What IFS taught me about this Sunday school story
My dad was a Baptist pastor so I heard ALL the Bible stories fit for Sunday School: David and Goliath, Daniel in the lion’s den, Jonah in the belly of whale, Noah’s ark, Moses parting the Red Sea, and so on. Notice those were all Old Testament stories; the New Testament didn’t pack the same narrative punch for Sunday School.
One Gospel story that always made the cut was the parable of the prodigal son. It’s a simple one: a wealthy father has two sons; one wants his inheritance early, takes it and spends it lavishly; the other stays with his father to work on the family estate. The first son ends up penniless and destitute and decides to return to his father’s estate to seek work as a servant.
As the father sees him in the distance coming home, he runs to greet him:
But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. (Luke 15:20 KJV)
The father proceeds to throw a banquet celebration to welcome his son home. The second son was none too happy about this, and the father tells him to chill.
The moral of the story was clear for us Sunday schoolers: even if you mess up and sin, Jesus will welcome you back with open arms. That’s a comforting lesson, but there’s no guidance for how someone might grow into that supernaturally compassionate father. Like, how would a normal person reach that level of unconditional love?
I understood back then that Jesus was supposed to be supernaturally loving and forgiving, so the level of love and welcoming the prodigal son received could be seen akin to a miracle, like water being turned into wine. It’s just what this Jesus guy does.
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I hadn’t given this parable a thought since those Sunday school days. But in my IFS coaching, I’ve been working more frequently with clients in addiction recovery and I’ve seen a common dynamic that has revealed a deeper and more practical meaning of the father’s love for the prodigal son.
An internal battle happens in everyone who has experienced addiction. On one side of the battle are the parts that IFS calls “firefighters.” These parts put out internal emotional fires (loneliness, fear, worthlessness, inadequacy, shame, etc.) with any tool available. For some it’s alcohol and other substances; for others it’s sex, gambling, or self-harm; for many others it’s workaholism, social media, or shopping.
On the other side of the battle are the parts of us that IFS calls “managers.” Their job is to keep the trains running on time, to keep us safe, and keep us loved by those around us. They often HATE the firefighters who have––especially later in the addictive process––left quite a lot of pain, loss, and chaos in their wake.
Once I get to help clients go inside and see what’s happening, this battle becomes pretty obvious. These two sides do not trust each other. The managers believe the firefighters are disgusting agents of chaos who are hell bent on destroying everything. The firefighters (if the managers even allow them to speak) show how they’re the last bulwark against crushing anxiety or debilitating depression. They might even show how they’re the “good” firefighters compared to the darkest firefighter waiting in the wings with suicide as the final solution.
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What does this have to do with the Sunday school parable?
There comes a point in IFS work when the managers get to meet the person’s True Self. When this happens, the managers see that there is now room in the system for this larger True Self source of calmness, love, and clarity. The managers relax back a bit and allow the True Self to directly connect with firefighters.
And when this happens, I can ask the person: “How are you feeling toward this firefighter part now?” Previously they would’ve answered somewhere in the range between angry/scared/disgusted and indifferent. But now, with managers relaxed back and True Self getting a lot of space in their system, they answer something like: “I feel so much compassion as I see how sad, sorry, and exhausted it is.”
True Self just opens its arms and welcomes the firefighter in, just like the father to the prodigal son. There’s no judgment, no seeking justice, no learning a lesson. It’s just love.
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To be clear: IFS is not religious nor affiliated with Christianity. My point is not that IFS makes us Christian. If I have a point in this newsletter it’s this: supernatural levels of unconditional love are accessible to me and you, right now, in this lifetime. We all have a True Self (or you can call it Core, Essence, Spirit, Source, Ground of Being, or whatever) that mystics have spoken of for ages.
The reason we don’t feel it is that it gets covered up by big protective parts, extreme firefighting parts, and wounded, young, exiled parts. All of our parts are like clouds covering the sun. But just like how the worst storm on earth has never barely damaged the sun, so our True Self remains totally undamaged, perfect, and whole.
It’s just waiting to shine through.