I’m not who you think I am, Mackenzie.
—Papa
One reviewer of The Shack wrote of meeting critics who were “deeply disturbed” by Young’s daring portrayal of the Trinity “as eccentric personalities with offbeat ways of communicating their message.” These critics accused him of “blasphemy,” labeling Young “a post-modernist for whom ‘truth’ meant nothing.” Then the reviewer wrote:
I can admit to a sense of shock when I realized in the course of reading that Young had chosen to portray God our Father as an absolutely enchanting, powerfully-mothering, African-American woman. But I will also admit that it wasn’t too long in my reading before I found myself wanting to sit at her kitchen table and to enjoy her cooking, her conversation, and her maternal affection. The beauty of the fellowship generated by her presence was what many of us have sought for a lifetime and so rarely experienced.1
This is beautifully stated, and it gets to the heart of the question that Young’s Papa raises for all of us. Who doesn’t want to be so loved, so known, so accepted? Who doesn’t want to sit at Papa’s table and enjoy her cooking and delight? But on what basis could we be so bold as even to dream of such a thing? We are talking about God here, remember, the Ultimate One. Yet, as my friend Ken Courtney asks, “that’s what we want, isn’t it?” We will come back to our desire to be known and accepted in a moment. But first we must deal with another question.
Does this “absolutely enchanting, powerfully-mothering, African-American woman” say anything to us about the real God? Can we dare believe that Jesus’ Father is as good as this Papa? My answer is simply, “Of course.” The picture of the Father’s heart painted by Young is straight from Jesus himself. This heart, overflowing with love and delight, is not a fantasy of Paul Young. This is the ancient love that fired the universe. This is the untarnished truth. If anything, the enchanting love and sheer goodness of Papa’s heart, beautiful as they are, nevertheless pale in comparison to Jesus’ portrayal of his Father in his most famous parable.2
The background of this parable is the critique of Jesus by the religious leaders called the Pharisees. They don’t like Jesus. His freedom to be with broken people is disturbing, if not embarrassing. He doesn’t play by their rules, and the broken people are “listening intently” to what he has to say.3 And, get this, the “broken people” are the dreaded tax-gatherers who were themselves Jewish but collected taxes for the Romans, often lining their own pockets through overtaxation. They were despised by the rest of the Jews. Of course, Jesus made one of them his disciple, and later went out of his way to find Zaccheus, a chief tax collector. When Jesus found him up in a tree, he said, “Zaccheus, hurry and come down, for today I must stay at your house.”4
And then there were the “sinners,” the lawbreaking drunkards, the harlots, the conniving swindlers, those so shamed and beaten down they wouldn’t dare even look up at heaven. You have to appreciate the irony here. The ones who are lost are not the sinners who are listening to Jesus, but the religious people who have no problems, at least in their own minds.
So the Pharisees and the scribes are fuming at Jesus for allowing the likes of such folks to hang around. You can see their minds working: After all, he’s making a pitch at being at least a great prophet, if not the Son of God himself. If anything, he should be holier than us, yet there he is fraternizing with blasphemers and winebibbers. Go figure. So they level what they believe will be an exposing accusation at Jesus. You can almost see it on Saturday Night Live, the robed religious elite having their secret whispering sessions, finally coming up with just the right damning allegation to throw the light on this charlatan. And then they practice their grimace of insolence, so their critique will drip off their noses with poignant contempt.
What is their great criticism? “Both the Pharisees and the scribes began to grumble, saying, ‘This man receives sinners and eats with them.’ ”5 That’s it: he receives sinners, and eats with them! There is obvious disdain in their accusation; they don’t even have the courtesy to speak his name, calling Jesus “this man” or “this fellow.” The problem is that to receive someone and share a meal with them in this culture is a sign of real solidarity. This is how you treat family. So Jesus is acting like he is family with the tax collectors and sinners. The Pharisees are dumbfounded. “How can he do this? He is supposed to represent God. Jesus has lost his mind.”
Jesus must have been a little stunned, if not angry, at the extraordinary blindness of this religious lot. Their accusation is loaded with a question: “How do you, Jesus, a self-respecting rabbi with disciples, explain your bizarre relationships? These people deserve nothing but to be outcast, forever shunned by God and his people. And here you are eating with them, declaring to the world that they are family.”
They did not have baseball in those days, of course, but if they did, Jesus would have been a pitcher. For he loved throwing theological curveballs to the self-crowned religious elite. And he wasn’t shy about firing a blazing inside fastball to back them off the plate and get their attention.
He responds with three stories—and if you think Paul Young’s Papa is shocking, just wait till you hear what Jesus tells the Pharisees about his Father. The sinners, sitting at Jesus’ feet, could hardly wait for what was about to happen. But you’ve got to admire the Pharisees’ self-confidence. They have picked a fight with Jesus. It is carefully calculated, and in their minds there is no way that Jesus can escape without embarrassment.
So Jesus faces them with his own questions. Here is my loose paraphrase of Luke 15:
Which of you would not go after one of your own sheep, if you discovered that it was lost? And when you found it, which of you would not invite your friends and neighbors to celebrate its safe return? I didn’t think so. So hear me. I tell you, that’s the way it is in heaven. In fact, there will be more joy over one sinner who gets the truth about my Father, than over ninety-nine “righteous” persons who think they don’t need help.
Or what woman here, if she loses one of her ten coins, would not light a lamp and search carefully until she finds it? (Note the “search carefully” part.) And when she finds it, who among you would not call your friends and neighbors to rejoice with you? I didn’t think so. So hear me. I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who gets the truth about my Father.
Here’s another story. A father had two sons; he loved them both. One got it into his head that he wanted to see the world. The other kept his list of dos and don’ts. The father divided his wealth between them. The younger son blazed a trail to the far country, squandering his money on wine, loose women, and riotous living. He humiliated his father and embarrassed his family with his feral ways. The whole town knew; the whispers were everywhere.
When the money ran out, the boy began to starve. Reduced to pilfering food that he was feeding to pigs (an utter horror for a Jewish person), he remembered that the servants of his father ate quite well. So he decided to go home, and knowing that he had proved himself unworthy of his father’s love, he would pitch a plea for a job and some food as a servant.
So he headed home. But his father saw him when he was but a speck on the horizon. His heart filled with joy, the father ran out, embraced his son, and kissed him again and again—foul stench and all. Then he shouted to his servants, “Quick! Get my best robe and put it on him, and get the family ring and put it on his finger, and new sandals for his feet. And bring out the prized calf, and let’s have a party! For my son was lost and has come home.”
Then, I suspect, there was a long pause as Jesus let the shocking, almost unbelievable story sink in. Then he looked to the broken people with an assuring smile and a nod, and then he stared at the Pharisees.
This is what my Abba, my Papa, is like. This is why I am here, and this is why I receive sinners and share meals with them. They belong to my Father. He loves them forever. They are family. Just like the sheep belonged to the shepherd, and the coin belonged to the woman, and the two boys belonged to their father, you belong to my Father.
But the story is not over. You see, the older son, list in hand, was in the fields carrying out his duties. He heard the music and dancing, and called one of the servants for an explanation. “Your brother has come home. Your father’s commanded a feast!” When the older son heard of the father and his party, he stalked off fuming, fit to be tied. The father himself came out looking for him, doing his best to convince him to join the party. Then the son shouted, “Look here! I have never once disobeyed you, and you have never once given me a prized goat for a party for my friends. But when this whoremongering son of yours straggles in from the wine country, you embarrass yourself running down the streets, and receive him back! I even heard you kissed the swine-smelling derelict. That is not fair!”
Grieved and bewildered, the father looked his son in the eyes. “My child, you have always been here with me, and I have already given you everything that I have. How could we not rejoice over your brother? For he was dead and now has begun to live. He was lost to life in my house, but now has been found.”
We are not told what happened when Jesus finished telling these stories. But surely the broken people cheered, and then cried in their shocked hope. They had never heard of a father like this. They identified with the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the younger son. And Jesus was telling them that they were accepted and loved by his Father just like this Jewish patriarch loved his broken son. Like the shepherd, Jesus’ Abba has come after his lost sheep. Like the woman, Jesus’ Papa has scoured the house of his universe to find his lost coin. And like this Jewish father, Jesus’ Abba has embraced and kissed us in our shame, and commanded a feast in his joy. So what’s the real difference between an African American woman embracing a broken, angry white man, and a Jewish father embracing his wayward son? Both are stunning pictures of the truth.
Paul Young is not saying that God is a black woman, any more than Jesus is saying that God is a Jewish patriarch. But both are using a shocking story to help us know the real truth about Jesus’ Father, and the truth about who we are.
And what of the older brothers of the world, the Pharisees who create their own religious way to God, make lists, and keep them perfectly? I suspect that Jesus told these stories primarily for the Pharisees. That is why the older brother’s story comes last. Jesus knows his Papa is “especially fond” of them, too. They belong, just as the tax-gatherers and sinners do. In fact, the father in the story embraced this older son in his religious pride, entreating him in the power of the Spirit to join the party.
I wonder if the Pharisees got it. I wonder if they saw themselves in the older brother. Jesus is the Father’s arms embracing all of us, including them. He is the Father’s heart entreating the religious among us to put the ledger down and to learn from him about his Father’s heart. He is the “wealth” divided between them. Like Mackenzie, who has more in common with the Pharisees than he does with the wayward son, the Pharisees, too, are already loved and included.