Six Books for the Journey – Course 4 week 6
HENRI NOUWEN - THE
RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL SON
DLT 1994
Leaving home
“Leaving home is, then, much more than an historical event
bound to time and place. It is a denial of the spiritual reality that I belong to
God with every part of my being, that God holds me safe in an eternal embrace,
that I am indeed carved in the palms of God’s hands and hidden in the shadows.
Leaving home means ignoring the truth that God has “fashioned me in secret,
moulded me in the depths of the earth and knitted me together in my mother’s
womb.” Leaving home is living as though I do not yet have a home and must look
far and wide to find one.
Home is the center of my being where I can hear the voice
that says “You are my Beloved, on you my favour rests” – the same voice that
gave life to the first Adam and spoke to Jesus, the second Adam; the same voice
that speaks to all children of God and sets them free to live in the midst of a
dark world while remaining in the light.” P.37
The voices of self-improvement and self-effort that lead to
guilt and overwork and over effort, leading Nouwen into the far country
“As long as I remain in touch with the voice that calls me
the Beloved, those questions and counsels are quite harmless. Parents, friends,
and teachers, even those who speak to me through the media, are mostly very
sincere in their concerns. Their warnings and advice are well intended. In
fact, they can be limited human expressions of an unlimited divine love. But
when I forget that voice of the first unconditional love, then these innocent
suggestions can easily start dominating my life and pull me into the “distant
country”. It is not very hard for me to know when this is happening. Anger,
resentment, jealousy, desire for revenge, lust, greed, antagonisms, and
rivalries are the obvious signs that I have left home. And that happens quite
easily. When I pay careful attention to what goes on in my mind from moment to
moment, I come to the disconcerting discovery that there are very few moments
during my day when I am really free from these dark emotions, passions and
feelings” p 41
“I am the prodigal son every time I search for unconditional
love where it cannot be found. Why do I keep ignoring the place of true love
and persist in looking for it elsewhere? Why do I keep leaving home where I am
called a child of God, the Beloved of my Father? I am constantly surprised at
how I keep taking the gifts God has given me – my health, my intellectual and
emotional gifts – and keep using them to impress people, receive affirmation
and praise, and compete for rewards, instead of developing them for the glory
of God. Yes I often carry them off to a “distant country” and put them in the
service of an exploiting world that does not know their true value. It’s almost
as if I want to prove myself and to my world that I do not need God’s love,
that I can make a life on my own, that I want to be fully independent. Beneath
it all is the great rebellion, the radical “No” to the Father’s love, the
unspoken curse: “I wish you were dead”. The prodigal son’s “No” reflects Adam’s
original rebellion: his rejection of the God in whose love we are created and
by whose love we are sustained. It is the rebellion that places me outside the
garden, out of reach of the tree of life. It is the rebellion that makes me
dissipate myself in a “distant country”.” P.43
“The sequence of events is quite predictable. The farther I
run away from the place where God dwells, the less I am able to hear the voice
that calls me the Beloved, and the less I hear that voice, the more entangled I
become in the manipulations and power games of the world.” P 47
NOUWEN’S ROMANTIC OBSSESSION THAT NEARLY GOT THE BETTER OF
HIM
“A few years ago, I,
myself, was very concretely confronted with a the choice: to return or not to
return. A friendship that at first seemed promising and life-giving gradually
pulled me farther and farther away from home until I finally found myself
completely obsessed by it. In a spiritual sense, I found myself squandering all
I had been given by my father to keep the friendship alive. I couldn’t pray any
longer. I had lost interest in my work and found it increasingly hard to pay
attention to other people’s concerns. As much as I realised how
self-destructive my thoughts and actions were, I kept being drawn by my
love-hungry heart to deceptive ways of gaining a sense of self-worth.
Then, when finally the friendship broke down completely, I
had to choose between destroying myself or trusting that the love I was looking
for did, in fact, exist…back home! A voice, weak as it seemed, whispered that
no human being would ever be able to give me the love I craved, that no
friendship, no intimate relationship, no community would ever be able to
satisfy the deepest needs of my wayward heart. That soft but persistent voice
spoke to me about my vocation, my early commitments, the many gifts I had
received in my father’s house. That voice called me “son”.
The anguish of abandonment was so biting that it was hard,
almost impossible, to believe that voice. But friends, seeing my despair, kept
urging me to step over my anguish and to trust that there was someone waiting
for me at home. Finally, I chose for containment instead of more dissipation
and went to a place where I could be alone. There, in my solitude, I started to
walk home slowly and hesitantly, hearing ever more clearly the voice that says
“You are my Beloved, on you my favour rests”.
This painful, yet hopeful, experience brought me to the core
of the spiritual struggle for the right choice. God says “I am offering you
life or death, blessing or curse. Choose life, then, so that you may live in
the love of Yahweh your God, obeying his voice, holding fast to him” Indeed, it
is a question of life or death. Do we accept the rejection of the world that
imprisons us, or do we claim the freedom of the children of God? We must
choose.” P 50
The choice of being God’s son is a matter of choice
“The choice for my own sonship, however, is not an easy one.
The dark voices of my surrounding world try to persuade me that I am no good
and that I can only become good by earning my goodness through “making it” up
the ladder of success. These voices lead me quickly to forget the choice that
calls me “my son, the Beloved”, reminding me of my being loved independently of
any acclaim or accomplishment. These dark voices drown out that gentle, soft,
light-giving voice that keeps calling me “my favourite one”; they drag me to
the periphery of my existence and make me doubt that there is a loving God waiting
for me at the very center of my being”. P 51
The difficulty of receiving forgiveness
“One of the greatest challenges of the spiritual life is to
receive God’s forgiveness. There is something in us humans that keeps us
clinging to our sins and prevents us from letting God erase our past and offer
us a completely new beginning. . Sometimes it even seems as though I want to
prove to God that my darkness is too great t overcome. While God wants to
restore me to the full dignity of sonship, I keep insisting that I will settle
for being a hired servant. But do I truly want to be so totally forgiven that a
completely new way of living becomes possible? Do I trust myself and such a
radical reclamation? Do I want to break away from my deep-rooted rebellion against
God and surrender myself so absolutely to God’s love that a new person can
emerge? Receiving forgiveness requires a total willingness to let God be God
and do all the healing, restoring, and renewing. As long as I want to do even a
part of that myself, I end up with partial solutions, such as becoming a hired
servant. As a hired servant, I can still keep my distance, still revolt,
reject, strike, run away or complain about my pay. As the beloved son, I have
to claim my full dignity and begin preparing myself to become the father.” P 53
We must follow the steps of the Beatitudes
“Jesus goes up onto the mountain, gathers his disciples around
him, and says “How blessed are the poor, the gentle, those who mourn, those who
hunger and thirst for uprightness, the merciful, the pure of heart, the
peacemakers, and those who are persecuted in the cause of uprightness. These
words present a portrait of the child of God. It is a self-portrait of Jesus,
the Beloved Son. It is also a portrait of me as I must be. The Beatitudes offer
me the simplest route for the journey home, back into the house of my Father.
And along the route I will discover the joys of the second childhood: comfort,
mercy, and an ever clearer vision of God. And as I reach home and feel the
embrace of my Father, I will realize that not only heaven will be mine to
claim, but that the earth as well will become my inheritance, a place where I
can live in freedom with obsessions and compulsions.” P 55
The Older Brother – maybe symbolic of many clergy?
“The parable that Rembrandt painted might well be called “The
Parable of the Lost Sons”. Not only did the younger son, who left home to look
for freedom and happiness in a distant country, get lost, but the one who
stayed home also become a lost man. Exteriorly he did all the things a good son
is supposed to do, but, interiorly, he wandered far away from his father. He
did his duty, worked hard every day, and fulfilled all his obligations but
became increasingly unhappy and unfree.
It is hard for me to concede that this bitter, resentful,
angry man might be closer to me in a spiritual way than the lustful younger brother.
Yet the more I think about the elder son, the more I recognise myself in him.
As the eldest son in my own family, I know well what it feels like to have to
be a model son.” P 69
“The elder son…did all the right things. He was obedient,
dutiful, law-abiding, and hardworking. People respected him, admired him,
praised him, and likely considered him a model son. Outwardly the elder son was
faultless. But when confronted by his father’s joy at the return of his young
brother, a dark power erupts in him and boils to the surface. Suddenly, there
becomes glaringly visible a resentful, proud, unkind, selfish person, one that
had remained deeply hidden, even though it had been growing stronger and more
powerful over the years.
Looking deeply into myself and then around me at the lives
of other people, I wonder which does more damage, lust or resentment? There is
so much resentment amount the “just” and the “righteous”. There is so much
judgement, condemnation and prejudice among the “saints”. Thereis so much
frozen anger among the people who are so concerned about avoiding “sin”.
The lostness of the resentful “saints” is so hard to reach
precisely because it is so closely wedded to the desire to be good and
virtuous. I know, from my own life, how diligently I have tried to be good,
acceptable, likeable, and a worthy example for others. There was always the
conscious effort to avoid the pitfalls of sin and the constant fear of giving
in to temptation. But with all of that there came a seriousness, a moralistic
intensity – and even a touch of fanaticism – that made it increasingly
difficult to feel at home in my Father’s house. I became less free, less
spontaneous, less playful and others came to see me more and more as a somewhat
“heavy” person.
When I listen carefully to the words with which the elder
son attacks his father - self-righteous,
self-pitying, jealous words – I hear a deeper complaint. It is the complaint
that comes from a heart that feels it never received what it was due. It is the
complaint expressed in countless subtle and not-so-subtle ways, forming a
bedrock of human resentment. It is the complaint that cries out; “I tried so
hard, worked so long, did so much, and still I have not received what others
get so easily. Why do people not thank me, not invite me, not play with me, not
honour me, while they pay so much attention to the those who take life so
easily and so casually?” p.72
“Returning home from a lustful escapade seems so much easier
than returning home from a cold anger that has rooted itself in the deepest
corners of my being. My resentment is not something that can be easily
distinguished and dealt with rationally.
It is far more pernicious, something that has attached
itself to the underside of my virtue. Isnt it good to be obedient, dutiful,
law-abiding, hardworking and self-sacrificing? And still it seems that my
resentments and complaints are miraculously tied to such praiseworthy
attitudes. This connection often makes me despair. At the very moment I want to
speak or act out of my most generous self, I get caught in anger or resentment.
And it seems that just as I want to be most selfless, I find myself obsessed
about being loved. Just when I do my utmost to accomplish a task well, I find
myself questioning why others do not give themselves as I do. Just when I think I am capable of overcoming
my temptations, I feel envy towards those who give in to theirs. It seems that
wherever my virtuous self is, there also is the resentful complainer.
Here, I am faced with my own true poverty. I am totally
unable to root out my resentments. They are so deeply anchored in the soil of
my inner self that pulling them out seems like self-destruction. How to weed
out these resentments without uprooting the virtues as well?” p. 76
“I can only be healed from above, from where God reaches
down. What is impossible for me is possible for God. “With God, everything is
possible.” P 76
Is there a way out?
“I don’t think there is – at least no on my wide. It often seems the more I try to disentangle myself from the darkness, the darker it becomes. I need light, but that light has to conquer my darkness, and that I cannot bring about myself. I cannot forgive myself. I cannot make myself feel loved. By myself I cannot leave the land of my anger. I cannot bring myself home nor can I create communion on my own. I can desire it, hope for it, wait for it, yes, pray for it. But my true freedom I cannot fabricate for myself. That must be given for me. I am lost. I must be found and brought home by the shepherd who goes out to me. The story of the prodigal son is the story of a God who goes searching for me and who doesn’t rest until he has found me. He urges and he pleads. He begs me to stop clinging to the powers of death and let myself be embraced by arms that will carry me to the place where I will find the life I most desire”. P 83
“I don’t think there is – at least no on my wide. It often seems the more I try to disentangle myself from the darkness, the darker it becomes. I need light, but that light has to conquer my darkness, and that I cannot bring about myself. I cannot forgive myself. I cannot make myself feel loved. By myself I cannot leave the land of my anger. I cannot bring myself home nor can I create communion on my own. I can desire it, hope for it, wait for it, yes, pray for it. But my true freedom I cannot fabricate for myself. That must be given for me. I am lost. I must be found and brought home by the shepherd who goes out to me. The story of the prodigal son is the story of a God who goes searching for me and who doesn’t rest until he has found me. He urges and he pleads. He begs me to stop clinging to the powers of death and let myself be embraced by arms that will carry me to the place where I will find the life I most desire”. P 83
And the solution for Nouwen is as follows:
“There is always the choice between resentment and gratitude
because God has appeared in my darkness, urged me to come home, and declared in
a voice filled with affection “You are with me always, and all I have is yours”.
Indeed, I can choose to dwell in the darkness in which I stand, point to those
who are seemingly better off than I, lament about the many misfortunes that
have plagued me in the past, and thereby wrap myself up in my resentment. But I
don’t have to do this. There is the option to look into the eyes of the One who
came out to search for me and see therein all that I am and all I have is pure
gift calling for gratitude.
The choice for gratitude rarely comes without some real
effort. But each time I make it, the next choice is a little easier, a little
freer, a little less self-conscious. Because every gift I acknowledge reveals
another and another until, finally, even the most normal, obvious, and
seemingly mundane event or encounter proves to be filled with grace. There is
an Estonian proverb which says: “Who does not thank for little will not thank
for much”. Acts of gratitude make one grateful because, step by step, they
reveal that all is grace.
Both trust and gratitude require the courage to take risks
because distrust and resentment, in their need to keep their claim on me, keep
warning me how dangerous it is to let go of my careful calculations and guarded
predictions. At many points I have to make a leap of faith to let trust and
gratitude have a chance: to write a gentle letter to someone who will not
forgive me, make a call to someone who has rejected me, speak a word of healing
to someone who cannot do the same.
The leap of faith always means loving without expecting to
be loved in return, giving without wanting to receive, inviting without hoping
to be invited, holding without asking to be held. And every time I make a
little leap, I catch a glimpse of the One who runs out to me and invites me
into his joy, the joy in which I can find not only myself but also my brothers
and sisters. Thus the disciplines of trust and gratitude reveal the God who
searches for me, burnning with desire to take away all my resentments and
complaints and to let me sit at his side at the heavenly banquet.” P. 86
“Resentments and complaints, deep as they may seem, can
vanish in the face of him in whom the full light of Sonship is visible” p 88
THE FATHER
“Here is the God I want to believe in: a Father who, from
the beginning of creation, has stretched out his arms in merciful blessing,
never forcing on anyone but always waiting; never letting his arms drop down in
despair, but always hoping that his children will return so that he can speak
words of love to them and let his tired arms rest on their shoulders. His only
desire is to bless.
In Latin, to bless is benedicere, which means literally:
saying good things. The Father wants to say, more with his touch than with his
voice, good things of his children. He has no desire to punish them. They have
already been punished excessively by their own inner or outer waywardness. The
Father wants simply to let them know that the love they have searched for in
such distorted ways has been, is and always will be there for them. The Father
wants to say, more with his hands than with his mouth: “You are my Beloved, on
you my favour rests”. He is the shepherd, “feeding his flock, gathering his
lambs in his arms, holding them against his breast” p.96
“The father does not even give his son a chance to
apologize. He pre-empts his son’s begging by spontaneous forgiveness and puts
aside his pleas as completely irrelevant in the light of the joy at his return.
But there is more. Not only does the father forgive without asking questions
and joyfully welcoming his lost son home, but he cannot wait to give him new
life, life in abundance. So strongly does God desire to give life to his
returning son that he seems almost impatient. Nothing is good enough. The very
best must be given to him. While the son is prepared to be treated as a hired
servant, the father calls for the robe reserved for a distinguished guest; and
although the son no longer feels worthy to be called son, the father gives him
a ring for his finger and sandals for his feet to honour him as his beloved son
and restore him as his heir.” p.111
THE ONGOING JOURNEY
“People who come to know the joy of God do not deny the
darkness, but they choose not to live in it. They claim that the light that
shines in the darkness can be trusted more than the darkness itself and that a
little bit of light can dispel a lot of darkness. They point each other to
flashes of light here and there, and remind each other that they reveal the
hidden but real presence of God. They discover that there are people who heal
each other’s wounds, forgive each other’s offences, share their possessions,
foster the spirit of community, celebrate the gifts they have received, and
live in constant anticipation of the full manifestation of God’s glory.
Every moment of each day I have the chance to choose between
cynicism and joy. Every thought I have can be cynical or joyful. Every word I
speak can be cynical or joyful. Every action can be cynical or joyful.
Increasingly I am aware of all these possible choices, and increasingly I
discover that every choice for joy in turn reveals more joy and offers more
reason to make life a true celebration in the house of the Father.
As the returned child of God, living in the Father’s house,
God’s joy is mine to claim. There is seldom a minute in my life that I am not
tempted by sadness, melancholy, cynicism, dark moods, sombre thoughts, morbid
speculations and waves of depression. And often I allow them to cover up the
joy of my Father’s house. But when I truly believe that I have already returned
and that my Father has already dressed me with a cloak, ring and sandals, I can
remove the mask of the sadness from my heart and dispel the lie it tells me
about my true self and claim the truth with the inner freedom of the child of
God.” P 118