Overpersonalizing God

In many articles I have criticized teachers who “overfamiliarize” the person of God. Readers have rightly raised the question in turn of just how “familiar” I suppose God ought to be to us. While most of us agree that many popular teachers go too far in seeing God as a “buddy,” others question the degree to which I delineate just how “personal” God should be – perhaps even wondering if there is any difference between what I offer and the deist view of God.

The question is a fair one, and it is one I hope to answer as I continue research over the next several years. However, I will begin this research with some small steps in an E-Block series titled The Personability of God. Our goal here will be to examine Scriptural texts frequently appealed to as indicating a close, personal relationship (as understood by modern persons) between ourselves and the members of the Godhead, in contrast to what I have hypothesized to be the correct model: A generally more remote relationship, similar to that held between a client and a patron (and the patron’s brokers).

We begin with a text familiar to so many of us – what is called the parable of the prodigal son. For reference, here is that text in full:

11And he said, A certain man had two sons: 12And the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me. And he divided unto them his living. 13And not many days after the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living. 14And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want. 15And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. 16And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat: and no man gave unto him.

17And when he came to himself, he said, How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger! 18I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, 19And am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants. 20And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.

21And the son said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son. 22But the father said to his servants, Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet: 23And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry: 24For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. And they began to be merry. 25Now his elder son was in the field: and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard musick and dancing. 26And he called one of the servants, and asked what these things meant. 27And he said unto him, Thy brother is come; and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath received him safe and sound. 28And he was angry, and would not go in: therefore came his father out, and intreated him. 29And he answering said to his father, Lo, these many years do I serve thee, neither transgressed I at any time thy commandment: and yet thou never gavest me a kid, that I might make merry with my friends: 30But as soon as this thy son was come, which hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast killed for him the fatted calf. 31And he said unto him, Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine. 32It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad: for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found.

Exegetes who view God in a more personal way will generally take one of two approaches with this text.

  1. It may be argued that the father in the story is meant to represent God. Additionally, it may be said that the younger son represents the covenant of grace, while the older brother represents the covenant of law.
  2. Alternatively, it may be argued that although the father is not meant to be God, his reception of the younger son is meant to illustrate God’s loving grace in receiving the repentant sinner.

It is our contention that the first view is completely off base, and the second is more accurate, albeit sometimes too much colored by our understanding of “love” in terms of sentimentality. We will defend this view with a series of questions and answers. Our primary source of information is an essay by Richard Rohrbaugh from the book Jesus and His Parables titled, “A Dysfunctional Family and its Neighbors” although we are using general background knowledge from the social sciences to validate his findings as well.

Is the father in the story meant to be God? If so, it should first be noted that there is little to commend such an equation, save by begging the question that an analogy to God’s grace is to be found in the first place. Jesus does not say that the father is the Father, though in the form of a parable, this is not strictly necessary. More important is that if the father here is the Father, then we are led to the conclusion that so is the shepherd who left his sheep (15:4-7) and the woman who lost a coin (15:8-9). Do we wish to hypothesize that God leaves us to our own devices (the ninety-nine), unprotected from wolves, while he goes to find one lost sheep? Do we wish to hypothesize that He is capable of losing track of us? This is an important point, moreso than we may realize, for from a cultural perspective, the unfortunate fact is that the father in this parable is a thoroughly inept fool – he commits a number of horrendous breaches of the social code, such as:

  1. Abandoning his place as the head of the family by acquiescing to his son’s unreasonable, insulting demands – thereby also abandoning his honor and authority in the larger village social structure.
  2. Similarly, doing the same with his elder son at the end of the story, begging him to go into the party (he should rather be issuing a direct order to the eldest son to participate).
  3. As even exegetes in favor of the two above positions acknowledge, humiliating himself by lifting his robe and running.

It does not seem likely that Jesus would intend to portray the Father with such unflattering images. The family in this scenario would become disgraced in the eyes of the village they lived in. Indeed, what many commentators have not recognized in the past is that, despite the elder son’s words, the fatted calf is killed as a way of trying to reconcile the family with the rest of the village: A fatted calf would have too much meat for just one family, and the rest of the village would have despised the entire family for setting a poor example that others in the village might be tempted to follow.

Relatedly, are the sons meant to parallel the two covenants of grace and law? The basis for this seems to be little more than that the younger son “repents” when he goes back to the father. But strictly speaking, the son says and does nothing that can be clearly equated with Christian repentance. The phrase “came to himself” is sometimes read this way, but there are no parallel usages in other literature that can validate this meaning, and it needs mean no more than that he came to recognize in practice how far his situation had changed. The younger son’s motivation for return is also not coherent with Christian repentance, for he returns out of need to fill his stomach, and he offers to come work for his father – which would amount to an illustration of salvation by works, if the analogy is to hold. (It is not clear whether he does go on to work for his father, but under normal circumstances, he would be expected to indeed participate in the survival of the family – in other words, work.)

In addition, there is actually little to indicate that the youngest son engaged in sinful activities when he squandered his inheritance. The older son’s charge of spending the money on harlots can hardly be taken seriously; he was not on the younger son’s tail watching what he did in a faraway land. The charge is a case of deviance labeling, a stock insult, as opposed to a clinical observation. The words translated above “riotous living” also tell no such tale of necessity; the word used does mean excess, but this is just as well interpreted in terms of unwise stewardship, of a “boy from the country” not knowing how to manage his finances in the big city. (Rohrbaugh applies the example of modern Third World peasants who spend all their money when visiting cities.)

This may be of little relevance, since the son could arguably still have plenty to repent for, notably the way he treated his father. However, it remains that there is no clear statement of repentance by the son. He admits his error, but this is just as well seen as an admission preparatory to regaining his place in the family – in other words, he is not sorry he did it because he is repentant, but because of the penalty he undergoes.

Thus there is little to recommend an analogy to the covenant of grace, for what parallels may be found are too generalized. Perhaps the most important point is that there is no parallel to the atonement in this parable – and exegetes who admit this claim that to say so is to “miss the point.” But it can be said in turn that the charge of “missing the point” itself begs the question.

What about the fact that the father says that the younger son was once lost and dead, but is now found and alive? In this case, we should be careful of not reading into these terms later soteriology (or even John Newton’s hymnology). The words “lost,” “found,” “dead” and “alive” had yet to acquire such a semantic overlay; let it be kept in mind, for example, that in an agonistic setting, a deviant may be treated as though “dead”. It is in those terms that these words should be interpreted.

So what, it may be asked, do we do with the points of contact Jesus does offer us – of how, in his words in the prior, smaller parables, heaven rejoices over one lost sinner returning? We would maintain that the point of this parable is much the same as the others, effectively operating as qal wahomer: what applies in a less important case will apply in a more important case. The subjects of the three parables are 1) a foolish shepherd who abandons his flock; 2) a woman who has carelessly lost a coin; 3) a foolish, dysfunctional family. The message is thus that if even these three foolish examples give us people who are able to recognize the need to return the lost to fellowship, how much more so should God welcome the repentant sinner?

This is a direct slap in the face to the Pharisees (who, by implication, are foolish for keeping sinners at arms’ length and refusing to welcome them, much less aid them in finding a place with God). It may also subtly indicate that things that outwardly appear foolish and shameful hide within them a God-given principle -- just as the cross appears to have been a case of Jesus (divinity) dying a shameful death, which obscures, to those unwilling to see, God’s triumph through the Resurrection.

The story of the prodigal thus indeed has a message about God’s covenant grace extended to sinners. However, it is not quite the same message being found by those who see in the parable either a father who is meant to be the Father, or an analogy to the covenant of grace – and thus provides little to substantiate a relationship with God in familiar, personal terms to the degree supposed.

Our next section involves a single, simple term: Abba. Not as in, the Swedish band, but the address used towards God the Father by Jesus (Mark 14:36) and Paul (Romans 8:15, Gal. 4:6), the latter indicating that it is an address to be used by all Christians.

From pulpits around the country many have heard it said that “Abba” is an address that indicates a special sort of personal intimacy, and that it may be equated with the address “Daddy” in modern English. Pastoral writers like Max Lucado, featured in this issue, intimate the same.

The problem: This meaning for “abba” is something along the lines of an urban legend in the way it has been perpetuated.

The most credible proponent for this view was the German scholar Joachim Jeremias (1900-1979), who derived several conclusions from the use of Abba in the NT, such as that it was a unique address not used by other Jews. His findings have not all weathered the test of time and examination (though some have -- see here), but for our purposes, we are concerned with only one in particular: Jeremias believed that “abba” had its origins in the babbling “babytalk” of Jewish infants addressing their own fathers. From this he concluded that “abba” somehow reflected the specialized intimacy and vulnerability associated with an infant and its father.

Unfortunately, although Jeremias’ thesis in this regard spread like a typical urban legend, the refutations of this thesis did not. Indeed, Jeremias himself recanted his claim, though he also continued, rather inconsistently, to repeat it as though it were true. The chief rebuttal to Jeremias came from philologist James Barr, who in an article in the Journal of Theological Studies declared, “ ‘Abba’ Isn’t ‘Daddy’ “.

Barr reports that Jeremias was heavily influenced by a school of thought that certain words of address to parents – such as “mother” -- found their origins in infant babbling. Barr is quite blunt in retort: “Generally speaking, a safe rule is to disbelieve any philological explanation that rests on such babbling.” Jeremias’ idea was merely speculative, and involved a sort of chicken and egg question: Did infants universally first say “abba” and then did parents adopt that as their title? Or did parents teach infants to say “abba”? Either way, there remained no actual evidence for the thesis. Among the chief discrediting points is that “Abba” was found to be continued to be used by adult children towards their fathers; although admittedly an adult child might conceivably continue to use “Daddy” even today in modern English.

At the same time, Jeremias’ error was a logical one in which he confused philological origins with temporal usage. Put another way, he linked together the use of “abba” and the perception of intimacy illicitly: While a Jewish child and father with an intimate relationship may use “abba”, no link between the word and level of intimacy is established unless there is a broad indication that a father and child with a more distant relationship do not use the term – and such indication is unknown.

So what can then be said of the significance of “abba” in terms of intimacy? Very little. Jesus’ single use of it is wholly without contextual additions to inform it. Paul’s two uses do tell us that Christians are subject to use the word of God the Father, and in Galatians, the usage is counterposed to the child’s experience with non-relatives and guardians who oversee them. “Abba” clearly indicates some sort of exchange relationship, but without Jeremias’ endearing “infant babbling” thesis, there is nothing whatsoever to permit reading into it notions of modern paternal intimacy and tenderness.

In response to Barr, evangelical scholar Gordon Fee, in his book God’s Empowering Presence (410-2), acknowledges that the equivalence of “abba” to “Daddy” is artificial, but insists that it nevertheless indicates some level of intimacy. However, he does not specify what degree of intimacy he finds in the term, and offers no justification for the claim, save that he supposes that because Paul indicates that the believer “cries out” with the address, some intimacy must be indicated. The word used for “cry out,” however, bears no such connotations in other uses; for example, in Matthew 8:29, the demons inside the wild man “cry out” to Jesus, and it is rather doubtful that Jesus had an intimate personal relationship with any demons. The word indicates urgency, perhaps, and distress, which would fit well with Paul’s references, but there is nothing to justify a claim of any special intimacy. (Note as well that modern uses of the word by modern Jews has no bearing on usage in the ancient world -- a mistake Lucado makes in his own reasoning.)

So it is that in the final analysis, the discovery of “intimacy” seems to be more a case of reading modern values and understandings into the text than reading it out of relevant contexts.

For this installment, I had planned to look into passages in which the believer is called a “friend” of God, as in John’s Gospel when Jesus says that he calls us not servants, but friends. The answer was simple enough, and didn’t require much research: “Friend” in such connotations indicates essentially an ally with whom one’s plans are shared, with no overlay of intimacy implied; thus for example Pilate is threatened with the spectre of no longer being a “friend of Caesar” – someone in Caesar’s service, not someone who had frequent personal conversations with Caesar or went to his house for a BBQ.

Unfortunately, with that being all I found, that didn’t make for much of an article.

So, we’ll also use this chance to revisit Part 1 of this series, occasioned by two findings that came along at the right time: John MacArthur’s A Tale of Two Sons (TTS), which interprets the parable of the Prodigal in the way with which we disagreed; and some questions from an earnest reader about that first article. For the sake of readers newly subscribing, we’ll provide context by reprinting the earlier article. Those who have already seen that article and do not need to re-read it may wish to page down to the next hard return line.

Exegetes who view God in a more personal way will generally take one of two approaches with this text.

  1. It may be argued that the father in the story is meant to represent God. Additionally, it may be said that the younger son represents the covenant of grace, while the older brother represents the covenant of law.
  2. Alternatively, it may be argued that although the father is not meant to be God, his reception of the younger son is meant to illustrate God’s loving grace in receiving the repentant sinner.

It is our contention that the first view is completely off base, and the second is more accurate, albeit sometimes too much colored by our understanding of “love” in terms of sentimentality. We will defend this view with a series of questions and answers. Our primary source of information is an essay by Richard Rohrbaugh from the book Jesus and His Parables titled, “A Dysfunctional Family and its Neighbors” although we are using general background knowledge from the social sciences to validate his findings as well.

Is the father in the story meant to be God? If so, it should first be noted that there is little to commend such an equation, save by begging the question that an analogy to God’s grace is to be found in the first place. Jesus does not say that the father is the Father, though in the form of a parable, this is not strictly necessary. More important is that if the father here is the Father, then we are led to the conclusion that so is the shepherd who left his sheep (15:4-7) and the woman who lost a coin (15:8-9). Do we wish to hypothesize that God leaves us to our own devices (the ninety-nine), unprotected from wolves, while he goes to find one lost sheep? Do we wish to hypothesize that He is capable of losing track of us? This is an important point, moreso than we may realize, for from a cultural perspective, the unfortunate fact is that the father in this parable is a thoroughly inept fool – he commits a number of horrendous breaches of the social code, such as:

  1. Abandoning his place as the head of the family by acquiescing to his son’s unreasonable, insulting demands – thereby also abandoning his honor and authority in the larger village social structure.
  2. Similarly, doing the same with his elder son at the end of the story, begging him to go into the party (he should rather be issuing a direct order to the eldest son to participate).
  3. As even exegetes in favor of the two above positions acknowledge, humiliating himself by lifting his robe and running.

It does not seem likely that Jesus would intend to portray the Father with such unflattering images. The family in this scenario would become disgraced in the eyes of the village they lived in. Indeed, what many commentators have not recognized in the past is that, despite the elder son’s words, the fatted calf is killed as a way of trying to reconcile the family with the rest of the village: A fatted calf would have too much meat for just one family, and the rest of the village would have despised the entire family for setting a poor example that others in the village might be tempted to follow.

Relatedly, are the sons meant to parallel the two covenants of grace and law? The basis for this seems to be little more than that the younger son “repents” when he goes back to the father. But strictly speaking, the son says and does nothing that can be clearly equated with Christian repentance. The phrase “came to himself” is sometimes read this way, but there are no parallel usages in other literature that can validate this meaning, and it needs mean no more than that he came to recognize in practice how far his situation had changed. The younger son’s motivation for return is also not coherent with Christian repentance, for he returns out of need to fill his stomach, and he offers to come work for his father – which would amount to an illustration of salvation by works, if the analogy is to hold. (It is not clear whether he does go on to work for his father, but under normal circumstances, he would be expected to indeed participate in the survival of the family – in other words, work.)

In addition, there is actually little to indicate that the youngest son engaged in sinful activities when he squandered his inheritance. The older son’s charge of spending the money on harlots can hardly be taken seriously; he was not on the younger son’s tail watching what he did in a faraway land. The charge is a case of deviance labeling, a stock insult, as opposed to a clinical observation. The words translated above “riotous living” also tell no such tale of necessity; the word used does mean excess, but this is just as well interpreted in terms of unwise stewardship, of a “boy from the country” not knowing how to manage his finances in the big city. (Rohrbaugh applies the example of modern Third World peasants who spend all their money when visiting cities.)

This may be of little relevance, since the son could arguably still have plenty to repent for, notably the way he treated his father. However, it remains that there is no clear statement of repentance by the son. He admits his error, but this is just as well seen as an admission preparatory to regaining his place in the family – in other words, he is not sorry he did it because he is repentant, but because of the penalty he undergoes.

Thus there is little to recommend an analogy to the covenant of grace, for what parallels may be found are too generalized. Perhaps the most important point is that there is no parallel to the atonement in this parable – and exegetes who admit this claim that to say so is to “miss the point.” But it can be said in turn that the charge of “missing the point” itself begs the question.

What about the fact that the father says that the younger son was once lost and dead, but is now found and alive? In this case, we should be careful of not reading into these terms later soteriology (or even John Newton’s hymnology). The words “lost,” “found,” “dead” and “alive” had yet to acquire such a semantic overlay; let it be kept in mind, for example, that in an agonistic setting, a deviant may be treated as though “dead”. It is in those terms that these words should be interpreted.

So what, it may be asked, do we do with the points of contact Jesus does offer us – of how, in his words in the prior, smaller parables, heaven rejoices over one lost sinner returning? We would maintain that the point of this parable is much the same as the others, effectively operating as qal wahomer: what applies in a less important case will apply in a more important case. The subjects of the three parables are 1) a foolish shepherd who abandons his flock; 2) a woman who has carelessly lost a coin; 3) a foolish, dysfunctional family. The message is thus that if even these three foolish examples give us people who are able to recognize the need to return the lost to fellowship, how much more so should God welcome the repentant sinner?

This is a direct slap in the face to the Pharisees (who, by implication, are foolish for keeping sinners at arms’ length and refusing to welcome them, much less aid them in finding a place with God). It may also subtly indicate that things that outwardly appear foolish and shameful hide within them a God-given principle -- just as the cross appears to have been a case of Jesus (divinity) dying a shameful death, which obscures, to those unwilling to see, God’s triumph through the Resurrection.

The story of the prodigal thus indeed has a message about God’s covenant grace extended to sinners. However, it is not quite the same message being found by those who see in the parable either a father who is meant to be the Father, or an analogy to the covenant of grace – and thus provides little to substantiate a relationship with God in familiar, personal terms to the degree supposed.

With that in review, we now turn to our two new entries.

John MacArthur’s Tale of Two Sons

MacArthur’s commentary on the parable was apparently inspired by his readings of Kenneth Bailey’s material on it, as he lists no other scholarly source. Oddly, thanks to Bailey, MacArthur acknowledges many of the same cultural facts noted above, such as that father was engaged in shameful behavior (see more below), and should have commanded, not pleaded with, the older son (which was a serious violation of the social hierarchy of authority). However, in order to get around the implications of these and other texts, he frequently speculates by adding to the story what is not in the text.

One interesting variation is that MacArthur thinks the father in the story is meant to represent Jesus, not God the Father. [33] However, this does not change any of our points otherwise. [33]

Let’s consider some of the questions from above as MacArthur answers them.

Did the prodigal son actually go out and sin with the money he inherited? Our answer is no. In contrast, MacArthur [60-1] claims the prodigal spent money “in the pursuit of wickedness”.

Naturally, the elder son’s description of harlots forms the basis for his case. MacArthur admits that some commentators think it is a false association the elder son is making; how does he answer this? In his words: “If the Prodigal was completely innocent of that charge, I think Jesus would have said so, because it would have reinforced His case against the elder son’s own bad attitude.”

Yes, that is the entirety of MacArthur’s answer! It is, however, misguided: Jesus would not need to “say so” because his audience would be more than familiar with the practice of deviance labeling, as well as the role envy would play in invoking someone to resort to such labeling. Indeed, the very act of labeling all by itself would have “reinforced the case against the elder son’s own bad attitude.”

From there, MacArthur attempts to reinforce his interpretation with speculative descriptions of how the Prodigal lived in sin, and goes as far as saying, “...if he could spend away the family fortune so rapidly without spending any money on loose women, he probably spent it for something even worse.” This, then, would be an example of adding on to the text what cannot be found there. Clearly, MacArthur’s descriptions is more motivated by his wish to see the Prodigal as “a symbol of every unredeemed sinner...the evil motives that drove the Prodigal are the natural tendencies of every fallen human heart” [79] than it is by what can be found in the text.

Did the Prodigal repent? Our answer was that there was no real evidence of this; MacArthur disagrees. [86] Indeed he assures us that the Prodigal’s confession “was not merely a superficial ploy to regain his father’s sympathy, or a quick-and-dirty scheme to recover the comforts of his old life” but rather a “heartfelt, deep repentance” and indeed “one of the best and clearest examples of true repentance in all of Scripture.”

MacArthur does not appeal to the description of the son “coming to himself” as evidence of repentance, so what does he offer to support the claim that this is “one of the best and clearest examples of true repentance in all of Scripture”? His reasons amount to four, if we divide them charitably.

First, he says, this must have been true repentance because the Prodigal’s response was “thought through”! Let me assure readers that unrepentant criminals are not short on “thinking through” and “rehearsing” their confessions as a calculated way of achieving their selfish goals.

Second, MacArthur notes, true repentance begins “with an accurate assessment one own condition.” [89] That may be so, but so likewise, unrepentant criminals are seldom oblivious to their actual situation.

Third, MacArthur indicates that repentance to salvation involves not just change of mind, but “a fundamental worldview change” and “a powerful, penetrating, soul-shattering, life-altering, attitude-changing, wholesale U-turn.” While we only partially disagree (after all, a Jewish person who repents would require less of a change in worldview than an atheist does!) it is little but imagination for MacArthur to see just in the Prodigal’s “very first thoughts” (!) evidence of a “markedly different man, from the inside out”. That cannot be wrested from the smattering of words offered in the parable.

Finally, MacArthur says [101] that the “ultimate proof his repentance was genuine” was that the Prodigal made his confession directly to his father! It is hard to see how this proves a genuine repentance; after all, to whom would the Prodigal make his confession otherwise in order for it to be most effective? And again, the criminal is far from being someone unwilling to confess to their victims if it serves their purposes.

In sum, none of these points adequately provides evidence of a true repentance (as opposed to a self-serving confession) by the Prodigal.

Other ideological interpolations. I said that MacArthur frequently adds to the parable in order to make it seem more like his interpretation is valid. Here are some examples:

An Earnest Inquiry

With that, we now turn to our second “guest,” one of our readers who made some earnest inquiries about the prior section. Some of what was offered are questions we will answer; others are objections to our interpretation. I have reformulated some of these points to serve as inquiries that might come from anyone.

Why did the father run to his son and kiss him and hug his neck? That does seem rather intimate, regardless of who the father represents. Why did he do this, and what does it signify?

By our reading the father ran because he was acting as quickly as possible to prevent his son from being stoned or killed by the other villagers who would regard him as a deviant. The fact that he had abandoned his family made him an object of shame; thus as well the “welcome party” was a way of getting the villagers to also accept the son back into village life (and also forgive him for setting the bad example of running away in the first place – something the villagers would fear their own sons might be inspired to do).

The shows of affection were likewise a means of protecting the son from reprisal, and also indicated that the father had accepted him back into the family. Intimacy would play no automatic role in this. However, it remains that these would all be seen as shameful expressions by the father.

if a deviant person was viewed as “dead” or “lost” doesn't that fit in perfectly with the typical analogy as well as the “later soteriology”? Yes, but whether that “later soteriology” is present is the very point at issue.

With the 99 sheep, some commentaries say we should assume the shepherd had someone watching his flock while he was away, so maybe he wasn’t foolish. Maybe. But if that is the case, then maybe we should consider this in light of John 10:11-13:

I am the good shepherd: the good shepherd giveth his life for the sheep. But he that is an hireling, and not the shepherd, whose own the sheep are not, seeth the wolf coming, and leaveth the sheep, and fleeth: and the wolf catcheth them, and scattereth the sheep. The hireling fleeth, because he is an hireling, and careth not for the sheep.

By this reckoning, the shepherd is still foolish for leaving his sheep in the care of a hireling. Perhaps it is simply best to say that this would be a question, either way, of pressing the parallel too far; this is a danger only if we take it too literally rather than as a qal wahomer.

At present, I do not have any further passages to consider for this article.

An earnest reader wrote in with some good questions/comments about material from our earlier series, on the parable of the lost sheep and that of the prodigal son, found in issues from the first quarter of 2010. These questions/comments were good enough that I asked for and received permission from the reader to turn them into an article. I have therefore reformatted the reader's questions, and my own answers, into narrative format below, with only minor editorial changes for clarity.

You claim that in the earlier parables about the lost sheep and the lost coin, the behaviour of the protagonists was "foolish" and "careless". In that case, why did Jesus phrase these parables as 'Who wouldn't?'-type rhetorical questions?

In the context of ancient riposte, the only reason to do so would be sarcasm. Jesus was quite sarcastic towards the Pharisees and scribes at times -- and it might be noted that they were not exactly the sort of people who herded sheep for a living, so that he was essentially asking this question of people who likely had no idea what the proper way to herd sheep was. They might just be gullible enough to think that leaving behind 99 sheep alone was good practice.

But more than this: The analogy has to do with the Pharisees (who think of themselves in terms of the 99, as not needing repentance) versus the 1 (a sinner). This is also an insult to the Pharisees, for it indicates to them that 1 sinner is of more value than the 99 "righteous" they perceive themselves to be. The subtle message is that God considers their profiles as "righteous" of so little value that He is willing to leave them to the wolves to rescue 1 sheep (sinner) they would regard as worthless.

Additionally, I think we can agree that in reality, God doesn't leave 99 of His true followers to their own devices to go rescue one sinner. He is able to attend to both without compromise. Jesus ends the parable with a point that heaven rejoices over the repentance of one sinner versus the righteousness of 99 who need no repentance. Of course we know that no such person as one who does not need to repent actually exists (let alone 99 of them!); this is again a caricature of the Pharisees as they see themselves, per the above. The point again is the relative value of the Pharisees in God's eyes as compared to a repentant sinner.

The Pharisees would hardly have seen their own behaviour as foolish or careless; on the contrary, Jesus' phrasing suggests that such behaviour would be regarded as quite natural.

As noted, this would not reflect anything a Pharisee would even consider doing. They were not sheep herders but scholars with an inflated view of their role and purpose. If they ever saw a sheep it was on some faraway hill.

On a side note, you ask if "we wish to hypothesize that God leaves us to our own devices". If, as you have suggested elsewhere, God is not a micro-manager in our affairs, is it so implausible that He might just do this to a degree?

If we take the analogy at face value, the issue is one of getting people into the Kingdom. In that circumstance I don't see God as either a micro-manager or as leaving us wholly to our own devices (as they 99 sheep would be). He has left us the Bible and instructions to evangelize.

You mentioned that some of the father's actions (acceding to the son's despicable request, running to meet him) were in glaring contrast to accepted social norms of the day. I have no quarrel with this. However, you use this to deny that such unflattering behaviour would in any way be used to represent God's character. Yet later in the article you suggest that "It may also subtly indicate that things that outwardly appear foolish and shameful hide within them a God-given principle -- just as the cross appears to have been a case of Jesus (divinity) dying a shameful death, which obscures, to those unwilling to see, God’s triumph through the Resurrection." Why is this not an answer to your earlier point? Was it not the Pharisees' reaction to Jesus' own "horrendous breach of the social code" - consorting with undesirables - that prompted the three parables in the first place?

Yes, but what I refer to are things that only appear foolish -- not that actually are. The father's actions in the parable not only appear foolish, but truly are. Even so, it would allow a subtle indication (that is why I did not say "direct") that foolish appearances can merely be appearances, since the stories do hide a certain wisdom Jesus is trying to transmit in the context of confronting the Pharisees.

On the first point you may be right, although I wonder how many people have had to see their circumstances reach their nadir (eg Lk 20:40-43?) before they came to Christ.

I have known a few. But this is a relatively modern phenomenon. Most people in that age were already at or past the nadir in terms of tragedy.

As for the second point, I thoroughly agree that offering to work as a hired servant for his father would be tantamount to salvation by works. However, the son does not make this offer. Note the precise point at which the father halts his son's little speech: after the son admits his misdeeds ("I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight") and his just deserts ("...and am no more worthy to be called thy son") [v21] but before he can utter a word about working as a servant. Is there no significance to this?

Not really. Based on Semitic Totality the fact that he did not get to verbally complete the thought is of little significance.

Besides, could his confession have been "preparatory to regaining his place in the family" when a hired servant is not a member of the family at all?

Certainly. Once in the door, so to speak, he would naturally seek to further restore his position. However:

Only, it seems to me, if the son had been hoping that the father would eventually soften in heart and "promote" him from servant to son (assuming he would agree to the son's proposal in the first place). Had this been part of the son's plan all along, it seems too important a detail for Jesus simply to leave out.

Not at all. You have perhaps read elsewhere what I have written of high context societies. The situation itself would tell the reader that this was the son's ultimate goal. It does not need to be made that explicit to be seen.

Why would He follow this declaration with a detailed parable climaxing with a feast that was not a celebration with the neighbours invited but an attempted reconciliation with those neighbours, thrown by someone very unlike God for someone who was very unlike a repentant? After all, the father jars not because he is described as wicked, like the judge who feared not God nor regarded man [18:2], but because he shows such compassion to the undeserving (both the selfish, foolish prodigal and the resentful, self-righteous older son) that he neglects certain major social niceties, as Jesus Himself did on more than one occasion (Lk 7:39; Jn 4:27; the examples mentioned earlier).

Nevertheless, it is regarded as a foolish expression of compassion. There were other ways to show compassion that would not have been foolish -- such as quietly and privately getting the son an equitable position with a farm far from home. As for the purpose, I would again say it was a qal wahomer example.