I’m the youngest of five children; I have four older sisters. There’s a story in my family, at least it’s the story three of my four sisters tell, that my parents wanted two children, a daughter and a son. And having had a daughter the first time around, they kept on trying, having children until they got their wishes, their longed-for son, and then stopped. Of course, that’s not the end of the story, the end of our family mythology, because what lies behind that story is a perception that there were two favored children, three who were not. But given the reality of the world, there was really just one favored child, me, the only son.

The story of favoritism within families is a story that has been played out millions of times, occasionally, as in my family with a bit of humor, often, though with great tragedy. Conflict within families, conflict between brothers, is one of the oldest, most familiar stories that we humans know. And such stories resonate so profoundly with us because they speak to, and about our own experiences.

One of the key biblical themes, present from the earliest chapters of Genesis, is the conflict within families, conflict between brothers. But it’s not just conflict; it is a matter of preference. One brother receives the better portion. One brother is the favorite. More interesting still is that the preferred brother is always the younger of the two. In Genesis 4 God accepts Abel’s sacrifice, but rejects Cain’s. Later on, Jacob steals his elder brother Esau’s birthright. And then, Jacob turns around and shows favor to Joseph, the second youngest of his sons.

We generally understand those stories about brothers in Genesis to suggest a larger issue, to relate to another important biblical theme, namely, the fact the people of Israel are God’s chosen people. These stories raise the question again and again, why is one son preferred over the other? Why is the younger son preferred over what should by rights be the preference for the elder son? And of course for Israel the question is, why did God choose us? Do we deserve the favor God has shown us? And of course, the implicit answer is, No, we don’t deserve it. There’s nothing special about us; what is special is the fact that God has chosen us, to be his favored people.

I point this out to you because it provides an interesting perspective from which to look with new eyes at the story of the Prodigal Son. It’s one of Jesus’ most familiar and most beloved parables. And I’ll bet if I asked, any of you could give the standard interpretation of it. The father is God, we are the younger son, the elder son represents the Jewish community. We have wandered far from home, but now repent and unworthily return to ask for a pittance from God. But, lo and behold, instead of being put in a lesser place, the father throws a huge party and welcomes us back into the fold.

There’s nothing wrong with this interpretation, but I want to go back and think about how Jesus’ first listeners might have heard the story. In the first place, there’s the context. Jesus was eating with sinners and outcasts and the Pharisees were asking him why he did that. This parable is Jesus’ response to their challenge. But how? How would his listeners have heard the story?

Well, one plausible answer to that is to imagine that they might have heard in that story resonances to those stories from Genesis; those stories that are about a father and his sons, about favoritism, and conflict arising from that favoritism. Because there’s more to both the Jacob and the Joseph stories than favoritism. Both of them leave home, go to a distant country, and eventually make good. Jacob gains great wealth and a family; Joseph is the most powerful man in Egypt after the pharaoh.

So, Jesus’ listeners might have brought these expectations to this story. Younger, favorite son goes off, becomes wealthy and returns home to a touching scene of reconciliation. But that doesn’t happen here. He goes off and falls into a spiral of self-degradation, reducing himself to the status of a gentile, feeding pigs, unclean animals.

And it might be good to remind ourselves that the repentance the son undergoes here would not surprise Jesus’ listeners. Repentance and forgiveness were, and still are basic to Judaism. But of course, in Judaism, as in Christianity, there’s traditionally a certain kind of show one puts on when one repents. In Judaism it was sackcloth and ashes; for us, in this season of Lent, it’s the ashes we put on our forehead on Ash Wednesday, it’s the chocolate, or whatever else we might have given up.

So what’s surprising to the listener is that the story doesn’t fit the convention. In fact, though we might think this parable is about repentance, that word is never mentioned. Instead of repentance, the parable says that the younger brother “came to himself”—whatever that might mean. Some interpreters suggest that the rehearsed speech implies that he is not a repentant sinner, but a scoundrel, a user, he’s trying to find the right tone to get his father to take him back in.

What’s more surprising is what comes next. He returns, and the father receives him like royalty. Instead of ashes or fasting, there’s the fatted calf. Instead of the rough clothes of mourning there’s the robe of royalty. There’s a party, not a session of self-pity and groveling.

Well, Jesus told this parable in response to criticism from the Pharisees. They were upset that he ate, shared table fellowship with tax collectors and sinners. These were the bad guys. Tax collectors, in Roman Palestine were hated for their exploitative and extortionate practices. Sinners were people who had been cast out of the synagogue for their notorious misdeeds. So by eating with these people, Jesus is breaking purity laws, he’s also breaking down traditional social and religious boundaries.

How would those Pharisees have heard this story? No doubt it would have offended them. But not because the father forgave the son; it’s the way he did the forgiving. The father doesn’t behave as fathers should. He offends Jesus’ listeners’ sense of propriety by running out to greet his son; it is an embarrassing display in ancient culture.

Jesus’ parables were meant to shock his listeners, to confront them with the reality of the Kingdom of God, to change the way they thought about the world and themselves. Something I always wonder about when I read the parables is how to read them; how should I understand the characters, how should I relate the story to my own experience, my own life?

And here’s where it gets sticky. Who are the tax collectors and sinners today? Who are the Pharisees to whom the parable is told? That is to say, with what ears should we be hearing this story? I know what we want the answer to those questions to be. We are the sinners whose sins are forgiven, who accepts the father’s reconciliation. But let’s go back to that table where Jesus is dining with sinners and tax collectors. Are we sitting at that table, or are we those who criticize Jesus for hanging out with social and religious outcasts?

Because what this story is about is the unwarranted forgiveness of the one who has wandered; the unequal treatment of two sons. We expect God to accept our repentance, but what do we do when that forgiveness is extended to sinners, and to sins, which we find offensive? Because let’s face it, whether we admit it or not, there are some people we don’t want to see Jesus sitting at a dinner table with. There are some sins, the sins we commit, that we expect God to forgive, and those sins other people commit, those sinners over there, who we don’t, and we assume God doesn’t forgive.

So are we the Pharisees criticizing Jesus for dining with outcasts, or are we the outcasts with whom Jesus is dining? Are we the brother who, having squandered his inheritance comes crawling home with his tail between his legs, seeking his father’s forgiveness? Or are we the elder brother, the one who’s done everything Dad wanted, worked for years by his side, uncomplaining, who sees Dad’s wasteful extravagance on a good-for-nothing son?

This parable reminds us again, and we need to hear it repeatedly, that, God doesn’t operate according to our standards. God isn’t fair, God isn’t just; there are no rules. There is God, there is love; there is forgiveness. And if we expect God to love and forgive us, we need to recognize everyone else, everyone around us and those far off, to whom God offers God’s love and forgiveness.