Henri J. M. Nouwen - The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming

Aging

Compassion

Creative Ministry

A Cry For Mercy

Lifesigns

The Genesee Diary

Reaching Out

The Road to Daybreak

The Wounded Healer

In the Name of Jesus

Beyond the Mirror

Behold the Beauty of the Lord

Gracias: A Latin American Journal

Heart Speaks to Heart

Love in a Fearful Land

Making All Things New

The Way of the Heart

The Living Reminder

Out of Solitude

A N I MAGE B OOK

PUBLISHED BY DOUBLEDAY

a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. a division of Penguin Random House LLC.

I MAGE , D OUBLEDAY , and the portrayal of a deer drinking from a stream are trademarks of Doubleday, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. a division of Penguin Random House LLC.

First Image Books edition published April 1994 by special arrangement with Doubleday.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Nouwen, Henri J. M.

The return of the prodigal son: a story of homecoming / Henri J. M. Nouwen.

p. cm.

Originally published: New York: Doubleday, 1992.

Includes bibliographical references.

1. Spiritual lifeCatholic church. 2. Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn, 16061669. Return of the prodigal son. 3. Nouwen, Henri J. M. I. Title. [BX2350.2.N667 1993] 93-33836

248.482dc20

Ebook ISBN9780804152129

Copyright 1992 by Henri J. M. Nouwen

All Rights Reserved

rh_3.1_140374771_c0_r2

To my father

Laurent Jean Marie Nouwen

for his ninetieth birthday

T here was a man who had two sons. The younger one said to his father, Father, let me have the share of the estate that will come to me. So the father divided the property between them. A few days later, the younger son got together everything he had and left for a distant country where he squandered his money on a life of debauchery.

When he had spent it all, that country experienced a severe famine, and now he began to feel the pinch so he hired himself out to one of the local inhabitants who put him on his farm to feed the pigs. And he would willingly have filled himself with the husks the pigs were eating but no one would let him have them. Then he came to his senses and said, How many of my fathers hired men have all the food they want and more, and here am I dying of hunger! I will leave this place and go to my father and say: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you; I no longer deserve to be called your son; treat me as one of your hired men. So he left the place and went back to his father.

While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was moved with pity. He ran to the boy, clasped him in his arms and kissed him. Then his son said, Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I no longer deserve to be called your son. But the father said to his servants, Quick! Bring out the best robe and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the calf we have been fattening, and kill it; we will celebrate by having a feast, because this son of mine was dead and has come back to life; he was lost and is found. And they began to celebrate.

Now the elder son was out in the fields, and on his way back, as he drew near the house, he could hear music and dancing. Calling one of the servants he asked what it was all about. The servant told him, Your brother has come, and your father has killed the calf we had been fattening because he has got him back safe and sound. He was angry then and refused to go in, and his father came out and began to urge him to come in; but he retorted to his father, All these years I have slaved for you and never once disobeyed any orders of yours, yet you never offered me so much as a kid for me to celebrate with my friends. But, for this son of yours, when he comes back after swallowing up your propertyhe and his loose womenyou kill the calf we had been fattening.

The father said, My son, you are with me always, and all I have is yours. But it was only right we should celebrate and rejoice, because your brother here was dead and has come to life; he was lost and is found.

The Poster

A seemingly insignificant encounter with a poster presenting a detail of Rembrandts The Return of the Prodigal Son set in motion a long spiritual adventure that brought me to a new understanding of my vocation and offered me new strength to live it. At the heart of this adventure is a seventeenth-century painting and its artist, a firstcentury parable and its author, and a twentieth-century person in search of lifes meaning.

The story begins in the fall of 1983 in the village of Trosly, France, where I was spending a few months at LArche, a community that offers a home to people with mental handicaps. Founded in 1964 by a Canadian, Jean Vanier, the Trosly community is the first of more than ninety LArche communities spread throughout the world.

One day I went to visit my friend Simone Landrien in the communitys small documentation center. As we spoke, my eyes fell on a large poster pinned on her door. I saw a man in a great red cloak tenderly touching the shoulders of a disheveled boy kneeling before him. I could not take my eyes away. I felt drawn by the intimacy between the two figures, the warm red of the mans cloak, the golden yellow of the boys tunic, and the mysterious light engulfing them both. But, most of all, it was the handsthe old mans handsas they touched the boys shoulders that reached me in a place where I had never been reached before.

Realizing that I was no longer paying much attention to the conversation, I said to Simone, Tell me about that poster. She said, Oh, thats a reproduction of Rembrandts Prodigal Son. Do you like it? I kept staring at the poster and finally stuttered, Its beautiful, more than beautiful it makes me want to cry and laugh at the same time I cant tell you what I feel as I look at it, but it touches me deeply. Simone said, Maybe you should have your own copy. You can buy it in Paris. Yes, I said, I must have a copy.

When I first saw the Prodigal Son, I had just finished an exhausting six-week lecturing trip through the United States, calling Christian communities to do anything they possibly could to prevent violence and war in Central America. I was dead tired, so much so that I could barely walk. I was anxious, lonely, restless, and very needy. During the trip I had felt like a strong fighter for justice and peace, able to face the dark world without fear. But after it was all over I felt like a vulnerable little child who wanted to crawl onto its mothers lap and cry. As soon as the cheering or cursing crowds were gone, I experienced a devastating loneliness and could easily have surrendered myself to the seductive voices that promised emotional and physical rest.