And now for something completely different.

Every now and then I find it helpful in life to press pause take a deep breath. To be reminded again who God is, and who I am in relation to Him. There are probably a number of resources I could draw on to do this work, but my default is one of Jesus’ most famous parables: the one about the loving father and his two lost sons. You can find it in Luke 15. (Hint: The father in the story is God. You are invited to identify with the sons, one or both.)

As a pastor I have preached this parable by retelling it in an expanded form. And that is what I offer to you this week. If you are in need of a spiritual reset, or you’re convinced that you are beyond forgiveness, or maybe you’re just tired of religion without joy. Wherever you are coming from, I invite you to pause and take a breath.

The Parable of the Prodigal Son: Retold

It all happened a long time ago. And it began simply enough on a farm. It was a family farm run by the father. His two sons helped with the work as did all of their farmhands. They all tended to the animals, mostly goats, and cattle, and labored in the fields to grow wheat and barley. The work was hard, but it was good. It was a good life.

One day the younger son decided he had had enough of his life on the farm. He wanted to see the world. He wanted to experience life on the other side, life outside the borders of his father’s land. He was tired of the routine, safety and security of his father’s house. He had heard stories of what life was like in other lands. He had heard tales from travelers who would stay at their place, or the farmhands who had worked in other lands. His imagination raced at the idea of a bigger world, a dangerous world, an exciting world beyond his father’s farm. The more he thought about it, the more this other world consumed his mind. Soon he could think of nothing else, but what must lie beyond his father’s land. Whatever was out there, he convinced himself, was far more interesting, far better, and far more real than what he had experienced his whole life with his father. His work became tedious and he began to distrust his father’s goodness; he became deeply discontent.

The son was so taken by this idea of the world beyond, that when he asked his father for his share of the inheritance, he barely understood what he was really asking. All he could think about was what he was missing by staying with his father. To the son his request was simply to explore and to experience new things, to see the vastness of the world. To his father the son’s request was a denial of everything the father had given him and a distrust of his love and goodness. His son no longer wanted a father. He was being disowned.

But the good father, seeing that words would not convince his son of anything, divided all that he had between his two sons. He gave his younger son his portion of the inheritance and watched him leave. He wept as he watched his son walk down the path away from the farm, because he knew what heartache and disappointment and pain lie in store for his beloved child.

 The son was so excited. He was so ready for adventure. He traveled far. He visited many towns and wandered the countryside. He met lots of interesting people. He experienced the greater world beyond his father’s farm. But he was never satisfied with what he found. It was never enough. He was always looking for more. It became an obsession. He always felt like he was missing out on some part of life, like there was always something better but it remained perpetually out of his reach.  He was never content with what was in front of him. He felt continually deceived by those around him, as if they were keeping something from him, as if they knew where the good life was but were not telling him.

This obsession became a deep emptiness in his soul. The son began searching for experiences that would fill this void. At first he would fill this void with wine, but the void grew and soon it was too large to fill with any drink no matter how strong. So he turned to women to fill the void.  But that did little more than distract him for a while. And still the void grew. He tried every experience that was offered to him, shameful things, hideous things, but he was never content. No matter what he had, he knew that something better continued to dangle just out of his reach. He became a pathetic wretch of a man. And before long his money ran out. Once his “friends” realized he was broke they left too. He was alone and empty, and it was then that a famine struck the land. The hole in his soul felt even larger now without friends or food.

He took to wandering the country aimlessly, working when he could and eventually found a job slopping pigs. This was shameful work. Pigs were detestable creatures. They were unclean and his family had never dealt with them; they abhorred pigs. Yet here he was surrounded by them, standing in their muck, feeding them, keeping them alive. Worse still, he was so hungry he wanted nothing more than to eat their food. To fill his belly with their slops. Oh how far he had fallen; he actually envied a creature that wasn’t even fit for his father’s table. He was less than unclean. He was an abomination.

With this realization, something stirred in him; he came to his senses. At this lowest of points, he remembered who he once was. He had been the son of a generous father who had plenty. He had been the son of a father who had loved him unconditionally. But he had given that up. He had walked away from that life. He had disowned his own father! Suddenly the shame of what he had done caught up to him. The memory of the life he had before came flooding back, causing him to drop to the ground and weep for what he had become. To think of what he had given up, a good life with a good father, a life of plenty, a brother, a family. He had given it up for what? He had nothing now; he was nothing now. The memory of who he once was mocked him as he lay there in the pig’s mud. It mocked the abomination he had become. It mocked him because he knew he could never return to what he had been.

But his father was a good man and always had plenty. Perhaps he could return and beg his father to accept him as a servant. Perhaps his father would allow him to work on the farm and sleep in the barn. He wouldn’t try to claim to be a son, or to have any of the rights of a son, but perhaps his father could find enough compassion within himself to make him a servant. At least he would have some food then.

So the young man got up and began the long walk back the farm that had once been his home. As he walked he practiced the speech he was going to give to the man who had once been his father. He would not claim to be his son, but would simply beg for a job. He was willing to work hard and would ask for nothing in return except for food and shelter. He was just looking to survive.

He was still a couple hours of walking away when he felt the first nervous pangs. As he got closer to his old home the feelings intensified. He began to doubt. What if his father rejected him? What if he had never forgiven him? Certainly his father had to be angry with him. How would his father accept him knowing all the things he had done? And with this thought came a flood of memories about the life he had lived since he left his father’s house. The shame of it all brought him to a halt and, had there been any food in his stomach, he would have lost it all. What a fool he had been! Certainly his father had some idea of the kind of things he had done. Certainly some word had gotten back to him about the kind of life he had been living. He had disowned his father and wasted his money. He had engaged in every kind of lewd and licentious activity the world had offered him. He was a fool to think his father would accept him even as a hired hand. There was no point in going back. There was nothing there for him.

He crested a hill and saw in the distance the thin line of the old familiar stone wall that encircled the land he grew up in. Memories flooded his mind. Memories of joy and play. Memories of love and laughter. And he knew his plan was in vain; there was no going back. The son dropped to his knees in the the middle of the road, disoriented by the shame of what he had done and wept. In was just a short while before he heard an odd sound. It was like the sound of feet running. He looked up. Though his eyes were blurry with tears he thought he saw the figure of a man running towards him. It was a curious sight. He seemed to be an old man by the way he was running, stooped and with an irregular gait. It was a run that showed a lifetime of hard work. The strange thing was the man didn’t seem to be running from anything, but running toward something. The son looked around trying to see what this old man might be running toward. But there was no one else around. Old men do not run for no reason. The man was getting closer. There was something familiar about him. The son gasped. It was his father.

In the confusion of the moment the younger son tried to cry out to his father the speech he had been practicing. He was able to sputter out fragments, “Father, I’ve sinned against God and before you; I don’t deserve to be called your son, I… I …” But the moment was too much and his lack of nourishment overtook him and he began to faint. The last thing he remembered was the feel of his father’s still strong arms catching him before he hit the ground. A fog of memories overtook him as he let himself sink into his father’s embrace. And as his father picked up his wasted and frail body and began carrying him home, sleep overcame him and he was overrun with dreams of his loving father carrying him on his shoulders and playing with him as a child.

The younger son was roused from his dreams by his father’s voice. “Servants,” it said, “Quick. Bring a clean set of clothes and dress him. Put the family ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Then get a grain-fed heifer and roast it. We’re going to feast! We’re going to have a wonderful time! My son is here – given up for dead and now alive! Given up for lost and now found!”

The younger son tried to object. He again attempted to explain that he was not worthy to be called a son. But his father looked at him and simply said, “Wait here son, I’m going to go tell your brother.” There was such a look of love and compassion on his face and in his voice that the younger son knew there was nothing more to say. His objections, his past, his sins, all of his shame and guilt, it all paled in comparison to the joy that emanated from his father’s face and the love that was in his voice. As his father went out to find his older brother, some servants came with food and new clothes. The younger son began to wash and dress and prepare for the feast.

The older son had been working in the north fields all day. This was his share of the land. Over the years he had begun to manage more and more of the family farm and he now oversaw the whole northern half of his father’s land. The older son worked hard to care for his father’s land and honor his father’s requests. It was his duty. It was rare now, for the memory of his younger brother to come to his mind at all.

He used to think of his brother quite often. He had been so angry and confused when his brother left. He had lost his brother, his playmate, his work partner. He also felt betrayed and disowned. He never understood the appeal of the wider world. He was content to serve on his father’s farm. Over time the older son had stuffed his anger deep within and had forced any thoughts of his brother out of his mind.

It had been a long, hot day of work and the older son was tired. He had just finished the last of his duties and was walking back to the house to get cleaned up. He had a couple farmhands with him and they were talking about the next day’s chores and priorities. As they came near the house they noticed some strange noises coming from inside. It sounded like a party, but they could think of no reason for celebration. There was music and the noise of such foot-stomping that he could only assume some sort of dancing was going on. A servant raced by and the older son stopped him and asked what was going on.

“It’s a party,” the servant said. “Your brother came home; he’s back! Your father has ordered a feast – he killed the fatted calf! – because he has him home safe and sound.”

The older brother fumed and scoffed, “Well that’s all well and nice, but there’s still work to do.” And he stalked off angrily towards the barn. The farmhands who were with him watched him go, and went into the house to join party.

The older son found some busy work to do in the barn and convinced himself that it was the most important thing for him to be doing and must be done immediately. But his mind was racing. He couldn’t think straight. All he could do was mutter angrily under his breath as he worked. My brother is home! That degenerate doesn’t deserve to be here. What are people so excited about? He deserves death not a party. I know what he did out there. He’s brought shame to the family. What is dad thinking? The door of the barn opened and his father walked in. “Son,” he said. “I’ve finally found you. Have you heard the good news? Your brother has returned!”

All of his anger spilled out as the older son answered his father. “Look how many years I’ve stayed here serving you, never giving you one moment of grief, but have you ever thrown a party for me and my friends? No! Then this son of yours who has disowned you and thrown away your money on booze and his lust for women, and God knows what else, shows up and you go all out with a feast! I want no part of it!”

The father answered, “Son, you don’t understand. You’re with me all the time, and everything that is mine is yours – but this is a wonderful time, and we had to celebrate. This brother of yours was give up for dead, and now he’s alive! He was lost, and now he’s found!
Son, we are celebrating; will you join us?”