The parables are a deep vein of dominical teaching. But readers, including some preachers, often make a few basic mistakes in how they construe the parables.
1. One point or many?
How many lessons should we take away from a parable? Many times you hear it said that each parable only illustrates one main idea.
The simple answer is that there is no simple answer, for different parables are addressed to different situations. But there is a rule of thumb you can apply in many cases. A parable is often a sermon illustration, so the point of the parable is the point of the sermon. The question to ask is what principle in the sermon does the parable serve to illustrate?
For example, many preachers exegete the parable of the sower (Mt 13:1-9,18-23) in terms of soil analysis. But that misses the point. The parable illustrates why some people believe the Gospel while others disbelieve, and the reason for that goes back to election and reprobation (vv10-17). At the same time, the parable has some incidental details that highlight spiritual snares and impediments to genuine conversion and perseverance (vv19-22).
Again, some charismatic preachers exegete the parable of the wise and foolish virgins (Mt 25:1-13) in terms of having the baptism of tongues, on the grounds that oil symbolizes the Spirit. But, in context, this parable illustrates the need of being ready at any time for the Second Coming (24:36-44).
Roman Catholic commentators used to exegete the parable of the unmerciful servant (Mt 18:23-35) in terms of Purgatory. On this interpretation, you will not be promoted to heaven until you discharge your purgatorial debts. Yet this turns the parable on its head, for its purpose is to illustrate the utter gratuity of grace. If God has freely forgiven me of all my sins, I should forgive others whom he has also forgiven—as long as they’re contrite.
2. Allegory or simile?
A parable is more like an extended simile than a detailed allegory— Although even in an allegory, every detail does not correspond to something else. A number of the picturesque elements are there to set the stage. They don’t signify anything. Keep your eye on what was said under (1). What is the parable intended to illustrate?
For example, the parable of Lazarus and Dives (Lk 16:19-31) illustrates a reversal of fortunes. This parable presupposes both an afterlife, and a divided destiny. The paths of Lazarus and Dives cross and diverge. But it's not documentary film footage of the world to come.
3. Narrative or application?
Many readers make the mistake of collapsing the illustrative level into the narrative level. They then wonder how God can be depicted as an unjust judge, or how the unjust steward can be commended for his actions.
A parable is an allegorical short story. The story moves on two planes. One plane is the narrative level. The narrative is a small, self-contained world. By itself, it is not a guide to right and wrong. It is not necessarily intended to teach us what we should do in the same or a similar situation. That confuses the narrative level with the illustrative level.
The other plane is the illustrative level or level of application. A parable is often a sermon illustration. The moral value of the parable lies, not in the situation it describes, but in what that situation stands for.
The parable of the unjust steward does not teach us how we should behave if we found ourselves in the same fix as the unjust steward. The parable of the prodigal son does not teach us how we should behave if we were the father or brother of a ne’er-do-well son or sibling.
4. Like or unlike?
Apropos (3), parables apply in either of two opposing directions: (i) analogous or (ii) disanalogous. In the case of (i), the storybook characters are like the real people they stand for. So there is a fairly direct or straightforward parallel between the narrative level and the illustrative level. Most parables operate this way, and this is the way most folks read the parables.
But in a few of the parables, the level of application stands in studied contrast to the narrative level. There is an element of shock-value to a number of the parables, because they were designed to shake the listener out of his spiritual complacency.
For example, the lesson some Christians carry away from the parable of the unjust judge is that prayer is a form of nagging. If you keep saying the same prayer over and over again you’ll wear down God’s resistance.
Now the point of this parable is not that God is like the unjust judge. Rather, the point is quite the opposite: if even an unjust judge can be made to do the right thing for the wrong reason, how much more in the case of God, who is not an unjust judge. God is not like a judge who only relents for peace of mind.
By the same token, God is not like the grudging friend who only does a favor because his neighbor will give him no rest. The comparison lies in the point of contrast between the unsleeping God and the sleepy neighbor. Prayer is not a battering-ram to breach the ramparts of heaven.
In the parable of the unjust steward (Lk 16:1-13), the moral of the story is not that Christians should be cynical and devious. Rather, the point is that Christians should be at least as shrewd as unbelievers. The unbeliever is supposed to be a fool, not the believer!
Let’s turn to a more challenging case. Many readers take the sting out of the parable of the prodigal son because they jump right to the level of application. But at the narrative level, we are not supposed to feel sorry for the prodigal. Rather, we are supposed to side with his older brother.
Many readers make the pious mistake of thinking that because the attitude of the older brother was wrong in terms of what it represents, it was wrong in the context of the story. But that reading subverts the parable. We should be offended by the behavior of the prodigal. We should share the resentment of the older brother, the faithful brother, who is taken for granted, while his good-for-nothing kid brother is rewarded for his bad behavior.
The point of the parable lies in the antithesis between justice and mercy. The narrative level is about justice and injustice, whereas the application is about mercy. In the parable, the prodigal gets much better than he deserves, while the older brother gets less than he had coming to him.
But Christ deliberately set up a miscarriage of justice to illustrate the grace of God. What would be outrageous at the human level is tolerable at the divine level, for in relation to God we are all needy and desperate wretches. Unless you identify with the offense of the parable, you cannot identify with the offense of the Gospel and the unnatural magnanimity of God’s mercy.
Indeed, one of the dangers in scrambling the divergent lines of application is that it fosters a mock piety or hypocritical piety. For many devout readers do feel a sneaking sympathy for the older brother, and yet they also believe that this is the wrong attitude to adopt, so they pretend to empathize with the prodigal even though their real sympathies lie with the older brother!
For many of them have been in the situation of the responsible sibling while their parents play favorites with the black sheep of the family. When we read this parable, we should identify with the older brother at the narrative level, and the younger brother at the level of application.
To take another example, in the parable of the Pharisee and the publican (Lk 18:9-14), our visceral revulsion to the Pharisee tends to skew the effect of the story. He is the sort of man we love to hate, and his priggishness automatically makes the publican a sympathetic figure.
Let us remember, though, that the publicans were widely despised and rightly despised, for they collaborated with the enemy and occupying force, and everyone looks down on a traitor. Let us also recall, from the story of Zachaeus, that the publicans often enriched themselves by ripping off their countrymen. Conversely, the Pharisees resisted the temptation of cashing in on the system. They did not climb the social ladder by assimilating with the dominant culture of the Romans.
Our problem is that we prematurely cast our vote, reading the level of application back onto the narrative level. In a sense, we’ve learned the lesson too soon. And one of the dangers is that while we identify with the publican and despise the Pharisee, we may, in our judgmental attitude towards the Pharisee, be guilty of a spiritual pride and self-righteous smugness not unlike his own.
Or take the parable of the fieldhands (Mt 20:1-16). Isn’t there something to their complaint? Doesn’t it seem a tad unfair that the landowner didn’t pro-rate the wages? Should these Johnny-come-latelies reap the same benefits for a token of the toil?
Let’s bring this closer to home. Suppose, when you were young, your Dad offered you a sum of money to do yardwork on a long hot summer day. In the meantime, your kid brother went off swimming. When he returns home, with only an hour of daylight left, you Dad offers him the same sum of money to do yardwork. Wouldn’t you be fuming? Here he got to spend a glorious summer day goofing off, while you did all this sweaty, backbreaking work, and at the end of the day he gets the same rate of remuneration as you?
Christians tend to practice self-censorship on a question like this because it sounds as though they’re taking the wrong side. Since Jesus can say and do no wrong, how can they express sympathy for the fieldhands when Jesus slaps them down?
But that, again, confounds the narrative viewpoint with the application. We cannot enter into the spirit of the application unless we enter into the spirit of the story. The point is that if this were a question of just claims, then the fieldhands would have a valid grievance. But sinners have no claim on the grace of God, and so he may fitly extend or withhold his hand of mercy. What would be unjust between peers may be just between a superior and a subordinate. For if none are deserving, then none have cause for complaint.
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