The Prodigal and the Manager

Paul Walton
21 September 2004

Last week’s gospel reading was the Parables of the Lost Sheep and the Lost Coin. You know, the shepherd goes after the lost sheep, leaving the ninety nine in the wilderness; the woman lights a lamp and sweeps the house until she finds the coin. And then — joy! And a party!

The parable that comes after is the Prodigal Son, or the Waiting Father, or the Lost Son; or my preferred name, the Lost Sons, because both were lost in their own way. We see these three parables as a little unit, all about lost things, rejoicing and the grumbling of the righteous.

Then follows the Parable of the Dishonest Manager. It doesn’t seem to fit, really, it’s more like a little cuckoo, this parable, inserting itself where it’s not wanted; it’s had commentators having conniptions over the centuries, with its commendation of the outrageous behaviour of the steward.

We can get a clue about the meaning of this parable from the Parable of the Lost Sons. The Lost Sons isn’t just the third of the series of parables on lost things, but it’s the first of two parables on forgiveness and grace.

If we read this parable alongside the Parable of the Lost Sons, it is remarkable that the main character in each squanders what he has. In 15:3, the prodigal son ‘squandered his property in dissolute living’; in 16:1, the dishonest manager ‘was squandering his [employer’s] property’.

What do these squanderers do next? Each one hatches a scheme to get back into the good books of the one he had wronged. And each one finds mercy and grace beyond his wildest dreams.

There seems to be a clear connection between the Parables of the Lost Sheep and the Lost Coin, through the complexities of the Lost Sons and what we should perhaps call the Lost Manager.

How does that help us to understand this parable? It suggests that it is about the undeserved, overflowing absolute grace of God. It reminds us that there is nothing we do to merit God’s grace — therefore, as children of God, there is no one we should withhold grace from.

The first part of that statement — there is nothing we do to merit God’s grace — is good Protestant theology! (By the way, it’s good Catholic theology too.) We wouldn‘t get too many of our people objecting to it. The second part — there is no one we should withhold grace from — is a different kettle of fish: it is a continuing challenge to Christ’s Church today. Jesus Christ is still way ahead of us.

Let me take you to another verse in Luke: in 11:23 Jesus says, ‘Whoever is not with me is against me, and whoever does not gather with me scatters’.

Luke uses the same Greek word (skorpizo) for both ‘scatters’ and ‘squanders’. In loving the lost while they are still lost, Jesus is gathering them in. It’s a deeply evangelical action. Those who will not love ‘the lost’ — those who ignore them, avoid them or insist they reform their lives first — are scattering, no matter how virtuous they are.

In more current jargon, we’re talking here about ‘unconditional love’. Only unconditional love gathers with Jesus. But how do we love the unlovely? Not only the unrighteous, but the unlovely righteous? How do we gather those who are scattering in the name of Christ, as they insist (for example) that gay and lesbian Christians cannot take a full part in the Church of Jesus Christ? How do we hold together as a Church when the righteous would exclude others on the basis of morality or theology? And very importantly — how do we stop ourselves from being part of the unlovely righteous?

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