy makes my life considerably easier!
Neither factor applies to virtually everyone else in the world though. Or to God, for that matter.
Kwesi: What, after all, is the point of being good if the bad are equally, if not better, treated? (The same question is raised regarding the payment of workers in the vineyard).
Marvin the Martian: It’s a question to which I am yet to hear a satisfactory answer, much less a convincing one.
I agree that the reactions of the Elder Brother force Christians to address an issue that can only be answered with some difficulty, namely: if Grace trumps Justice, then how in the absence of sanctions and rewards can Christianity devise a credible social ethic? It seems as if there is a clash between a heavenly realm based on an economy of limitless Grace, and an earthly one where Justice is needed to keep order and encourage a fair distribution of scarce resources. Liberal Christians, for example, are in a bind because they tend towards universalism, respecting justification, but are very judgemental when it comes to matters of social justice. How are the two to be reconciled? In the parable, the elder brother ends up materially ahead and there is no suggestion his share of the farm is threatened, but his brother’s status as a son is (fully?) restored.
The question of Why be Good if Christ’s Grace is sufficient?, is raised by Paul in Romans 6, as if he suddenly realises where his argument has led him, and rhetorically asks: “Are we to sin because we are not under law but under grace?” (v 15). Taking the image of slavery, he sees Christians as those who have switched masters, and in doing so naturally seek to do the will of God. He also takes the view that to do so is beneficial because, in contrast to the negative consequences of pursuing evil ends, to follow Christ is life-giving. A more general point might be that one ought to do do good not as a consequence of pain and pleasure but because it is the right thing to do, not because of the threat of hell or the joys of heaven.
Whether you find Paul's argument satisfactory or convincing, Marvin the Martian, I know not; though I suspect like me you find it rather pat, based on personal experience and behaviour. (I'm more convinced by the apostle's confession, Romans 7: 13-25). In any event, the question of how we relate our various soteriologies to practically address the human condition is an important one that would merit further exploration.
you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.” The second is this, “You shall love your neighbour as yourself.” There is no other commandment greater than these.’
If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love.
To my mind the loving of God is the prime response to the Gospel not being good and above all that is what God desires. Being good rather comes out of this love for God.
Our genes know that our good, their good, is best served by the group's. So doing the right thing - sacrificing self - by non-kin (now) in the group makes us feel good. Christianity and Islam want to extend the group. Only Islam is any good at it.
It works the other way around. Evil actions are the judgment because they separate the actor from God. That is the basis of my belief in realised eschatology. Hell, if it exists, is created by selfish, unloving actions.
It works the other way around. Evil actions are the judgment because they separate the actor from God. That is the basis of my belief in realised eschatology. Hell, if it exists, is created by selfish, unloving actions.
Grace works by allowing the actor to act otherwise and thereby reconnect to God. Love is constantly reaching outwards. That is Paul's scandal. The kingdom of God is not capitalist.
Evil actions are the judgment because they separate the actor from God.
That’s ok, we know from this parable that He’ll take us back, no questions asked, any time we want.
The risk is that we may wander so far we don't want to be taken back.
That's why, for me, the most important moment is when the son sits with his pigs and decides to go home. The father's reaction is important, yes, but it's the son's realisation that he has separated himself from his father for nothing that is the pivot of the story. Probably the second most important is his speech to his father, which acknowledges the break in the relationship that he has created, and declares himself totally willing to return, even if that return has to be under the conditions imposed by the break.
Moo: The risk is that we may wander so far we don't want to be taken back.
ThunderBunk: That's why, for me, the most important moment is when the son sits with his pigs and decides to go home.
mr cheesy: Then he'll come and find us like a shepherd looking for a lost sheep. Whether or not it wants to be found.
I thoroughly agree with you, mr cheesy, because, as you have pointed out, the parable is one of several relating to the theme of "lost and found." By contrast I don't find anything in the parable to suggest: 'The risk is that we may wander so far we don't want to be taken back.' Similarly, I find ThunderBunk unconvincing. Surely, the key speech is that of the father:" let us eat and make merry; for this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found;" and lest the hearers have missed it the first time, the parable concludes: " It was fitting to make merry and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found." The focus of the parable is on the nature of the father rather than the actions of the sons.
I don't disagree with you entirely, Kwesi, in terms of the reader's focus. What I was pointing out is that the hinge of the narrative is in the son, and everything the father says can only be said because the son returns, rather than (for example) dying of hunger among the pigs. As you say, the meat of the story in terms of its actions happens within the farmstead and is foccused on the father.
I've been trying to think about this story as an example of how a realised eschatology might work, particularly in terms of how it incorporates the operation of grace, rather than falling into a rather mechanical, quasi-karmic view of the world, and I think it works in those terms, actually more or less as I described. The initial judgment is passed on the departing son when the value he stood to inherit is calculated and paid to him - to me that's a pretty clear way of incorporating a process of evaluation into a narrative. He then takes the proceeds of this process, his justly acquired wealth, and squanders it. This action then triggers a further moment of judgement, when he is sitting among the pigs, and it is this moment of judgment which releases him to return to the father, who then shows him the ultimate tenderness and mercy you are talking about. In the first case, the riches the son receives are those he should have received on his father's death. In the second, they are the unearned outpouring of the father's love, lavished on a son in the misery of self-inflicted poverty. That outpouring, which is grace, is released by the son's acceptance of the judgement on his actions inherent in the situation in which he finds himself, and his willingness to repent, literally to turn back. Everything else that happens is down to the father's nature, but that nature is revealed by the moment of repentance which releases the son from the shackles created by his treatment of his inheritance.
Apologies for the double post, but that is precisely why I don't think this story is necessarily dangerous in terms of addiction. I think you can see the addict son as being trapped in the misery of his pigsty, reduced to longing for the pigs' slop. The cycle of empty, hollow longing (the son would not have found the pigs' slop nourishing)/addiction/sin is broken by his decision to turn back to his father. It is broken by that action, not by the father's reception of him; that reception is an acknolwedgement/outworking of the break in the cycle that had already happen. His addiction/sin could have continued indefinitely, or to its ultimate, tragic conclusion, but it didn't because of the grace given to him to turn back to his father.
Moo: The risk is that we may wander so far we don't want to be taken back.
ThunderBunk: That's why, for me, the most important moment is when the son sits with his pigs and decides to go home.
mr cheesy: Then he'll come and find us like a shepherd looking for a lost sheep. Whether or not it wants to be found.
I thoroughly agree with you, mr cheesy, because, as you have pointed out, the parable is one of several relating to the theme of "lost and found." By contrast I don't find anything in the parable to suggest: 'The risk is that we may wander so far we don't want to be taken back.' Similarly, I find ThunderBunk unconvincing. Surely, the key speech is that of the father:" let us eat and make merry; for this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found;" and lest the hearers have missed it the first time, the parable concludes: " It was fitting to make merry and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found." The focus of the parable is on the nature of the father rather than the actions of the sons.
I'm not sure you do agree with me, I thought I was using irony.
I think we are all reading too much into this; there are several parables about finding lost things - which use different and contrasting pictures.
The only constant is that there is a seeker and a thing who is lost.
I don't think we can make statements at all about what the seeker will do to the lost thing who doesn't want to be found. The two parables suggest two different answers - which suggests to me that this isn't the focal point of either story.
Comments
I must confess that I’m not conversant with the distinction between narrative and propositional theology and the dangers of not recognising the pitfalls. Perhaps I might be enlightened. All I can claim is that I’ve tried to resist eisegetical temptations, though I’m sure you can point them out.
Let me set out why I think Martin54 gets a central point of the parable:
The elder brother regards himself as Justified in that he has fulfilled his obligations to his father and, therefore, has a right to be regarded as Righteous. The father, consequently, is obligated to fulfil his side of the relationship by bestowing on him what is his right. Indeed, he is reassured that he will receive whatever is due to him in that context.
The younger brother, by contrast, is neither Justified nor has any claim to be regarded as Righteous. He smells of pig. Indeed, operating on the same religious assumptions as his brother, he accepts that he has no claim to be recognised as a son. The father, however, unjustly treats him as a son, because he loves him, and is over-joyed that he has been found.
The elder brother, although he is in line to receive his deserts, resents the fact that the prodigal will not receive his. What, after all, is the point of being good if the bad are equally, if not better, treated? (The same question is raised regarding the payment of workers in the vineyard).
The traditional view, exemplified by the elder brother, is that the relationship between God and Israel is a contractual one in which God has to deliver his side of a bargain in return for Israel meeting its obligations. God and Israel have just claims on each other. In the NT, however, the concept of Grace seeks to transform that way of thinking. The father, in this parable, treats the younger son not on the basis of what he, the prodigal, has done or not done, but on the basis of his own nature as a God of Grace who loves his children.
Does not St. Paul set this out in his letter to the Romans, where he insists that the righteous life is impossible, and describes himself as ‘the chief of sinners’ who is accepted as Righteous through the Righteousness of Christ.
It is for these reasons that I believe Martin54 gets to the point, identifying “those who think they have no rights upon Him and those that think they do.
I don’t think Martin54’s observation lies outside the ‘lost and found’ context in that it relates to ‘those who have no rights on him’ exemplified in the case of the prodigal. Perhaps we might speculate at to whether ‘those that think they do’ are the truly lost, though that might be considered by some as taking too many liberties with the narrative.
What, the quality of the Father who runs to us regardless of our theology?
Very nice post, @Kwesi .
It's struck me, though, going back to what I said earlier about the narrative being the message, which applies both to the large part of the Bible that is simply narrative, and to the parables, is that narrative works more directly and below the level of the conclusions we draw from it.
It's a bit like when you're standing in front of a good painting, particularly a representational one. You can say 'this is a picture of X'. You can, if it is your way, discourse about the composition, the brushwork, and sometimes the symbolism. But those are merely part of your effort to engage with your response to the painting, rather than how you engage with the painting itself. It actually strikes you more directly than that.
It’s a question to which I am yet to hear a satisfactory answer, much less a convincing one.
You saw the whole of the moon
What is the reason for buying your wife flowers if she would love you just the same if you did not?
So your position is that “good” is something worth doing in and of itself, regardless of any personal reward?
You must be a better person than me. Not that that matters, of course, if we’re going to end up with the same eternal outcome anyway. May as well have a little fun along the way
Because I love her and want to make her happy. Not to mention that her being happy makes my life considerably easier!
Neither factor applies to virtually everyone else in the world though. Or to God, for that matter.
I agree that the reactions of the Elder Brother force Christians to address an issue that can only be answered with some difficulty, namely: if Grace trumps Justice, then how in the absence of sanctions and rewards can Christianity devise a credible social ethic? It seems as if there is a clash between a heavenly realm based on an economy of limitless Grace, and an earthly one where Justice is needed to keep order and encourage a fair distribution of scarce resources. Liberal Christians, for example, are in a bind because they tend towards universalism, respecting justification, but are very judgemental when it comes to matters of social justice. How are the two to be reconciled? In the parable, the elder brother ends up materially ahead and there is no suggestion his share of the farm is threatened, but his brother’s status as a son is (fully?) restored.
The question of Why be Good if Christ’s Grace is sufficient?, is raised by Paul in Romans 6, as if he suddenly realises where his argument has led him, and rhetorically asks: “Are we to sin because we are not under law but under grace?” (v 15). Taking the image of slavery, he sees Christians as those who have switched masters, and in doing so naturally seek to do the will of God. He also takes the view that to do so is beneficial because, in contrast to the negative consequences of pursuing evil ends, to follow Christ is life-giving. A more general point might be that one ought to do do good not as a consequence of pain and pleasure but because it is the right thing to do, not because of the threat of hell or the joys of heaven.
Whether you find Paul's argument satisfactory or convincing, Marvin the Martian, I know not; though I suspect like me you find it rather pat, based on personal experience and behaviour. (I'm more convinced by the apostle's confession, Romans 7: 13-25). In any event, the question of how we relate our various soteriologies to practically address the human condition is an important one that would merit further exploration.
The Summary of the Law
and
John 15:10
To my mind the loving of God is the prime response to the Gospel not being good and above all that is what God desires. Being good rather comes out of this love for God.
Grace works by allowing the actor to act otherwise and thereby reconnect to God. Love is constantly reaching outwards. That is Paul's scandal. The kingdom of God is not capitalist.
That’s ok, we know from this parable that He’ll take us back, no questions asked, any time we want.
Maybe so, but the parable argues the contrary case, though it may be a valid criticism of the preacher's teaching.
Then he'll come and find us like a shepherd looking for a lost sheep. Whether or not it wants to be found.
That's why, for me, the most important moment is when the son sits with his pigs and decides to go home. The father's reaction is important, yes, but it's the son's realisation that he has separated himself from his father for nothing that is the pivot of the story. Probably the second most important is his speech to his father, which acknowledges the break in the relationship that he has created, and declares himself totally willing to return, even if that return has to be under the conditions imposed by the break.
I thoroughly agree with you, mr cheesy, because, as you have pointed out, the parable is one of several relating to the theme of "lost and found." By contrast I don't find anything in the parable to suggest: 'The risk is that we may wander so far we don't want to be taken back.' Similarly, I find ThunderBunk unconvincing. Surely, the key speech is that of the father:" let us eat and make merry; for this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found;" and lest the hearers have missed it the first time, the parable concludes: " It was fitting to make merry and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found." The focus of the parable is on the nature of the father rather than the actions of the sons.
I've been trying to think about this story as an example of how a realised eschatology might work, particularly in terms of how it incorporates the operation of grace, rather than falling into a rather mechanical, quasi-karmic view of the world, and I think it works in those terms, actually more or less as I described. The initial judgment is passed on the departing son when the value he stood to inherit is calculated and paid to him - to me that's a pretty clear way of incorporating a process of evaluation into a narrative. He then takes the proceeds of this process, his justly acquired wealth, and squanders it. This action then triggers a further moment of judgement, when he is sitting among the pigs, and it is this moment of judgment which releases him to return to the father, who then shows him the ultimate tenderness and mercy you are talking about. In the first case, the riches the son receives are those he should have received on his father's death. In the second, they are the unearned outpouring of the father's love, lavished on a son in the misery of self-inflicted poverty. That outpouring, which is grace, is released by the son's acceptance of the judgement on his actions inherent in the situation in which he finds himself, and his willingness to repent, literally to turn back. Everything else that happens is down to the father's nature, but that nature is revealed by the moment of repentance which releases the son from the shackles created by his treatment of his inheritance.
I'm not sure you do agree with me, I thought I was using irony.
I think we are all reading too much into this; there are several parables about finding lost things - which use different and contrasting pictures.
The only constant is that there is a seeker and a thing who is lost.
I don't think we can make statements at all about what the seeker will do to the lost thing who doesn't want to be found. The two parables suggest two different answers - which suggests to me that this isn't the focal point of either story.