What is A Prodigal Pastor? Revisited
Listen: “Lost” by Coldplay/Jay Z
In the classical story of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32), a young man asks for his inheritance early which was, at best, very insulting to the father. As I’m sure you can imagine, he spends all his money very quickly, lavishly, irresponsibly. When all is said and done, he’s mucking pig stalls, which is about as low as you can go in the Jewish culture of his time, so he decides to return home. His father sees him, runs to him, embraces him, and throws a party for him which, I’m told, is a shocking response since most fathers of that era would have banished the son. Meanwhile, the prodigal’s older brother has obeyed all the rules and his father has never thrown a party for him. He resents his brother, and he resents his father.
The story is a sermon classic because it reveals how gracious love can restore a wayward life. It reveals the extravagant heart of God (The Father) towards wayward children; and how the “rule-followers” are wayward in their anger, resentment, and self-righteousness. (“Prodigal” is an Old English word meaning “extravagant” which plays on the dichotomy of extravagant waste and extravagant love.)
I was a prodigal teenager when, at sixteen, I encountered Jesus and felt called to be a pastor. I left behind my wild ways and took my calling to heart, with the utmost of dedication for forty years. I never imagined I would find myself in a second prodigal story in my fifties, but I did.
As a pastor of a progressive Evangelical megachurch, I always had a heart for people outside the church regardless of lifestyle or belief systems. I never felt better than or superior to anyone, but I did feel like I had something to offer—specifically the message of Jesus and a grace-based faith community. However, in my darkest moments I lost this confidence.
By late 2017, I was lost. By lost, I mean I felt disconnected from God, my wife, my vocational calling, and myself. Utterly lost. In November of 2018 I was “sent off” to Georgia for 120 days of rehab because of prescription Xanax and alcohol abuse. I also confessed to sexual unfaithfulness to my wife. When I returned to Kansas City in March 2019, I was full of shame, embarrassment, and anger. I felt shame concerning my failures, shame because I had potentially hurt several thousand people, shame concerning my broken marriage, and shame concerning my infidelity, my misuse of alcohol, and my lack of faith in what I had always believed and taught. I was an emotional wreck and in a very dark place.
Six years into my recovery, why do I still call myself a prodigal pastor?
I tried to run from the “pastor” identity when I got back from rehab, but it was impossible. I grew up in Kansas City. My parents and sisters and brother-in-law’s and nephews and nieces and great nephews and nieces attended the megachurch I had founded. I had people in my church with whom I went to elementary, junior high, and high school. I preached my first sermon in Kansas City when I was seventeen and was ordained at my home church in my twenties. Tens of thousands of people in Kansas City knew me and inevitably I would bump into someone every day who would ask, “How are you doing, Pastor Fred?”
I remember during rehab I tried to disguise my identity as a pastor and by the end of the first thirty days, the most outspoken atheist asked everyone to read the gospel of Matthew in my honor and consider Jesus. He was relentless in asking me faith-oriented questions even though I was questioning my own beliefs. This type of conversation happened to me everywhere, even when I was trying to escape it. Running wasn’t working, so I started asking myself, “What kind of pastor am I?” Maybe a prodigal pastor? When I considered this idea, I realized I still cared for people in a pastoral way even though I felt so wounded and lost. I was a wounded shepherd who still cared for wounded people. I cared for their hurts, health, wellbeing, and flourishing.
I wanted to believe that a prodigal pastor would have an even greater set of reasons to believe in God, but I was questioning everything. In my darkness, every value and belief I’d ever had was under scrutiny by me. If there was a God, I hoped he/she/it was an extravagant God of love and grace because—I needed it.
In the Bible story, the father puts aside his dignity and runs to greet his wayward son with unconditional love—beautiful no matter what your belief system. And that’s exactly what I need, unconditional love.
I needed to be an imperfect person among all other imperfect people. I needed a big, Big Love.
It’s everywhere, I know that now. But we often speed through life failing to discover, receive, and disseminate it. I don’t have all the answers. I am less certain, more open about so many things. The consequences of my actions shattered everything, except my hunger for love. I find myself at times haunted with doubts and questions. But I read. I listen. I meditate. I search. For a Big Love.
I’ve listened and recovered with drunks and addicts and sex workers and atheists and rabbis and pantheists and Buddhists and doctors and prisoners and homeless and LGBTQ+ peoples. I’ve realized that everybody is spiritual, with a deep longing for Big Love. And I’ve been inspired by every type of person as they wrestle with dignity, with the issues and questions of life. I have found courage and hope in the strangest places. So, while I am less certain about most things, I am still extremely hungry to experience this precious gift of life more fully. My new mantra is rigorous honesty combined with Big Love. The Universe vibrates with the energy of love so I want to dive into that love and experience it everywhere at every moment as—a Prodigal Pastor who loves a Prodigal God and a Prodigal People in a Prodigal Universe.
©realfredherron 2025
