Most of us have experienced that ominous trepidation of approaching a parent to own up to something we’ve done wrong. But it’s hard to fathom the dread the prodigal son must have felt as he made his humiliating trek back to his father.

Now when he had spent everything, a severe famine occurred in that country, and he began to be impoverished. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. And he would have gladly filled his stomach with the pods that the swine were eating, and no one was giving anything to him. But when he came to his senses, he said, “How many of my father’s hired men have more than enough bread, but I am dying here with hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in your sight; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me as one of your hired men.’” So he got up and came to his father. (Luke 15:14–20)  

The prodigal likely spent his long journey home bracing himself for the inevitable retribution he deserved, having squandered his inheritance on immoral living, following his outrageous demand for that inheritance while his father was still living.

As the boy approached his father’s home, the reality and urgency of his situation must have been at the forefront of his mind. His life was now an utter shambles and completely dependent on the mercy of his father—outside of his father’s resources, he had no hope whatsoever. Everyone else in the village would certainly scorn him; people had to do that to protect their own honor. In that culture, no one would even have thought of taking him in if his own father declared him an outcast. The prodigal therefore hung helpless in the balance between life and death, and if his father turned him away, he was doomed. Everything hinged on his father’s response.

As he drew nearer to his home, the young man must have rehearsed his plea dozens, maybe hundreds of times: “Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in your sight; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me as one of your hired men” (Luke 15:18-19).

Perhaps he wondered how that request would sound to reasonable minds. Was it preposterous for him to seek his father’s mercy? Was he asking too much, to ask for any favor at all? That’s how the typical person in that culture might have felt. That’s certainly how the Pharisees saw it. The prodigal’s conscience would have been scourging him with reminders of all the foolish and wicked things he had done that dishonored his father. He would have understood the offensiveness and inexcusability of his sin and had no desire to rationalize or sanitize his brazen rebellion and gross immorality. Who was he to ask for help now—especially since he had already been given so much, squandered it all, and thus had nothing left of any real value to offer in return for his father’s kindness? What if the father took his plea for mercy as just another scandalous request and turned him away forever?

In that culture of honor, especially in a situation like this, it would have been nothing extraordinary if the father simply refused to meet the boy at all. In fact, even if the father were inclined to grant his penitent son an audience, it would have been fairly typical to punish him first by making a public spectacle of his shame. For example, a father in those circumstances might have had the son sit outside the gate in public view for several days, letting him soak up some of the dishonor he had brought upon his own family. The boy would have been completely exposed to the elements—and worse, to the utter derision of the whole community.

In a typical village where everyone knew everyone else, the significance of such a gesture from the father would have been instantly understood by all. If a father denied his own son an immediate face-to-face meeting and made him sit in the public square instead, the entire village would have treated the boy with utter scorn—mocking and verbally abusing him and possibly even spitting on him. Less-privileged people in the community would have gone out of their way to show their disdain for this boy who had been blessed with every advantage and had thrown it all away. No indignity would have been too great to heap on his head. He would have just had to sit there and take it while he waited.

That may seem harsh, but remember—the full penalty prescribed by Moses’s law for such a rebellious son was death by public stoning. The law ordered that “all the men of his city shall stone him to death; so you shall remove the evil from your midst” (Deuteronomy 21:21). So public humiliation in lieu of stoning was actually a mercy the prodigaly did not deserve. And in that culture where honor and shame meant so much, the community’s profound contempt for this boy’s behavior practically demanded some kind of expression.

Most likely, that’s precisely the kind of treatment the prodigal son would have expected. It was the cost of readmission to the community he himself had shunned. It was just one phase of a long process he would have needed to be prepared to endure. By the social customs of that culture, having been the cause of so much shame, he now needed to be shamed by everyone else, as a vital part of the just retribution he deserved. He had made himself a pariah; he would have to expect to be treated like one.

After a few days’ wait like that, if the father did decide to grant him an audience—assuming he was willing to extend a measure of mercy to the penitent rebel—the son would have been expected to bow low and kiss the father's feet. No embrace. It would not have been right for him even to stand and kiss his father’s hand. The only proper demeanor for such a son was to fall prostrate with his face to the ground before the father whom he had disgraced.

He—and we—would have expected the father to meet the reprobate with a measure of frigid indifference. To save face, the father would have approached the arrangement formally, like a business deal, without showing any overt affection or tenderness for his son. There would have been no negotiation; the father would have simply outlined the terms of employment—spelling out what would be required of the boy, what kind of labor he could expect to be assigned, and how long he needed to serve before he could begin to be given even the smallest measure of privilege. Such treatment would not have surprised the repentant son. In fact, he rightly expected it. He knew he had no bargaining power beyond throwing himself at the mercy of his father.

Yet as bad as his situation may sound, the young man was actually in the best possible place a sinner can find himself. Like the penitent thief, he was acutely aware of both his guilt and his utter inability to do anything about it. It is that place where we find a Father eager to forgive and put His compassion on glorious display. What the prodigal was about to discover is what all sinners discover when they repent and come to God:

Nothing in my hand I bring,
Simply to Thy cross I cling;
Naked, come to Thee for dress;
Helpless, look to Thee for grace;
Foul, I to the Fountain fly;
Wash me, Savior, or I die. 

(Adapted from The Prodigal Son)