The Fouth Sunday in Lent
March 18, 2007

There hangs in the Hermitage in St. Petersburg, Russia the last painting Rembrandt completed before he died. It is not his most famous painting, or even, most will say, his finest, artistically. But it is certainly his most sublime, his rendition of the Return of the Prodigal Son.

Thanks to a little book by Henri Nouwen, the Dutch priest and theologian, I have spent some time this week reflecting again on this painting. It has done much to illumine this parable of Jesus we have just heard this morning..

In the painting, one’s eye is first drawn to the younger son in the foreground. His back is to us. His clothes are tattered. On one foot there is a soiled, one sandal; the other foot is bare and calloused. He is kneeling beneath the embrace of a nearly blind, old man who reaches over with is hands to caress his back. His head is shaved like a slave’s. His face is buried in his father’s breast, but enough is revealed to show deep remorse and shame.

Rembrandt knew the younger son from the inside out. In his younger years, he had been brash and successful. But in time, he squandered his great wealth. One after the other, four of his children died, and then his beloved wife, Saskia succumbed to death as well. Reduced to poverty, nearing the end of his life, Rembrandt made his long journey home with regret and longing.

And as I have looked at the painting, I cannot help but sense the younger son in me. I, too, have spent so much of my life wandering far away from my true home. I, too, have squandered much in this life, either in what I have done or left undone. I have insisted on my own self-sufficiency. I have taken for granted the gifts God has lavished on me. I have wasted too much time, too much energy, too much of my soul on things that are passing away. And I have neglected and rejected the things that shall endure.

The younger son in the parable chose to leave home and to leave everything of true value and purpose. He gave up his home and did not come to appreciate it until he had lost everything. Then, and only then, could he begin the journey back to his place of true belonging. Then, and only then, could his father reach out to embrace him, and welcome him home. In Rembrandt’s painting, there is an ephemeral glow surrounding the younger son kneeling before his father. In all the ways I have wandered far from home, in all the ways I have been welcomed back, I know this glow and this embrace.

The second figure in Rembrandt’s painting which draws one’s eye appears on the right standing over the image of the father and younger son embracing. This is the older son, the one who stayed home, the one who did everything right, who was dutiful and obedient. Rembrandt has him appearing in cool detachment, looking down in judgement and indignation on what he sees. The image captures the anger and jealousy of the older son, his self-righteousness. And his keen sense of entitlement.

Rembrandt spent much of his career dutifully doing the bidding of his patrons. He knew the older son intimately. And he knew the great cost there is in fulfilling this role. He knew how easy it is in this life, especially for those who are blessed with good fortune, to come to believe they deserve their privileged status.

And, yes, I know this person as well. So easily, I buy into the trappings of society which suggest that the world belongs to us to do as we please as human beings. So easily, I take my blessings for signs of entitlement. So easily I look at what I have in life, health, comfort, security, freedom, as indications of God’s favor. And so readily I turn my face from the vulnerability of the world in order to assert my privileged status. So readily my heart kindled is in anger and jealousy against those who would seek some of what I have. So readily, I can give into resentment when someone receives what I deem is mine by right.

In Rembrandt’s painting, as in the parable, there is the sense that the older son is as impoverished as the younger. Because, in a very real sense, he never appreciates what he has. He is not satisfied with what his father has bestowed upon him. He wants more, and more and more. “All that I have is yours,” his father tells him, but it is not enough. Like so many in the world we inhabit, like so much that lies within us, he wants what he does not need, so that he too, cannot possibly be at home, or claim his true place of belonging.

The parable is not a fairy tale, it does not have a happy ending. And neither does Rembrandt’s painting. We are left to examine our own hearts, and see how much of the older son is in us, and how tenaciously we hold on to our illusions of entitlement, even if our resentment kills all joy in our life.

Which draws one’s eye back to the father again. In he painting, the richest colors are saved for his mantle which drapes over the prodigal. His failing eyes are full of compassion. His palsied limbs form a protective circle around the younger son’s head. The light of his countenance radiates outward from the dark backround.

Rembrandt came home at the end of his life, by turning inward to be embraced by and to embody this all compassionate love. The face of the father in the parable and the painting is the face of God, and the face of God is the face of love. This love does not compare or compete. This love looks at all people as children of a common family. God’s love, in the parable and the painting, is portrayed not as a meritocracy where some are entitled to more than others; it is a kingdom where the last are equal to the first, and those who have only done a little are as loved as those who accomplish much.

It is true that the kingdom of God of which Jesus spoke can breed resentment in the hearer. It certainly did this to the Pharisees and Scribes who first heard about it. It does the same in Rembrandt’s time and our own as well. For in truth we are all the vulnerable, younger son, who at one time or another lose our way, and find ourselves strangers in a strange land. That is why the sinners and tax-collectors, the prostitutes and outcasts of Jesus day rejoiced to hear his words. There was for them a way home now, a way back to the embrace of their Heavenly Father.

But we are all prodigals, aren’t we? All of us trying to find our way home. In closing, I’d like to ask you to do something with me this morning. There’s an old gospel hymn my grandmother used to sing to herself that does for the ear what Rembrandt does for the eye with the parable. You can find it in Lift Every Voice and Sing:

Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling,
Calling for you and for me;
See on the portals He's waiting and watching,
Wactching for you and for me.

Come home
Ye who are weary, come home!
Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling,
Calling, O sinner, come home.