Nail Scarred Hands Made New. John Shorack
son seems oblivious to such qualities and solely preoccupied with his own performance.
What about the older son’s claim that he never disobeyed his father’s commands? Bailey points out that in traditional Middle Eastern culture, the expected role of the older son would be to intervene and become the mediator between family members in the face of the younger brother’s shameful request. Instead, the older son, as vv. 12–13 imply, remains silent and passive, accepting the division of the estate in which he receives his half.2
The older brother becomes furious at the news of the party and refuses to join in. When he speaks to his father, he breaks the protocol of respect and honor by launching into a lecture. He never addresses him as father.
Bailey points out here too that it’s difficult for us to imagine how insulting his behavior is. He suggests that to better appreciate the nature of the older son’s conduct, we should imagine a wealthy man hosting a black-tie, candlelit dinner for prestigious guests, only to have his son show up at the door unshaven, without shirt and shoes, verbally attacking the host. This analogy, according to Bailey, is too mild to convey the revolting nature of the older son’s behavior. Whereas the younger son’s request for his share of the estate embarrasses his father privately, the older son embarrasses him in front of the whole community.
What sins does the younger brother commit in that faraway land? Certainly he wastes his money on prostitutes and the like. Or does he? The Greek word for “squandered” does not connote immorality. The word means he lacked discipline with his money; he failed to watch his finances. This is important to note.
How do we know that he slept with prostitutes? Curiously, this information comes from the mouth of the older brother. How does he know what his younger brother did? He doesn’t. The comment is the elder brother’s attempt to destroy the restored relationship between the father and his younger sibling. In the context of their community, the elder son knows that if he can make the story stick, no father in the community will give his daughter in marriage to his little brother.
The older son did indeed work diligently in the field. He completed the many tasks that he knew were important to his father. But what does he miss? Where does his blindness lie? He can’t see himself and the true nature of his actions. He blindly uses his stature and fine reputation as the responsible older child to try to ruin the restored relationship between his father and brother. He is also blind to the true character of his father.
Rather than reading this parable as the story of a lawbreaker (the wandering young man) and a law-keeper (the dutiful older one), we must read it as the story of two heartbreakers, for both of them break their father’s heart.
Line Drawing
“Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged” (Matt 7:1–2). Isn’t the underlying assumption of Jesus’ command that no one is exempt from the snare of sin and guilt? The point isn’t the grave sins my neighbor might have committed. It’s whether I recognize what I’ve done. When I truly see myself and my actions for what they are, I dare not judge my neighbor. Jesus honored “sinners” and gentiles, who by outward appearances didn’t conform to the standards of decency or that of the Torah-abiding citizenry. Yet unlike the religious insiders, the outsiders saw themselves truthfully and knew they needed God.
One day during this episode Ryan pulled the blinders from my eyes with his provocative query: “Do we really know if Caligallo has killed anyone?” The question alone forced me to question the source of our data and the neighbors’ preoccupation with Caligallo’s sins. How much of his reputation was earned, and how much of it was fabricated by the “older brothers” of our community?
We will never know the exact truth. According to Jesus, this misses the point. Drawing a sharp line between “us” and “them,” the “good guys” and the “bad guys,” inevitably multiplies the bad guys’ sins. Whatever sins Caligallo committed against the community, we can be certain that the neighbors multiplied them, feeding their justification for revenge.
Some might object: Aren’t you judging your neighbors for breaking relationship with a street criminal? I hope not. I’m no different from them. My neighbors were too afraid of Caligallo to talk to him. They didn’t believe it possible to have a normal conversation with him, even though many knew him from birth. I too was afraid to approach him.
I also dare not judge my neighbors because I am different. As a newcomer to the neighborhood, I don’t share their long and beleaguered history of conflicts, misunderstandings, and offenses. The collective accumulation of anger and hurt in the slum escapes me. This clearly gives me and my team greater freedom to develop hopeful relationships.
There are other factors that make it easier for me to be a friend to Caligallo. We are mission workers who are cultural outsiders, and the trajectory that our neighborhood relationships take is into the community to identify with the life of the barrio. We take our missional cues from the “word made flesh,” who was sent in the humility of human flesh to redeem all flesh. This incarnational gospel propels us into the world “as the Father sent the Son” (John 20:21).
We pursue this missional lifestyle while simultaneously benefitting from additional identities that we never lose—our country of origin, our history and language, our family, and our mission community. These deeply meaningful sources of strength provide us with a wider, diversified sense of home and belonging. More important, they lie beyond the slums and therefore cushion us in incalculable ways.
The felt-need of evangelicals in the barrio is to separate from their neighbors. The slums, and this city, are their only world, their only place of identity. For this reason, the world and its destructive currents pose a much more serious threat to them. If local believers lower their guard by fraternizing too closely with “bad” people, the “worldly” forces that surround them will snatch away their new life in Christ. To intentionally remove social barriers with the world is considered unwise, even foolish. Moreover, their motives would be questioned if they were seen hanging out too much with immoral people.
Absolutizing
Line drawing between “decent” people and “unworthy” people creates a false either/or, an artificial choice between good and bad. With a wide angle lens, such line drawing falls within the broader human propensity for absolutizing that which God relativizes.3 To absolutize something is to make it an unchangeable standard, an ultimate reality—something to be adopted, not adapted. When we absolutize a cause, a strategy, or a doctrinal interpretation, we become dogmatic and closed. In our thinking and attitudes we become air tight, unwilling to engage in dialogue with a perceived enemy who could threaten our stance. We cannot love and respect those who hold different views. Though unspoken, the thinking is this: “When I know that I’m right, and that God is on my side, why would I play host to the devil and his schemes?” This attitude precludes any dialogue.
In the political jargon of Washington, DC, this becomes, “We don’t negotiate with terrorists.” In first-century Palestine, it was, “We know the Christ doesn’t come from Galilee” (John 7:41) and, “If he were a real man of God he wouldn’t defile himself with sinners” (Luke 15). In some churches you hear, “Everything must be done with decency and in order.” In others, “Heaven is our destiny and soul winning is why we’re here.” In Venezuelan politics, the slogan of the current government is “Fatherland, Socialism, or Death.”
What do these statements have in common? They absolutize that which we hold dearest. Even though some of these causes might be worthy of our concern, they become anti-gospel and destructive when we give them an authority that belongs to God alone.
Here lies the beauty of our friendship with Caligallo. God used this young man to teach us that a street criminal is much more than a street criminal. Caligallo was a human being (alas, much like myself!). In the parable of the prodigal, the older brother absolutizes his position and status as the worthy son. He deems his brother unworthy, leaving no room for negotiating the matter. To accept his younger sibling