It Just Doesn't Happen

In Which a Deconstructor Spectacularly Misses the Point of the Prodigal Son

File: The Return of the Prodigal Son James Tissot.jpeg - Wikimedia Commons

As I said yesterday, I somehow ended up on Karla Kamstra’s email list and, out of morbid curiosity, have never bothered to unsubscribe. Like all of us, she has migrated from other platforms to Substack and sends out weekly missives about how it’s ok that you don’t feel like going to church anymore on account of how you have deconstructed. By “you,” of course, I mean her ordinary reader, not you who is reading this very post, nor me either. I love going to church and encouraging other people to go there whenever possible. Indeed, one might say that I would desire to demotivate you away from your inclination to avoid church. You should go to church, if you possibly can, because it is good for you and because God most particularly wishes it.

But to give Rev Karla the benefit of the doubt, let us pretend that we are deconstructing and just don’t know what to do with ourselves on a Sunday morning. Here’s how she introduced her subject:

Welcome to the Unchurched Sunday Series, a weekly space for those walking a different path—for the spiritually independent, the sacred wanderers, the seekers of meaning beyond walls and steeples. These writings are for anyone healing from what church may have taken, distorted, or silenced, and who are now reclaiming their faith, their voice, and their connection to the Divine in ways that feel more honest, more whole, more true. May these words be a soft place to land, a spark of inspiration, and a reminder that your journey is sacred, too. You’ll find a new reflection here each week, shared exclusively with my Substack subscribers.

Today’s reflection is inspired by the Parable of the Prodigal Son, found in Luke 15:11–32. You’ve likely heard it before:

Indeed, I have heard it before, but I think it would be a good idea just to quickly read it again, before Rev Karla takes a whack at it:

And he said, “There was a man who had two sons. And the younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of property that is coming to me.’ And he divided his property between them. Not many days later, the younger son gathered all he had and took a journey into a far country, and there he squandered his property in reckless living. And when he had spent everything, a severe famine arose in that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him into his fields to feed pigs. And he was longing to be fed with the pods that the pigs ate, and no one gave him anything. “But when he came to himself, he said, ‘How many of my father's hired servants have more than enough bread, but I perish here with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Treat me as one of your hired servants.”’ And he arose and came to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him. And the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his servants, ‘Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.’ And they began to celebrate. “Now his older son was in the field, and as he came and drew near to the house, he heard music and dancing. And he called one of the servants and asked what these things meant. And he said to him, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fattened calf, because he has received him back safe and sound.’ But he was angry and refused to go in. His father came out and entreated him, but he answered his father, ‘Look, these many years I have served you, and I never disobeyed your command, yet you never gave me a young goat, that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fattened calf for him!’ And he said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. It was fitting to celebrate and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found.’”

Never mind, I cannot pretend to be a deconstructor. It’s constitutionally impossible for me, mostly because of texts like this where the love of God shines like a beacon down the ages to draw me into safe harbor and comfortable boundaries. Honestly, this is a story whose meaning is decipherable by the meanest intelligence. Even a small child can grasp it without difficulty. Let’s see how Rev Karla handles it:

A younger son demands his inheritance early, wastes it all on reckless living, and returns home broke and ashamed, expecting punishment, but instead receives unconditional love and celebration. Meanwhile, his older brother—the one who stayed, the one who obeyed—stands off to the side, heartbroken and angry. The father says: “You are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate—because your brother was lost and now is found.” The parable is traditionally used to emphasize grace, repentance, and the joy of returning home. But if you listen closely, another story is being told. One we rarely hear. The story of the one who stayed.

[Emphasis hers]. This seems a good moment to relate that the title of her piece is “You Were Never the Prodigal.” Also, don’t you know, the word “prodigal” means “wasteful.” So sometimes people try to say that the Father is the “prodigal” one, giving out lavish amounts of love to all his children, and that is very nice, but also, it does refer to the younger son because he takes everything and wastes it all on his own passions while simultaneously wishing that his father were dead. It is a familial catastrophe that every age can relate to, as fathers and sons always have a hard time with each other, unless God pours out the balm of humility and reason. Rev Karla, however, believes [emphasis hers]:

It’s time to release The Parable of the Prodigal Son to the ancients

If you’re Christian, chances are high that you heard a sermon (or two or three!) about the parable of the prodigal son. Unconditional love. Overwhelming grace. Unquestionable repentance. Assured reconciliation. A sermon intended to remind us that no matter how far we wander from Christ’s love, we can always come home. And by home, they meant coming back to church. The bridge from being in God’s favor by being in church was unspoken but often implied. This parable was the perfect analogy to remind the wayward Christian that the church’s doors were always wide open for those yearning for the embrace of God’s love.

I mean, God does identify himself with the Church very closely. It’s called “The Bride” of Jesus, you probably remember, and I don’t know of any good husband who would say, ‘It’s fine, you don’t have to have anything to do with the people I most closely identify myself with, you’re lovely just the way you are, even though you constantly malign and degredate the people who do go, faithfully, to places where I am worshipped.’ That would be a bad husband in Sanity Land. In Unsanity Land, you can do whatever you want. Carrying on:

I’ll be honest. The prodigal son sermons always felt off – cringey even. It wasn’t until after I began to deconstruct and unpack my religious indoctrination was I able to look critically at this parable and my discomfort with it.

I mean, it’s pretty cringe to find the Prodigal Son story cringe. If you’re reading the Bible and you find yourself thinking that the stories Jesus tells are weird and bad, you might want to do some serious praying and asking for help, because you’re in the wrong place…like the literal prodigal.

The first thought that came to mind as I pondered these sermons was, quite frankly, being pissed off that for this story to serve Christian patriarchy I was being labeled ‘prodigal’ to teach about love, grace, repentance, and reconciliation. The word prodigal means “wastefully extravagant”—reckless, irresponsible. That word always sat wrong with me. So wrong that I even questioned the translation. Turns out, it’s probably accurate. But even so? I don’t care.

What I love so much about Rev Karla is how winsomely she throws around the term “Christian patriarchy” hither and thither, like into almost every paragraph. What on earth Christian patriarchy has to do with this story, except that there is a long-suffering Father who forgives his son and welcomes him home, I’m not sure. Anyway, carrying on:

Because what matters more is what this story has been used to justify. To uphold a patriarchal society so that those who make bad decisions will be welcomed back into the fold, the only place in the world where safety, comfort, love and security can supposedly be found.

Isn’t it funny how two people can read the Bible and come out with wildly different lessons learned? Without the Holy Spirit, the simplest and yet most glorious mystery of grace is entirely missed. With the Holy Spirit, just reading it moves one to tears because it is so beautiful, is, indeed, the spiritual undergirding of the whole cosmos.

The first problem I see with this parable is that it requires you to believe that an inheritance is the right of the one leaving. Who among us would assume that? Who among us are lucky enough to even have an inheritance that would allow you to live as a trust-fund baby? It’s not relatable to our time, yet this parable is told time and again within this context that a loving and giving father wouldn’t hesitate to empty a bank account for the one who is demanding it. It just doesn’t happen.

My goodness, how confused Ms Kamstra is. Of course the inheritance wasn’t “the right” of the one leaving. The son asked for it before it was “his right.” His father hadn’t died. It wasn’t time to divide the property between the two inheriting sons. But the son demanded it, and the father, who in ordinary circumstances would have disowned such a wicked son, gave both his children what would have been theirs at his death. That’s why the story is so shocking. No human person would do this.

In fact, it is what makes God incomprehensible to all of humanity. Why would he take the trouble of creating a beautiful world and a cosmos to set it in, and a garden, filling it with every good and perfect gift? And then why would he take the man and woman who bore his own image, set them in the garden, and offer them a choice that, should they take it, would effectively destroy all his work? I would never do that. But God did. And even knowing the redemption of Christ, I have a hard time grasping it. So yes, Ms. Karla, it just doesn’t happen that way, and yet, in this case, it did. In fact, the Son came to his own and endured their rejection of him to the bitter end, draining down the cup of the Father’s just and long-suffering wrath all the way down to its dregs.

Isn’t it awful that this person went to church her whole life and never grasped this strange, bright mercy? No wonder she finally wandered away. She has never met a Father such as this one, nor his precious Son, who went into the far country to pull people like her out of the pit and bring her back into the light of his splendor.

Anyway, back to Ms. Kamstra. I’m sorry, I just can’t keep “Rev.” It just feels mean to be even vaguely sarcastic about this tragedy:

What if you were the brother who stayed?

We’ve heard enough of the prodigal’s return, so we’re going to skip right to this question: “What if you were the brother who stayed?”

The one who followed the rules.
Did everything right.
Stayed loyal when others walked away.

The one who showed up to the service even when your soul was weary. The one who gave, served, sang, and obeyed because you were told that faithfulness was the way to be loved.

But the system didn’t see you.
Not really.

Then, as anger trembled in your voice, you found the courage to use your voice and ask, “Why?”

To that, they would respond, “Why are you so bitter?”

That stings on so many levels.

Actually, I can never hear enough about the prodigal’s return. I could hear about it every day until I die and never grow weary. And just the return of the prodigal would have been enough, and yet there is the added grace of the Father’s offer of mercy to the older son also. He did not run away on his two legs, and yet his heart was so far from the Father that he might as well have.

How perfectly Ms. Kamstra articulates the bitterness of the older son as if it were her own. She is obviously speaking from the heart.

And so many of us have had this experience. The pastor will lock in on the father’s graciousness for the younger son, and that he expects his older son to have the same joy for his return. In the father’s response is an implication that the older son was asking about his inheritance. But check that. What did the son ask of his father?

‘Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!’

Where in this passage did the son ask him about his inheritance? He didn’t. The son was asking why he had been underappreciated, while the prodigal son’s return demands a celebration like nothing shown to the older son.

Yeah, he didn’t ask for it or demand it, and yet the reader is able to see that, though the Father has shared everything with his sons, and already divided the property between them, the older son is acting like nothing has ever been done for him. This is irony, Ms Kamstra. This is called reading a story and getting the point, even though it is not spelled out to you in pedantic and humorless tones. The older son didn’t love the Father any more than the younger one did, and resented all the work he did on the estate that was already his, alongside a Father who considered everything he had to belong to this morous and angry child.

It’s like, hmmm, to what can I liken this beautiful story? It’s like how people who grow up in the church, cared for by people who share their lives, who give generously out of their little all, and yet who are sinners who fall short of the glory of God, it’s like how those people don’t see the great gifts that are given them. They are not able to perceive the mercy and the grace, the joy of Lord, the Truth and the Life and the Way to both those gifts. They don’t understand that God is there. And so they become entitled and bitter and blame everyone for hurting them while taking no responsibility for the state of their own souls, while refusing to be grateful for the people God put in their way. It’s like being a deconstructor and expecting to still receive the grace and benefits of the Church, and being angry when they don’t materialize. It’s whinging on TikTok when people move on with their lives and continue to worship and serve God as they have always done.

This is a significant shift from what has always been the focus of this parable. Instead of looking like a loving, giving man, the father seems to take one child for granted with little regard for his feelings for the lavish celebration about to be held. There isn’t an evangelical pastor who would agree with this plot twist, for it would divert the attention to the pain of a child caused by faulty parenting. In patriarchal structures, predominantly Christian patriarchy, this isn’t allowed. Children are taught to be obedient and to suffer in silence because nothing is more important than acts that strengthen the structure. A child returning to be loyal to the system would certainly do that, wouldn’t it?

Not every “system” is bad. In fact, it is not possible to be human without participating in any “system.” The church is the family of God, and so it is a system. It is a network of relationships across time and space that carry on into eternity. It is patriarchal because Jesus, the Head, is sitting on a throne in heaven next to the Father, interceding for us. Children are taught to be obedient to their parents because ultimately, they will need to obey God. If they don’t obey God, they won’t be able to endure being in the Church, because the Church is a gathering of people who love Jesus enough to try to obey him.

Incidentally, it is blasphemous to accuse God—because that’s what’s going on here—of “faulty parenting.” Also, I don’t know of a child alive today (generally speaking) who suffers anything silently. Being too hard on children is not American Christianity’s besetting sin right now.

I’ll close by inviting you to remember that deconstructing the many layers of your indoctrination will serve you immensely. The little pockets hiding in your mindset influence your values and, ultimately, your life in ways that you may not see, but others certainly do especially if those others are forced to comply with outdated and harmful patriarchal structures that you may be protecting without even realizing it. Accept this invitation to pause and reflect on what you believe now about how affection is earned or freely given or why you believe the way you do. There are undoubtedly elements of the Parable of the Prodigal Son in your life story.

If so, let this be your reminder that…

The patriarchal system that you may be staying loyal to was never loyal to you.

If you were the prodigal, maybe you weren’t lost.

Maybe you were just leaving what was never home to begin with.

And if you were the older brother, you’re not bitter for asking why.

You’re not wrong for wanting to be seen.

You’re not faithless for needing more than silent endurance.

You were never the prodigal.
You were always the brave one.

And the Divine sees you—right where you are.

If by “the Divine,” Ms. Kamstra means God, then yes, he does see you. He sees everything, so that is not some kind of shocking revelation. The real question is, do you see him? Because if you don’t see and recognize him now, when you see him later, he will not “recognize” you. Oh sure, he’ll know your name and what kind of person you are, but he will not “know” you. He will not accept you. He will not welcome you into his Kingdom. It is better to find your way back as soon as possible, even if you are sitting angrily in a pew, feeling put out that nobody recognizes your special gifts and toxic pastiche of pain and ingratitude.

I pray Ms. Kamstra will be able to find Jesus before she dies. I pray the loneliness of her quiet Sundays away from the Church will finally be too great for her, that she will fall to her knees, confess her sins, acknowledge that she cannot be saved apart from Jesus, and grasp onto him for eternity. Because when she does that, the Father will never send her away, but will welcome her back into the household of faith despite all the ugly and ignorant things she is saying about it at the moment.

Ok, so, have a nice day!