Nail Scarred Hands Made New. John Shorack
the father says “yes,” giving him what he asks for. Upon the son’s return, his dad’s hug, not unlike Corrie’s extended hand with the promise ring or Ryan’s unmerited gift to one who had stolen, boldly declares to the son, “Here! I give you—freely and, yes, costly—more than the inheritance you wrongfully took from me. I give you my love, my trust—my very self!”
With Corrie, Caligallo received more than the ring. He received a hand—a hand extended in forgiveness, love, and trust. With Ryan, Caligallo received genuine forgiveness for wrongs committed and acknowledged: I know you steal, because that is what life has come to. The father too knows his son’s follies. He doesn’t sweep his wayward ways under the rug as if they never happened. He knows that what the son needs is a gift greater than his sin.
Calvary Love Revisited
How can a father be so happy in forgiving a scoundrel like that? Yet could this be what God in Christ did at Calvary? “God demonstrates his love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Rom 5:8). What a foolish God we have! While we were still street thugs, uppity religious snobs, and well-intentioned but misguided crusading believers—so unworthy of mercy—God surprised us by suffering the humiliation of a Roman cross for us.
If my neighbors are right, this means that God is out of touch with the real world. Does the father wait to see if his youngest child has repented before starting to run? Before taking him in his arms? Before showering him with kisses?
No. The father forgives the younger son before the boy confesses his sins. Dad initiates. He opens his arms in an unexpected act of forgiveness and reconciliation. The son simply falls into them. His repentance doesn’t open the dad’s arms. According to Kenneth Bailey, even this gives the son too much credit.1
Bailey believes that, according to the text, the son’s reason for going home is to fill his empty stomach, not to reconcile with his father. The phrase that he “came to his senses” is more accurately rendered, “the son returned to himself.” In other words, he realizes a way to save himself from his predicament. He crafts a speech to manipulate, not to repent. It resembles Pharaoh’s speech to placate Moses to stop the plagues. The son doesn’t ask to become a slave; he wants to become a worker so that he can repay his own way. In this condition the son starts his journey back to the father—with dirty rags and a contrived speech.
What a foolish dad! According to my instincts as a father who wants to raise sound children, the father’s behavior smacks of poor judgment and irresponsibility. Don’t I first confirm that my gestures of reconciliation will be received, that my efforts to make things right will be reciprocated? Contrary to such logic, the father in Jesus’ parable believes his love will be enough. His forgiveness will transform.
Scripture supports this view of God’s work on Calvary. Hebrews 9:26 states, “He has appeared once for all at the end of the ages to do away with sin by the sacrifice of himself.” The reference to sin in this text doesn’t highlight my sin and yours so much as the big problem of sin: that of humanity’s. God, in Christ, did away with the sin that separates us from God. This brings to mind John the Baptist’s declaration upon seeing God’s anointed one, “Look, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world” (John 1:29).
God’s Shalom
The father in the story stands with the restored younger son, taking the verbal abuse upon himself, yet without turning his back on the older son. There’s not a shade of dispassion or neutrality on the father’s part. He stands with one while moving toward and calling the other. His loving action toward one never compromises his obvious love for the other.
In the father’s love for both sons, witnessed first in his running out to the younger one then in his stepping out from the party to plead with the older, we are endowed with a breathtaking glimpse into the vastness of God’s nature. With the former, he embraces the one who wills his death for selfish gain. With the latter, he initiates reconciliation with the one who, in self-righteous decency, tries to destroy the restoration of the family by insulting his dad with public ridicule. This provides a beautiful window into God’s covenant faithfulness, a snapshot of God’s righteous, saving actions that restore us to the shalom for which we were created.
A Small Sign of God’s Big Shalom
Caligallo held up my friend José at gunpoint. While his buddy held the gun to José’s head, Caligallo took my friend’s shoes. A few days later, José told me about the incident. I was struck by the shame he felt walking home barefoot through the web of slum homes where nothing happens covertly. From José I learned how hard it is for a moderately macho man who follows Jesus to consider alternatives to plain and simple revenge.
Let me be clear. We need to reach the Caligallos of the world. Yet we must also reach the “decent” people with the gospel of the pleading father. Without a church that renounces the absolutizing of Christian decency and uprightness over against the unworthiness and badness of the Caligallos, we won’t see God’s kingdom come or his will done.
Consider this passage from Jesus’ most famous sermon (Matt 5:43–48):
You have heard that it was said, “Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.” But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? . . . Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.
Verses 43 and 48 are clearly linked in Jesus’ train of thought. Our heavenly Father’s perfection is his divine capacity to love those who oppose him. Yet to pursue reconciliation with my offender in imitation of the Great Lover requires a conversion of the heart.
After Caligallo stole his shoes, I discussed and prayed with José about God’s love for Caligallo. Later, I found out that he went to his offender and gave him fruit as a gesture of good will. José also asked for his shoes back. His request was denied.
What enabled José to approach the unapproachable Caligallo with a peace offering instead of a pistol? In conversations with him before his bold act, José was honest about his struggle. He didn’t brush over the conflict as if it were nothing. It was extremely difficult for him to view Caligallo with anything other than harsh judgment and condemnation. I don’t believe José felt anything close to compassion toward his enemy. He more or less accepted the idea that God could view Caligallo with mercy.
Thin as this foundation felt to him, José was open to new perspectives as we talked through the situation. Contrary to his instincts, and even a bit begrudgingly, he was willing to treat his assailant as a person with a name. To come in peace would require this. Finally, José took a risk that looked foolish to others. By stepping out in unexpected vulnerability, he granted Caligallo the chance to respond in kind with perhaps a surprising word or gesture that could make reconciliation a possibility. What happened in actuality was closer to a truce.
More important lythan the results or lack of them was the faith that José exercised. His modest step represented a movement in the spirit of Jesus’ primacy over the absolutizing of good and bad people. As the “older son,” he reached out to the “younger son,” though hesitantly and cautiously. I can’t say that José went into the party. Yet his initial move in that direction can be affirmed as a hopeful sign of God’s shalom through the breaking down of dividing walls.
Resistible Shalom
This movement—first to the street to receive the wayward younger son, then to the older son who remained outside the party—is powerfully demonstrated by Jesus who “suffered outside the city gate” (Heb 13:12). On the cross, God’s act of unexpected vulnerability and surprising forgiveness echoes the heart of the running and pleading father. For God’s peace/shalom is incomplete without