THE PRODIGAL'S TALE

I only asked to be allowed to be a hired worker. That was all I expected and I
truly think I would have been content with that. Content? To have food and
shelter and be well clothed would have been luxury beyond my imagining.
But when I returned to him, my Father restored me as his son and what's
more he celebrated.


I thought he would condemn me. I expected it. I feared it. I think it was that
fear of condemnation that had stopped me from going home for so long. After all
I'd ruined everything I'd been given. Lost everything I had asked for.
I deserved to be condemned. I could only go back when I had gone beyond concern
for my own humiliation.

It would be nice to be able to say that I hadn't meant to lose it all, well I
didn't MEAN to lose it all. I just set out to have a good time, to enjoy myself,
to have people think I was wonderful and I thought living the high life and
throwing myself and my wealth about was the way to do it. I was fed up with life
at home. Nothing ever happened. I thought I had enough money to last for ever -
if I thought about forever. I don't think I thought beyond the next party.
So how did I end up looking after the pigs? Well, the money ran out didn't it?
Didn't last anywhere like as long as I'd thought it would. It wouldn't - the way
I was spending it and there I was feeding the pigs and they were better fed and
cared for than I was.


Eventually it came to me that I should go back to my Father - not as a son, I'd
lost that right, or thought I had, but as a worker. My Father cares for his
workers, not just his sons. I'd have a roof over my head and food to eat and
decent clothes to wear and if I couldn't have the privileges of a son, well,
that was no one's fault but my own, and I'd just have to live with it.

Even then, when I'd made the decision to go back, to return the way I had come,
I was afraid. It was only the determination of the decision that kept me going
in the right direction and despite all the doubts and all the fears that came on
that journey home, there was no other road I could take.

I would have been content to be a worker in my Father's house. I really would
have. It never entered my head that I could ever have been anything more. I had
been so wrong. I had wronged my Father and wronged his whole household. I didn't
deserve to be allowed back.
At least I had done a lot of thinking while I was looking after the pigs and I
thought I had done a lot of understanding. But I don't think I'll ever fully
understand my Father's reaction when he saw me. He could have had me turned away
at the gate - told his servants not to admit me. He might have told them to give
me the cold shoulder, to make it difficult and only let me in reluctantly.
He could have kept me waiting outside until he was ready to see me. There was
none of that. He didn't even send me to be cleaned up before he was willing to
see me.

I had imagined all the ways I might be greeted when I arrived home - I never
thought of the way it actually happened.

My Father ran to me. Let me say that again. My Father ran to me. Do you know how
amazing that is? I didn't get even half way through what I had planned to say
before my Father called for a robe for me, for sandals for my feet, and a ring,
a ring, for my finger. How precious that gift of the ring was. And then the
party - for me.

I still wonder at it, more and more. He ran to me. I was the sinner, I had
messed up but he welcomed me home.

Now, I see that pain I inflicted on my Father through the eyes of my brother.
He hasn't forgiven me. I can't blame him and if nothing else, he's teaching me
patience. I hope one day he will forgive me, and then I'll throw a party for him.
I pray it will be soon so that our Mother may see us reconciled and we will all
know the joy of my Father's generous grace.

M. Wyllie © 2007

THE BROTHER'S TALE.

Reconciled to my brother – I don't think so.
Has he any idea of the trouble he's caused – the hurt, the pain?
I swore I would never cause my mother and father so much pain.
What a mess he was when he came back. I didn't witness his return, of course.
I was out in the field working but the servants told me and I did see his “clothes”
before they were flung on the fire. Maybe if my first sight had been of him in
rags and not robes, I might have had more sympathy for him. Or maybe I'd just
have been ashamed of him. He was thin, like he hadn't eaten properly for years.
It'll take him months to recover any sort of strength so that he's of any use to
anyone again, if he ever is.


But if the state he came back in was a shock to all of us – my Father's reaction
was a bigger shock to me.

Has he gone soft in the head or what? He ran to meet him –didn't wait to hear
what he had to say for himself. Didn't even wait for him to beg forgiveness.
Just ran to him and then when my brother did say he was sorry, it was – "bring
the best robe, put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet."

And then my Father threw a party - and now they're all so happy - except me.
I just don't understand how my Father can forgive my brother the way he has.
I never got a party, never once. Oh, it's all very well for my Father to say
I should have asked - I didn't think it was my place to ask for anything.
I didn't think my Father should give me anything. I was just there to serve,
to do what needed to be done. What did he mean - “everything I have is yours."
I never looked at it like that. I just thought that it was my Father's, nothing
to do with me really.

Maybe I should have asked for something – if my Father likes to give so much –
maybe I should have asked for something. I suppose I still can. What can I ask
for? I could ask him to take away the pain of the last few years. I’m not really
bothered about a party but I'd like to get rid of the pain and the hurt and the
resentment I feel every time I look at my brother and since he's welcomed him
home, every time I look at my Father. If my Father could take that away, that
would be cause to celebrate.