What was the younger son’s offence, crime or sin? Demanding his share of the inheritance? Leaving the family home? His reckless lifestyle away? Let’s find out by looking at each possibility a bit closer.
Some interpreters argue that the younger son’s request for his share of inheritance was dishonourable, disrespectful, and insulting. It was ill-advised, as it risked making the father look foolish (see Sirach 33:20-24), but it wasn’t unusual. Moreover, we can assume that, according to tradition, two-thirds of the inheritance would go to the firstborn son, so there was no danger of irreversible damage to the father’s future. From the exchange between the father and the older son in the final part of the parable, we can deduce that the latter had not yet taken charge of his share, as the father assured him, “All that is mine is yours.” In fact, the younger son’s request seemed reasonable. There was a strong sense of animosity between the two brothers, a theme common in the Bible, so leaving for the wider world and forging his future elsewhere made sense. Not dissimilarly, nowadays, the “bank of mum and dad” is among the largest mortgage lenders in this country; unlike formal financial institutions, this “bank” hardly ever demands repayment.
Leaving the family home to build his future could not be the younger son’s offence, sin, or crime. Traditionally, the oldest son took control of the family business, and it was clear that there was no love lost between the two brothers. So, pursuing his own path and maintaining a healthy distance would be a wise choice. The younger son’s lifestyle was questionable, but ultimately, it was his responsibility, not anyone else’s. As parents of adult children, sometimes you watch how their lives develop and unfold with a certain unease or even pain, but you respect their choices even if you disagree with them. You allow them to forge their own futures while always being willing to come to the rescue when needed. When we examine the parable closely, it’s striking that the father did not condemn his younger son at any point. He described him as the one who “was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found.”
So, what was the younger son’s offence, crime, or sin? It’s a surprising conclusion, but in his father’s eyes, there was none. There’s an instinctive assumption that an offence, crime, or sin must be condemned and that the one who committed it should be punished accordingly. However, the father’s perspective wasn’t judicial but paternal. Clearly, the younger son had made terrible decisions and was now facing highly unpleasant consequences. He knew this all too well; his self-worth was at rock bottom: “I am no longer worthy to be called your son.” Pressing with a condemnatory tone would serve no purpose. Learning from his mistakes would yield a better outcome and a solid foundation for a brighter future. The first step was restoring the younger son’s sense of self-worth and sense of belonging. In the biblical language, getting him “the best robe, […] a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet” symbolised the restoration of his dignity. Throwing a party reinstated his sense of belonging: “Let us eat and celebrate. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.” He had irreversibly lost his inheritance but remained his father’s son.
Let me rephrase the opening question. Instead of asking what the younger son’s crime was, let’s consider what his mistake could have been. The root of his “reckless living” lies concealed until we examine the Greek original. The younger son requested his share of property or wealth (ousia). In response, the father divided between them his life (bion). In other words, the younger son viewed only the nominal value of wealth, meaning what and how much could be purchased with it. Conversely, for the father, the accumulated wealth was regarded as a means to secure his family’s life and future. Many of us might have a similar experience with children when they ask for money, toys, treats and so on as if they were cost-free. If the “I have no money” argument is used to deny the demand, they either suggest going to “the hole in the wall” (the cash machine) or throw a tantrum. For them, the value of money is equal to the digits printed on the banknotes.
When I was around sixteen, I got my first summer job, riding a Soviet-style bike across my hometown to deliver telegrams. For a younger generation, think of text messages sent from one post office to another, printed, folded, and delivered to the recipient as soon as possible. From dusk till dawn, in the blazing sun or pouring rain, I had to crisscross the town to its furthest suburbs many times a day for two months. By the end of the summer holidays, I’d earned quite a bit of money for a teenager, but – more importantly – I’d learnt an invaluable lesson: the value of money isn’t printed on banknotes but is measured by the efforts taken to earn it. Since then, I have learnt to value and appreciate whatever good comes my way – riches, talents, good luck – and to use them prudently for the greater good. Rest assured that I have also messed up a lot, and when I did, I tried to learn the lesson and turn the disaster into something positive. Life’s too short to waste it on self-pity…
On the surface, the younger son’s return home, tail between his legs, seemed to be a calculated move driven by desperation: “How many of my father’s hired servants have more than enough bread, but I perish here with hunger!” However, the latter part of his plan was quite revealing: “I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Treat me as one of your hired servants.” In other words, he was prepared to work hard. So, we can conclude that he has already learnt his lesson the hard way. He’s lost “ousia” (wealth) but has found “bion” (life).
