Rembrandt's Return of the Prodigal Son

I was asked to write a Lenten reflection on Rembrandt's Return of the Prodigal Son.  

I thought I would share my reflection:

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I have always found it painful to look at Rembrandt’s Return of the Prodigal Son.  Not because it isn’t beautiful, for it is.  Rembrandt is rightly recognized as one of history’s greatest painters, best known for his portraits.  Here, somewhat out of character for him, Rembrandt has actually painted something happening.  He’s given us a moving scene of a father and son reuniting.  The son is humbled, wasted, bedraggled, sorrowful—pitiful, really.  The father, for his part, looks like he has reached out to embrace his son but missed, as the son has fallen at his feet.  In his finery, the father lays his hands tenderly on his son’s back, lovingly pulling him close.  It is achingly beautiful.

But the reason I find the painting difficult to look at is the way Rembrandt has painted me, there on the right.  Yes, I am the older son.  Look at me.  I stand above my father and brother.  Do you see me looking down at them, disapproving of them, wringing my hands, and judging them?  It’s all there, isn’t it?  My face is pinched.  While my father’s arms are open, mine are closed.  While my father bends to embrace and comfort my brother, I keep my distance. 

And why shouldn’t I?  My brother turned his back on us; walked away from us; abandoned us.  He spent half of my father’s inheritance.  He has incredible nerve coming back here and throwing himself at my father’s feet now.  And what is my father thinking?  What about me?  I worked hard.  I did everything my father asked.  I stayed!  Where’s my fatted calf?  Let my brother throw himself at my feet, and beg for forgiveness; let him tell me how he’ll make it up to me.  Then maybe we can talk.

And I’m right, am I not?  I have read God’s Word.  You can read it, too.  Read Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers.  It’s all there.  God tells Moses to exile the sinners and to stone those who don’t obey His commands; He teaches “an eye for an eye”; and He prohibits the faithless from entering the Promised Land.  Why?  Because God is just.  God is fair.  We live in a world that would be chaos without laws and without rules.  If there aren’t consequences when the rules aren’t followed, then what is justice?  But the message of Jesus’ parable seems quite different.

Well, what did Rembrandt think?  Let’s look at the choices he made.  He could have painted this scene many ways.  In fact, the “moment” he chose to paint does not even “occur” in the parable Jesus told.  There is no scene where the brothers are together. The father is alone when he embraces the younger son. Later, the father steps out of the party alone to speak to the older son, who has refused to join the celebration.  Rembrandt could have chosen not to paint me at all; or he could have painted me looking away.  But he didn’t.  If you look carefully at me, you’ll see that I am not standing straight.  My upper body has begun to tilt toward my father and brother.  I am all about justice and doing the right thing, but Rembrandt somehow knows that even my heart is drawn to my father’s love and mercy, to my brother’s humility and sorrow.  All hearts are called to God’s love and mercy—although we don’t always recognize it. 

There is something incredible and incomprehensible about the father’s choice and about God’s choices—to create us, to love us, and to forgive us again and again.  God’s justice is not our justice.  His capacity for forgiveness and his desire to forgive are boundless.  Jesus surely had this in mind when he shared the parable, and Rembrandt when he painted this scene.  For my part, although I am the older son, I will try to allow myself to be drawn toward God’s mercy as someone called both to forgive and to be forgiven.

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