When I moved into a house by myself after living in community for several years, one of the first things I did was order a framed print of Rembrandt’s Return of the Prodigal Son, the Dutch painter’s memorialization of Jesus’ parable of the runaway child and the forgiving father (Luke 15). Like many Christians in recent years, I had read Henri Nouwen’s pastoral meditation on Jesus’ story and the painting, and it had moved me deeply. I wanted to use the painting much as Nouwen had — as a daily reminder that I, a lost son, was beloved by a compassionate Father.
For a while the print hung over the fireplace in my living room. But then I moved again, and I decided to place it in a more private part of the house, on the wall space just above the kneeler that I often use to pray. Now, whenever I bend my knees and rest my elbows on the wooden shelf, my eyes are almost level with the back of the son. I can look up slightly to focus on the hands of the Father on the son’s shoulders, and I can look into the Father’s face, just as I might with an icon or a crucifix.
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