Why Do We Glorify Prodigal Christians?
Of course, there's nothing wrong with telling a story about one's conversion and salvation. Story telling is arguably the most powerful form of communication. The problem I've noticed, however, is that the most respected version of the story has become a kind of redemption narrative in which a young person falls into radically disgusting sin before returning to Jesus. In America, it usually goes something like this: "I went to church as a kid, I got baptized at summer camp, but I never really believed. I became involved in all kinds of sin as I got older. I did drugs, had sex, dabbled in criminality, almost became an atheist, and then I hit rock bottom and realized God was calling me to him. I then became a true Christian. God has turned my life around." Alternative versions exist, some start with broken families, others involve past athletic glory, etc.
What's wrong with this kind of testimony? The problem is in the implicit message it conveys, especially to young people, and the resulting spiritual hierarchy that's rarely acknowledged. The lesson is that experiencing the depths of sin followed by God's forgiveness is superior to living righteously from youth through adulthood. One often gets the impression that becoming a "true" Christian almost necessitates the prior experience of a debauched descent into sin, and that only a horrible sinner can really understand the love of God. If a teenager never travels down the dark path then it's thought that they'll probably emerge into adulthood without ever having developing "their own faith." Thus, the very Christians who sustain virtue throughout their youth are relegated to an inferior position in the church they remained loyal to.
Perhaps the reason so few Christians object to this testimony paradigm is that it's become so normative. The numbers of youth who actually remain loyal to the church from birth into adulthood has become so irrelevantly small that their value has been nearly forgotten. Additionally, most of the "lifers" who remain loyal are probably too virtuous to object to the "reformed prostitute" archetype stealing the spotlight. They're probably aware that their loyalty to the church is so rare that this new type of testimony leadership has become necessary if the church is to remain relevant in the declining spiritual wasteland that was once our civilization.
Whatever the cause of testimony culture's dominance, it's becoming increasingly clear that it should end. Why? Because the decline of the church in the West, at least among the core ethnic population, is so dramatic that nothing can arrest it outside a complete re-evaluation of our operating model. No kingdom or culture can survive without continuity, and the elevation of the most unstable of our population to positions of moral authority is a recipe for instability. Without a stable group of loyal youth who remain steeped in the church's own self-confident worldview there will soon be nothing for these renegade testimony givers to return to. It's become common for Christian young people to hear a powerful testimony, decide they need to experience sin and live out their own redemption narrative, and then realize after trying to return to the church that none of their fellow youth are still there to return to. The church is dying, and the community has dried up.
Is this really happening? Is it really true that Christian youth are inspired to sin by testimony stories? Personally, I know this phenomenon is real because I've experienced it. I've seen friends, especially in their college years, live out the cycle I'm outlining. They've been made to feel that something is missing from their faith if they don't have a radical story to tell at the end of their "true conversion." They perceive their youth as a time of freedom, a time to build their life story about a daring adventure into the depths of sin before finding God and coming back. I've been questioned by other Christians, and often questioned myself, about whether my moral conviction to avoid sin is really moral. My friends have sometimes confronted me with accusations of being a "pharisee" and not really understanding my own faith because I hadn't sinned enough. This may seem ridiculous, and it is, but it's also a very real psychological phenomenon in the age of Christianity's collapse. Witnessing it is enough to make one reconsider the benefits of infant baptism in order to avoid every generation having to live out this same conversion nightmare in which no one is certain that their conversion was "real" or if they just "inherited faith from their parents." No one is certain anymore whether they're a "real Christian."
The parable of the prodigal son wasn't Jesus' lifestyle recommendation. The prodigal son was a disgrace. He was ashamed of himself. The idea that the prodigal son could return to the household and begin lecturing his elder brother about morality is ridiculous. The prodigal son had no right, and that's what made his father's mercy so powerful. Yet, in modern Christianity, the prodigal testimony is often used to criticize the church's loyal elder brothers. Prodigals often lecture Christian lifers for being self-righteous and not truly understanding the value of salvation because they allegedly just inherited their parent's faith. In fact, the lifer is morally superior in many cases because they've demonstrated the virtue of fortitude that allowed them to forgo youthful sin in order to remain loyal to God's Kingdom. The loyal young Christian may never know the total depravity of sin, but they do know the despair of unrewarded loyalty and the dry desolation of watching their peers betray their church community and leave them feeling abandoned to practice morality alone. They know the value of the church in a different way. They know why virtue needs community to thrive. Without a stable community of dedicated loyal Christians, the lone youth who retains faith becomes the despairing prophet alone in the church's ruins. They become a martyr who sacrificed their youth for God while others chose to have fun until they aged out of sin or overdosed on it.
We must always rejoice more for the one who returns than for the 99 who remain faithful, but we should rejoice because they were found after being lost. We should rejoice because they've been saved from their shameful betrayal. We should rejoice because the Good Shepherd restored a soul. However, it's a mistake to think these lost sheep are suddenly qualified to become moral and charismatic leaders among us. The loyal are better suited to teach and lead. The father told the elder brother at the end of the parable: "All that I have is yours."
The modern prodigal story is powerful and useful. There are many lost people who need to hear the testimony of someone who escaped from a situation similar to their own. The problem, however, is that we often glorify these people and amplify their narrative in front of our own teenagers and members. If our young people see that their community glorifies these kinds of people then what communal incentive will they have to maintain their virtue? If we signal to them that great sin and repentance leads one to a higher status then why should we be surprised when they abandon the church for a season to "find themselves?" They know there won't be any consequences if they decide to return, and they also know they can turn their sinful adventures into an incredible redemption story. I'm not suggesting prodigals think through their decisions explicitly, or that they would ever describe their thought process at all, I'm simply suggesting that they understand what's at stake (or, what's not at stake).
The early church had a penance process that could require years for a repentant prodigal to regain full membership in the church, and even afterword there was a chance they could never again become an elder or deacon. I'm not recommending this, but I am suggesting we internalize the lesson. Sin is destructive and irreversible, prodigals should not be glorified, and they certainly should not be imitated. The seriousness of sin should be recognized.
What I'm primarily concerned about is the elevation of one Christian type over another that has always been perceived as superior. The "reformed prostitute" archetype has always been part of Christianity, and it goes back to Mary Magdalene, but it has always been placed in an inferior position to the "virgin" archetype personified by Jesus' mother Mary. Of course, this also applies to men. The chaste man, the monk who imitates Christ's celibacy, is also the superior archetype. The perpetual virgin, the perpetually moral lifestyle, is the one we should elevate.
I have no intention of shaming anyone or making them feel bad. Everyone travels through life and reaches God in different ways. However, I've been noticing this tendency to abandon the traditional archetypes for years now. How long can we continue living within these modes of understanding without permanently confusing what it means to be a faithful Christian? Some of these problems have emerged as a result of religious trajectories tracing their roots back to revivalism, and the rise of Pentecostalism has accelerated them, but I also think modern Christians have now simply dismissed as impossible the idea that people can live their entire lives, even their youths, for Christ. In our abandonment of that idea we've elevated the prodigal into an inevitability, and humans must find a way to glorify the inevitable if they hope to be happy. Unfortunately, most twenty first century Christians have lived out the prodigal role in their own lives, and having done so they project their low expectations onto their children. If only we could find a way to break the cycle. If only this generation had the moral heroism to suffer. As we daily witness, however, this is not the case. We'll probably have to wait for the church to hit rock bottom.