Pigs and the Prodigal

Story of the Demon Legion (If you’re not familiar with the story)

They sailed to the region of the Gerasenes, which is across the lake from Galilee. When Jesus stepped ashore, he was met by a demon-possessed man from the town. For a long time this man had not worn clothes or lived in a house, but had lived in the tombs. When he saw Jesus, he cried out and fell at his feet, shouting at the top of his voice, “What do you want with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, don’t torture me!” For Jesus had commanded the impure spirit to come out of the man. Many times it had seized him, and though he was chained hand and foot and kept under guard, he had broken his chains and had been driven by the demon into solitary places. Jesus asked him, “What is your name?”

“Legion,” he replied, because many demons had gone into him. And they begged Jesus repeatedly not to order them to go into the Abyss.

A large herd of pigs was feeding there on the hillside. The demons begged Jesus to let them go into the pigs, and he gave them permission. When the demons came out of the man, they went into the pigs, and the herd rushed down the steep bank into the lake and was drowned.

When those tending the pigs saw what had happened, they ran off and reported this in the town and countryside, and the people went out to see what had happened. When they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone out, sitting at Jesus’ feet, dressed and in his right mind; and they were afraid. Those who had seen it told the people how the demon-possessed man had been cured. Then all the people of the region of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them, because they were overcome with fear. So he got into the boat and left.

Luke 8:26-37

As I set out to write The Prodigal’s Son,

I spent days studying Scripture and theological input about the prodigal. I’d gotten in the habit of waking up and saying, “Good morning, God. What should I read today?” 

My eyes were still bleary with sleep, skin blissfully warm beneath the covers, brain still fuzzy, the morning I heard God say, “Pigs.”

“Pigs?” I grabbed my phone and Googled “Bible references of pigs.”

Before the search results materialized, I guessed what I’d find—at least one Leviticus reference to God deeming pigs “unclean,” the demon-possessed Legion begging Jesus to cast him into pigs. The prodigal son wishing he could eat what the pigs ate.

The last thought snagged me. “Oh.”

I’d finished reading Henri Nouwen’s Return of the Prodigal Son based on Rembrandt’s painting “The Return of the Prodigal Son.” I was halfway through Timothy Keller’s Prodigal God. For an entire week, God surprised me with new facets of the Luke 15 “Lost” parables.

So, as I read the verses about pigs, I asked myself, “What does God want to teach me about the Prodigal Son this morning?”

The “pig” search yielded two surprising results from Isaiah. (cf. Isaiah 65:3-4, 66:17)

Both verses mentioned pigs and graves. Graves? Legion was among graves, wasn’t he?

  A picture formed. The Israelites’ contrast and compromise. God deemed pigs unclean, therefore, God's people had no business raising pigs. The Israelites, aware of God's instruction, raised pigs beyond the walls of the city—because they were unclean. Out of sight, out of conscience. Israelites constructed graveyards--also unclean--beyond the city, near grazing pigs. Jesus and Legion, speaking among the tombs, could see pigs grazing from where they stood.

When Jesus cast Legion—many demons—into a large herd of pigs, the Israelites were more distressed by the eradication of unclean animals than joyful about the clean, restored human.

Jesus couldn’t have chosen a filthier animal for the prodigal son’s story.

The younger son had been a wealthy, well-known heir, lavish and comfortable. By a series of poor choices, he traded affluence for debasement and became unrecognizable. Shame replaced pride. Humiliation; glory. His gold was long since spent. He'd pawned robes, chariots, jewelry and other valuables, in order to scrape by. 

The Miss American Pie music died. The bright, cinematic color faded to muted grays. Ragged and cold, he shoveled pig manure. Hollow, he wished he could eat what the unclean animals ate. Beyond sight of the city’s exuberant night life, silhouettes of the graveyard marked the dwelling places of the humans he bore the closest proximity to.

Then Jesus tells the Pharisees this wretch “got up and went to his father."

Culturally, the father would have commissioned his heir as a hired hand. The Pharisees could have finished the story for Jesus.

But Jesus flips the script. Jesus tells them that while his son smelled of pig excrement and stale urine, wore tattered rags, had lice-infested hair and bloodied, bare feet, the backstabbed, broken Father kissed his son.

That's God’s message of hope. God doesn't care about your appearance when you get to Him, He's simply overjoyed you've come home.

Jesus takes the narrative a step further for the pharisees listening who resonate with the faithful, hard-working, honorable elder brother.

Jesus gives the elder brother’s birthrights to the prodigal. The father’s robe and ring, a portion of his estate, his affection and joy—these are all gifts the elder brother craved that the prodigal received.

As Jesus tells the Pharisees the stories of the losts—Lost sheep. Lost gold. Lost son—Jesus places the Pharisees in the advantageous roles. As teachers of the law, they were known as shepherds. “Would you go out for the lost sheep?”

“No. We’re good with the income of the ninety-nine.”

Pharisees were also wealthy.

“Would you tell people about your recovered coin?”

“Um, actually, yes, probably.”

Up to this point, the shepherd went out to find the sheep. The woman went out to celebrate with her friends. Then the father goes out to the prodigal son.

Jesus says the father goes out to find the elder son, too. Here’s something new I noticed the 152nd time I read the story of the prodigal son. Plot twist.

“Guess what, Pharisees? You are the lost. You are the lost sheep. The lost coin. The lost son, and God the Father is looking for you.”

Both sons need the Father, Nouwen points out. And the Father loves both in equal measure—goes out to both. Jesus' invitation is open-ended.

"Will you accept God's love?"

The story ends with an ellipsis. Does the elder brother join the celebration? Rather than ending the story with an answer, Jesus ends with an invitation.

There are plenty of elder brothers sitting in 21st century church pews, turning their noses down at the world's prodigals. Wouldn't they be appalled to realize it's the Prodigal Son, Himself, extending the invitation to the banquet?

Because 2,000 years ago, God, the wealthy, well-known heir, left home, lived among the unclean, and traded the lavish comfort of heaven for the graveyard beyond the city.