One of the enduring beauties of Scripture lies in its ability to reveal new nuances each time we approach it with an open heart, reflecting our evolving needs and perspectives. Take, for instance, the parable of the prodigal son and the forgiving father — a tale that has unfolded differently for me over the years.
In my youth, I was drawn to the plight of the elder son, dutiful and rule-following, whose sense of justice bristled at his father’s forgiveness. How could such obedience be overshadowed by what seemed like unwarranted mercy? It puzzled me then, until later years brought clarity.
About a decade ago, looking at the story from a completely different vantage point, I was struck by something my friend Ginny Foreman wrote. She pointed out that the prodigal son was never lost. The Lord knew where he was all along. God never hid himself; he allowed the young man to discover his need and then find the waiting God in the arms of the forgiving father. I tucked that away and have pondered it frequently in the ensuing years. No one is lost. God knows where they are.
Recently, revisiting the parable, another layer surfaced: the father’s wisdom in letting his son depart with his inheritance. He did not restrain or coerce; he understood that true love does not compel but allows for freedom. This act of letting go, with its painful implications, underscores the father’s respect for his son’s autonomy.
The father is wise. He recognizes that forbidding the son to leave will not bear good fruit. He “allows” him to go, knowing that with or without his permission, the boy will leave. So, he actively allows it. He maintains his own dignity, declining to beg, plead, or — most importantly — manipulate his boy to get him to stay. He acknowledges that his son also has inherent dignity and is free to go. As painful as it is, the father can be at peace with the leaving because he knows that he has treated the son with respect.
He knows what he can’t control. Then, he fully commits to what he can control. He acknowledges that his son has both freedom and dignity given by his Creator and that the decision to stay or to return home must originate in the heart of the son. The son’s ability to choose what he thinks and feels and how he acts? God himself gave that to him. The father knows better than to try to manipulate it away. Instead, he respects it. Guards it. Protects it. In his wisdom, he knows that manipulation would only damage his son and strain the relationship further.
The father is also aware of his own dignity. He doesn’t abdicate what is inside his locus of control. The father models a profound truth: when faced with disagreement or departure, our choices are rooted in our character. We cannot impose understanding or allegiance upon others, but we can uphold our own dignity and respect, nurturing relationships with grace and patience. Any time someone disagrees with us or argues or even leaves, we have choices. Ultimately, we cannot force them to see it from our perspective, but we can remain dignified and respectful of all parties — especially ourselves — in the way we respond.
Firmly rooted in the knowledge of what is his to control, the father makes it clear that he will leave the light on. Home will be there, ready and waiting. He will open his arms and he will receive the boy gladly when — and only when — the son exercises his own freedom and returns to the love of the father on his own volition.
Reflecting on this parable, I find myself drawn deeper into its timeless wisdom. It teaches not only of familial bonds and forgiveness but also of the profound respect for each person’s journey and the sacredness of their choices. Through the father’s example, we glimpse a love that does not possess but liberates, allowing each soul to discover its path back to love and reconciliation in its own time and manner.
Foss, whose website is takeupandread.org, writes from Connecticut.
