... and who suffered through Sunday morning's marathon sermon.
Based on Luke 15
As he stood in front of me, all I could think of were those times when he and his brother were playing in the courtyard as young boys. "Mine, I want mine!" It signaled the servants' need to step in, and ensured that I'd have to address it later. It's been hard work, but good work - raising two boys to manhood. Lots of long walks together, but countless conversations - and even more times when they were nearby as he tried to live his life with honor and integrity. He never forgot "teach them when you lay down and when you rise up..."
A young man stood before him, but all he could think about was that little boy he used to carry on his shoulders when the sand got too hot. But the words snapped him out of his dream.
"Father, I want right now what's coming to me."
His first thought was to look at the face of his older son, to see what his reaction was. But there wasn't any. Then he understood. Maybe the youngest was bold enough to come right out and tell his old man that the time had come for him to get out of his way, but both of them felt it. And it broke his heart.
How many times?
How many times had he picked them up when they fell, held them when they cried, wiped noses and calmed fears? How many meals had they eaten that he provided? How many sets of clothing had they worn, some of which were outgrown almost before the money had changed hands for them. He'd made sure they had the finest tutors, the best of care, and given them more responsibility than he knew they were ready for, because he believed in them - in their love for the one who was their Father.
And now, He was no more than an obstacle to their getting their due. Each in their own way seemed to want nothing more than to be done with him. But they couldn't. In his society, age and wisdom were valued and honored, and the Father's blessing meant acceptance and respect. For whatever reason, both his sons didn't care.
They didn't care about the effect it would have on the village either. In those days people had to help each other just to survive. Families cared for children regardless of if they were theirs or not. Flocks were combined, and everyone did their part. So if he did what he was being asked to do, and his sons sold out to get out, then everyone in the village would take a hit.
And that wouldn't take into account the effect it would have on his reputation and that of his family. For generations, his family name had been known as people you could trust - could depend on. But now? Not one, but both his sons were bringing shame and dishonor upon everyone who wore that proud name. He had never even heard of something like this happening. Ever.
There was provision for a distribution in times where the father was no longer able to handle the day to day affairs of the clan. But though old, he was still sharp and a worthy negotiator in any business transaction. So what could he do that might help each son came to himself and realize that the Father's love was the real treasure?
He decided to give them both a choice by granting the younger son's wishes. If he granted the request, then each son would take ownership of their inheritance, but he would still handle it day to day. His hope was that once they were assured that he loved and trusted them to do right - that they would.
But almost as soon as the words exited his mouth, the younger son was making deals to get rid of his assets for pennies on the dollar. What had taken a lifetime to accumulate vanished in just a few hours in his youngest son's mad rush to get out of town. He didn't even get so much as a "Thanks Father", or a goodbye. The servants came and told him "your boy is gone."
The days came and went. They were bad enough. Several times he started to call out for his son and suddenly realized that he was gone. But as he lay in bed trying to sleep, he could see his son lying hurt and bleeding, or filthy and starving. And there was nothing he could do but pray that God would return his son to home.
The other son, the one who stayed behind, was still at home, but didn't act like it. The coldness from him was tangible. He wouldn't speak at all unless he absolutely had to. It always seemed as if he was looking around at the home and mentally placing price tags on the contents. He treated the servants poorly - even the older ones who had practically raised him. What had happened? Where had he gone wrong?
That was the same question running through the mind of his youngest son. Hard after the heady early days where he had both total control of every moment and money and friends to fill those moments with, came the embarrassment of being without... either. He actually wound up begging the father of one of his former best friends for a job. Thing is, he was sure the man didn't really want him around. After all, who gives a job slopping hogs to a Jew? But this Jew knew - this job is all I have between me and starvation - though starvation still crept around the edges wanting to come in and take possession of him.
Finally one day he looked up and saw one of the servants riding by. For a moment, he remembered a day when he would have been able to call out to him and whatever his wish would have been, it would have been done. But now, even the servants ...
"Wait! I could go back home, where even the servants are well fed. I'll never be a son any more, but I could hook on as a hired hand. If I come right out and admit I was wrong to my Father and to God, maybe they'll at least let me apprentice for a trade." And up he went.
It was the same routine every day, back home. The father would get up, and after an early breakfast and prayers, would head out to the city gates to sit with the elders and discuss the day's events. Yes, his standing in the community had plummeted after his son's revolt, and it's true that some there received him with pity rather than the respect they had given to him before, but it was closer to the road which ran away from the village - so it was closer to his son. If by some miracle he returned, the father knew that he'd have to beat the villagers to him. Otherwise he'd be met with a barrage of stones. So he sat at the gate almost everyday. The sand blew, the sun beat down, but there he sat.
His oldest son would probably be as far away from the town gates as possible. While the village still had some mixture of pity and respect for the father, for the sons there was only anger. Anger that someone would take advantage of a father's love. Anger that anyone could be so selfish and self centered. Anger that the shame which they had sown did not seem to phase him. Men would cross the street, or spit in the oldest son's direction. Women would gather their children closer and avert their eyes. In a small village like this one, everyone knew what happened to everyone else. Well, this day would be one they would talk about for generations.
As the father sat at the gates, discussing whatever old men talk about, he looked up and saw a figure coming down the road. In an instant, he knew it was his son. Forgetting his shame, casting everything away, he got up, and gathering his robe in his hand to better move quickly, he did something no one above the age of 25 ever did. He ran.
As he did, the children ran with him, and the servants struggled to catch up. And like a ripple in a pool when a pebble was dropped into it, word spread among the village and here and there others raced out to catch up. But all the father knew was - that's my son.
When he crashed into him, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheeks again and again, he could hear the boy start to say "Father, I've sinned against God, and I've sinned against you. I don't deserve to be called your son ever again." With tears filling both their eyes, and each one's hands upon the other's shoulder, the father looked up and caught the eye of his servant.
"Quick. Bring a clean set of clothes - my best robe, and clean this boy up. Get my signet ring and slip it on his finger, and no son of mine should go barefooted - find him some new shoes. Oh and that grain fed steer we've been saving for when the governor comes - BBQ that bad boy. There's no one more important to me than my sons, and this one that I thought was lost to me forever - has been found." He looked at his son again, and on the boy's face was a look he had seen before - it was the same look of wonder and awe he'd seen when he'd held him out in front of him as a toddler and said "this is my son!"
The crowd came bearing stones and left laughing and headed to the father's house for the party. Already the servants would be setting the table, engaging the musicians and singers, and preparing everything for a feast. After a little while the wonderful smell of roasting beef filled the air, as did the sounds of people singing.
The oldest son came near and heard the sounds, and frowned. "I didn't order that," he thought. "That's my money someone's burning up." As he drew nearer one of the house servants came out to see if he needed anything, so he asked what was happening. "Your brother has returned and is well! So your father is throwing a party and wants you to come and sit with him and your brother again."
"No! Tell my father he can rot in hell before I go in there."
The servant delivered the message to the father with sadness, knowing the result would open an old wound... again. When he did, for an instant he could see it cross the old man's face. But then, making apologies to his guests, the father quickly headed out to where his son stood, surrounded by villagers and servants.
"Come in, my son. Rejoice with me that your brother is alive and well."
"Is that the fatted calf I smell old man? I slaved away for you and you never volunteered a billy goat for me and my friends, but when that dog goes and wastes your money on whores with Gentiles, you roll out the red carpet. How do you think I ought to feel?"
His father looked at him and tried to remember the little boy who used to walk around with his father's sandals on. The boy who watched everything his father did and tried to do it just like he did. the son who wanted so badly to be more of a man than his father was. He looked at him again,and after a quick prayer, said "My dear son, I was here when you worked beside me all these years. What you've done won't be forgotten, and I proved my heart was true by giving you ownership of your share even though I didn't have to. But this is about family, not money. It's about love, not the failures of the past. When you two demanded my grace, I gave it freely. Now I've received even more grace. Your brother was as good as dead - lost forever. he's here - he's alive! Come to the party with me!"
