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The kind of dad kids come back to

Vange Thiessen

Luke 15:11-32 gives us the parable we most commonly know as the “Prodigal Son.” Various commentators give alternate titles such as the “Parable of the Lost Son,” the “Parable of Two Sons” or the “Parable of a Father’s Love.”

From John Everett Millais’ Illustrated Edition of the Parables of Our Lord.

Commentators seem to agree that the father is a symbol of God. The characteristics and attitudes of a loving heavenly Father are portrayed. Yet this divine parable also provides a model for how a parent should respond to his or her children. Just what is it about this father that makes it possible for kids to come back?

He grants permission to leave.

The story begins, “There was once a man who had two sons.” The man is presumably a Palestinian Jewish farmer or landowner who is relatively well off. The younger son, in one of his bolder moments, comes to the father and requests his share of the estate. In the culture of that day, the younger son’s share would have been one-third of the estate, since the elder was allotted a double portion.

It still seems a ludicrous request, does it not? Imagine yourself in the place of this father. The family farm or business has been passed down from generation to generation. You struggle to follow in the family tradition, developing a strong commitment to the task. Over the years, you have sacrificed in order for your children to gain a better education, a better start in life. And now this! Your son at age 18 wants his share of the inheritance. What does he know about wise investments? How can you let him go on his own? Do you not feel an obligation to teach him the ways of the world? Thinking of all your mistakes in the past, you wish you could prevent his fall.

Yet the request comes, and a response is required. Contrary to what many parents today would consider a wise and prudent choice, the father obliges. Separation from the parental home is accomplished by physical removal to a “distant land.” No longer under the watchful eye of his father, the son is able to live without restraint and accountability.

It is more than a physical leaving. In that day, the command to honour parents was understood concretely as the responsibility to care for them in old age. By his actions, the younger son severed emotional relations with his father. He denied his status as son by cutting the ties of love and care.

What kind of father would give permission for a son to leave under such conditions? What merit is there in letting go? Is not the risk too great? There is no evidence in the narrative of a conflict between father and son. And yet I can’t imagine it was an easy separation. What might a father experience? Again try to put yourself in his place – would you feel loss, anger, pain, fear, disappointment? For many parents, this must be the most difficult aspect of parenting – letting go. Yet, in order for his child to come back, the father must first give the son permission to leave.

He maintains an open relationship of waiting and watching.

Separations are often so difficult that one or both of the parties in the relationship tends to move towards cut-off. Physical and ideological distance may also lead to emotional distance.

But, just as the child begins to separate and explore the world beyond, an inner alarm seems to also trigger the child’s need for reassurance. The child needs a secure place to come back to.

This is often very confusing for parents. (These critical points tend to occur during the toddler stage, in adolescence and, if not sufficiently resolved, again in midlife.) How can we honestly remain there for our child when the child is pushing so hard against everything we stand for? How do we hold together both the need to separate and the need to be connected?

The father remains ever hopeful, waiting, perhaps daily searching the distant horizon for his son’s reappearance. He believes his son will come back. When the son does return, their meeting is no mere acknowledgment. It is filled with exuberance and compassion. The Greek word for compassion means “to have the bowels yearning.” I like that. It signifies a deep, inner response of affection and tender mercy.

Some comment that a father in that culture would not normally run as he did, nor embrace and kiss a son. I wonder if that has changed in our culture? The qualities of care, nurture, receptivity, emotion and self-sacrifice have been designated “feminine” and are frequently undervalued in our society. In my own conversations with men, however, rejection of these masculine stereotypes seems to be becoming more common. This is also becoming an important topic in the field of marriage and family therapy. Deborah Luepnitz promotes a family therapy which includes the task of bringing fathers closer to the heart of child care – developing a father who will not be the tired nightly visitor, but rather one who is an authentic presence, a tender and engaged parent and a knower of children. Recent research links the ability to separate and the formation of empathy in a child to a father’s involvement at the preschool stage.

The response of compassion in the parable is followed by an act of charity. It is not sufficient that the father’s welcome is filled with emotion and feeling. The actions that follow match the emotion and demonstrate his acceptance in a tangible way. The symbols of a ring and a coat reinstate the young man’s sonship.

For the son, the remembrance of his father’s openness no doubt made his decision to return home easier.

He takes the initiative to seek out.

Amidst the celebration, the father never loses sight of an obvious vacancy. The father leaves the party in search of his elder son. The term “entreated” in Greek conveys the meaning “to come alongside, to comfort and exhort.” When he finds the elder son, the son’s feelings of jealousy, anger, resentment and perhaps insecurity begin to pour out. All these years he has worked to earn a place in his family, and yet he perceives a great distance. The father’s initiative shows sensitivity, understanding and unconditional love.

It is noteworthy that, though the elder son has never left home, his absence from the celebration showed his distant relationship from the family. Though he followed all the rules, the father was not deceived. The elder son was as much in need of his love and mercy as was the younger. Right knowledge and right behaviour were not enough to bring about a sense of belonging. In fact, it is often our “good children” that are most in need of the message of grace. Sensing a need to perform and earn their place in the family, they often fail to understand the concept of “gift” in a father’s relationship of love.

Think for a moment about the powerful nurturing force of getting there first. How often as a parent do we wait for our children to come to us? As a child, I remember begging for summer vacations. When my father finally gave in, it seemed a hollow victory. Somehow it never quite felt like a gift. What a different feeling when I received a dozen roses from my family right after graduation – I hadn’t even asked for them!

A friend of mine shared another example. For weeks, he responded to his daughter’s nightly call to tuck her into bed. Before he left the room, she would always say,” I love you, Daddy.” He then would echo,” I love you too, Tamara.” One night, she broke the pattern, “I wish you had said that first, Daddy.”

The father, in the case of the elder son, got there first. He took the initiative to seek and to come alongside.

He possesses the ability to celebrate.

The statement, “We had to celebrate and be glad,” seems to refer to something larger than the younger brother’s physical return. In Luke 12, the joy of the lost being found is a common theme in the three parables of the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the prodigal son. While the father rejoices that his younger son is found and alive, he longs to include the elder son in the celebration. The feast is a celebration of reconciled relationships.

Jean Vanier has some wonderful things to say about celebration: “To love someone is not to do something for them, but to rejoice in their existence. Forgiveness and celebration are at the heart of community. These are the two faces of love.” Parents, when you reveal to your children how happy you are that they exist, the process of trust is initiated. Celebration nourishes us; it restores hope and brings strength to live with the disappointments, suffering and difficulties of everyday life.

The kind of dad kids come back to.

This parable of a father’s love shows us the kind of dad kids come back to. He gives permission to leave without imposing his personal expectations. Throughout the separation, he watches and awaits the younger son’s return, all the while maintaining an open, tender, hopeful and affectionate relationship. Not only is he available, but he takes the initiative to seek out the elder son. As he comes alongside, he shows sensitivity and understanding of the questions, resentments, hostilities, needs and desires of his child. Finally, he celebrates the joy of reconciling broken relationships, of discovering true connectedness between father and son, between father and daughter.

Vange Thiessen is a family therapist, a sessional instructor in the counselling department of Associated Canadian Theological Schools and a member of Bakerview MB Church in Abbotsford, B.C. This article was earlier published in The Christian Leader and is adapted by permission from All Are Witnesses, a collection of sermons by Mennonite Brethren women, published by Kindred Productions (1996). Copies of the book may be ordered from Kindred by phoning (800) 545-7322.

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Last modified November 3, 1999.

© 1999 Mennonite Brethren Herald.
Published by the Canadian Conference of MB Churches.
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