A Father's Love
As we approach Father’s Day weekend this year, I’ve found myself gazing at one of my favourite paintings with new eyes. Rembrandt’s ‘Return of the Prodigal Son’ has always spoken to me, identifying with the broken kid who didn’t know better than to squander everything on ‘dissolute living’ – as scripture describes with only a hint of condescension.
Regardless of what happens first, this parable is not really a story about a prodigal son, but instead, a story about a foolishly forgiving father.
Having rejected him, taken from him, lavishly consumed and abused his privilege, the son comes crawling home with nothing left. His father not only offers him welcome, but as the story goes, he saw the son from 'a far off', and ran to him well down the road afore he even arrived. Before an apology can even be spoken, before an explanation or petition can be made, the father embraces him, kisses him, and sends for a robe, a ring and a feast. For, as he proclaims, “my son was dead, and now he is alive right here”.
There are so manythings I grew up thinking made a boy a man. There are so many characteristics Ibelieved a father was or was supposed to be. Successful, wealthy, influential,powerful and in command – too common a clip. But nothing about this father is definedby any of those characteristics. The very act of fatherhood, as seen in Rembrandt’spainting, is born from the ashes of a father’s broken heart and redeemed in thejoyful embrace of redemptive love.
For what was lost has been found, and what was dead is now alive again.
As I reflect on this favourite painting of mine this weekend – asking God to continue to mould me into the best Dad I can be for my son – I offer thanks to the men (and women) who have begun to teach me what it is to be a man, and what it is to be a father.
Jesus parable of the Prodigal Son is not about the broken nature of the son, or the many ways he fell short. It is a story about restorative and redemptive love. No matter how far he’d fallen, no matter how far he’d strayed, his father stood at the window day after day, until he caught a glimpse in the distance – and probably tripped over his sandals – sprinting towards the boy who came home.
As a person of Christian faith, I have come to know the Father’s love poured out into a first century Rabbi they called Jesus. A teacher who lived fully, loved endlessly, and eventually gave up his life, so that his loved ones would know the length God is willing to go to meet them at the end of the road.
I’m still a prodigal son. Part of me probably always will be. But, on this hallmark holiday, I'm grateful for those in my life who have welcomed me into the joy of a Father’s love.
