local rugby club. But that's what Jesus did. Oblivious to the consequences it would have for his reputation, he not only welcomed these so-called 'sinners', he dined with them, to the shock and amazement of all concerned. 'Can you imagine anything so disgusting?' the 'saints' would be saying to one another. In twentieth-century terms, it would be a little like seeing Mother Teresa in a singles' bar in Soho, or Cliff Richard on a gay pride march; it would awaken that same kind of bewilderment. To mix with sinners was totally out of keeping with social expectation for a man who claimed to be holy.
For the disjuncture between 'saints' and 'sinners' in the minds of those religious leaders of the first century was absolute. By flouting this social taboo, Jesus, as it eventually turned out, was in fact signing his own death warrant.
But he was not embarrassed or apologetic about this social policy of his. On the contrary, this wasn't the first time he had deliberately scandalized the religious Establishment in Judea. As we saw in the previous chapter, he had caused similar controversy at a dinner party thrown by a prominent Pharisee. And on that occasion his response to the sanctimoniousness of those around him had been to tell a parable which, like a Cruise missile, penetrated the psychological defences of his hostile audience and enabled him to assault some of their most cherished and preconceived ideas.
Jesus' strategy here is just the same. He finds himself under attack for his policy of eating with 'sinners', so he again tells a parable. Indeed, it is not a single parable this time, but three parables: the parables of the lost sheep, of the lost coin, and of the lost son. It's that third and final story, the most famous story Jesus ever told, that deserves special attention.
It's a story about relationships, a triangle of domestic tension between a father and two sons. In each case the relationship is broken. Each boy, at least for part of the
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