The Parable of the Prodigal Son is, perhaps, the most familiar of all the stories Jesus told. Over the years, more has been said or written about this tale than almost any other. Is this really the story of a prodigal (which means "recklessly extravagant") son? Or is it the tale of an older, more responsible brother? Perhaps, more accurately, could it be called the parable of a waiting father? There are so many angles to this narrative. That's why so much has been said of it over the years. In it, Jesus raised a dwelling with a thousand doors. The entrance I'd like to open in this chapter is the one marked "servanthood." That's how I want us to view this story, from the vantage point of being "servants of the Lord."

     We've been exploring what it means to be a Servant of Christ. The key words here are "to be." When we think of service, we often move quickly to the "doing" aspect of servanthood. I've been trying to help us focus upon the "being" part of servanthood: "who we are," "whose we are," and "in what direction we are heading." For better or worse, I have allowed certain concepts to flavor our journey: Identity, Accountability, and Obedience.

     Servanthood is an orientation, I wrote. Christ Jesus is our magnetic north, thus the means by which we know who we are - our identity. As servants, we are all accountable to God. To be answerable to God is not to fill out a tax return. From an earthly perspective, such accountability is getting by with as much as you can without being penalized. From the perspective of God's Realm, though, it is becoming like the One to whom we are accountable. In the last chapter, our focus was upon obedience, a difficult word to speak in this present day. To be obedient is to listen for and to heed God's voice, it is a direction in which we turn with both our ears and our feet. It's not where we end up, it's the course we follow to get there.

     Our focus in this chapter is upon the "how" of servanthood - "how" do we do what we do as servants of the Lord. I propose that this story of the Prodigal son (or whatever we choose to call it) provides some signposts along the way toward answering this question.

     A son chooses to go his own way, demands his share of the family inheritance, and journeys to a far country. If the truth be told, I've known prodigal children whose far country is right next door. How about you? Distance doesn't have to be in miles. However it happens, there is separation. A chasm opens up which seems too wide to cross, and it grows with time. I think most of us can associate with this picture, no matter on which side of the chasm we stand.

     This father's son, this brother's brother steps out, seemingly burning his bridges behind him. Far from home, he wastes his inheritance - it slips through his fingers and is gone. It's interesting that this story, as it's recorded in Luke (15:11-32), does not go into detail about how the son lost it all. Like a farmer, he sows his "seed," but his tossing is indiscriminate, without rhyme or reason. In the text, it's vague, on purpose. What's odd is that the elder brother later seems to know more details. How? Who knows whether his accusations are informed or imaginary. Sometimes the fantasies of those who stay behind are as much a far country as the real thing.

     Lest we go overboard, ourselves, in describing the sins of the prodigal, there is within tradition a line of interpretation that associates Jesus with this son. After all, God's only Son journeyed to a far country - our turf. He scattered the seed of his inheritance rather indiscrimately. In another of his own parables, he spoke of this seed landing in various places, where it dries out, chokes up, or grows and flourishes. Elsewhere in the New Testament, it is written that Jesus emptied himself of his inheritance - he released it and took on the form of ... "a servant." In this far country, his scattering brought him to a cross, where he was executed for God's prodigality. "God was so recklessly extravagant with his love that he sent his only son..." I bet you never heard that translation.

     I'm not sure, however, if I'd push this interpretation of this parable that far. It does move us, though, in the direction we need to travel. Getting back to the parable as we have received it, once the prodigal son's inheritance is gone, he is without the basics he needs to live. So, he hires himself out. There it is, folks, the first image of servanthood in this story. Apparently this is barely one step above involuntary servitude. He is still hungry. As he slops the pigs, his mouth waters at their food. A pitiful picture. "No one gave him anything." What kind of servanthood is this? Unfortunately, many of us within the church see servanthood in that way. How, then, can a servant of Christ do God's work? It's hard to be a servant when your stomach is empty ... or your heart and soul.

     At this point in the story, this wayfaring son "comes to himself." He begins putting two and two together, realizing the bridges he has burned along the way to this pigsty, but also comparing it to life back on the farm. Note, this isn't nostalgia. He knows you can't return to the way things once were. He doesn't imagine life as a son. He resolves to return home as a hired hand. There's the second image of servanthood in this story. Seen from afar, the hired hands in the Father's house are better treated. It is one step up the ladder of servitude. Many disciples within the church reach this rung when they burn-out from service. One can be a prodigal within the church, you know. For some it comes from seeing servanthood as doing, instead of being. We work our tails off for the Lord. Then we come to ourselves and realize we're starving. "Is this what being a servant is all about?," we wonder. Some exit the church or the faith at this point. Others take time off, hopefully to pay attention to their spiritual need. "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness," Jesus said, "for they will be filled." (Mt. 5:6)

     This is the pivotal point in the story - the parable Jesus told, or the story of our lives. The prodigal son returns home with an image of servanthood in his head. This is what he will be. He plans out his confession, not for the purpose of getting things back to the way they used to be. He knows that is not possible. He has no right to claim his position as son. He has no right, whatsoever. This is sheer honesty, folks. When it comes down to it, none of us has any "rights" in coming home. If our relationship with God and each other were based on rights, we'd be lost. Insisting on getting what's rightfully ours is what gets us in trouble in the first place. Too often what we grab as ours by right, spills out between our fingers. We know this, hopefully. The prodigal son knew this.

     Here's the clincher, the part of the story that catches us each time we hear it. The father has kept an eye out his window all along. With sacrificial love, he had earlier let his son go. Can anyone really understand such love, even those who have acted it out in their own relationships? The father did not claim his right to have that son invest his inheritance in the business that generated the wealth in the first place. He let him go. Now, at a later point in time, these very hands which opened up and let go, are the ones which reach out and welcome home.

     It comes all so unexpectedly to the prodigal son. He has rehearsed his confession over and over, and the father doesn't pay any attention. What he imagined was a bed of hay in the barn and three square meals a day, in exchange for an honest week's work. What he received was a celebration: a robe, a ring, sandals, a fatted calf. But more important than all of that was a restored relationship with his Dad. What was dead has come alive! Unimagined, even un-hoped for, the bond is restored.

     Of course, nothing (again) is said of the details. Did this son now receive half of what was left of the family pie? That's what the older son feared, but the elder's story is a tale for another day. Suffice it to say that the prodigal son's brother is as lost, in many ways, as his younger sibling. He is little better than an indentured servant waiting for his time in the sun. The father tries to pull back the clouds and help him realize that his time is now. "All that is mine is yours," the father says. Not "will be" but "is." Inheritance is not a pie divided in only so many ways. Remember, the One who told this story was the One who multiplied the loaves and fishes.

     What does this story of Jesus tell us about servanthood? Well, to be a servant of Christ is to be in a relationship. This relationship is not based in what we do. In fact, if God is like this waiting father, which seems to be what Jesus implies, our actions - even the confessional act of repentance - are not what make this relationship. In the story, the father is miles ahead of his son, and doesn't really pay attention to his son's words of contrition. It is the radical, unconditional love of the father that re-creates this relationship.

     Servanthood is based in such love. This unconditional love of the father is how we do what we do as servants of the Lord. Only with God's love, can we truly serve. Otherwise, we do damage to ourselves or others. Jesus is our model and our way. He emptied himself of his rights as God's son and dissipated his gospel of the extravagant love of God to any and everyone. The seeds he scattered in our far country continue to sprout and grow, even after all else dies.

     This love grows in us, a new creation. As his servants, we are not indebted until we pay off what we owe, we are not even the next step up the ladder from slave to free person. Instead, God tosses that ladder away, and welcomes us home as sons and daughters through Jesus, the One who breached the chasm for us. You see, Jesus was and continues to be a bridge-builder, and that's what we're called to be as servants. "Blessed are the peacemakers," he said, "for they will be called children of God." (Mt. 5:9) Servanthood is a relationship, not merely a task, grounded in God's radical, unconditional Love.