Read: Luke 15:11-32
Then [the elder son] became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. But he answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him! (Luke 15:28-30, NRSV).
I get it now. I get why Dad killed the fatted calf and welcomed back my bad-news brother. But it wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t quick. In fact, it took my frozen heart at least a decade to thaw. Looking back, I think there were three stages to it.
The first stage happened almost right away. Something inside me began to “give” the moment I I heard Dad say the words: “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.”
Talk about the prodigal father! He was throwing forgiveness around like it grew on trees. I, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to squeeze it out for love nor money. But I was struck by the way he said “we” had to celebrate. In my initial complaint I had only talked about celebrating with my friends. It also didn’t hurt to hear him say, “all that is mine is yours.” Maybe you think that’s petty, but let’s be honest—it was reassuring. Fair is fair, after all.
You’re saying to yourself, “He hasn’t really changed at all.” You’re right. I hadn’t changed that much at that point. But stay with me here, OK? I told you it was a slow process.
Another thing that helped in this initial stage was getting more information. As soon as I got back to the house the servants told me what my brother had said when he got back. You know—about how he was no longer worthy to be called Dad’s son. And to be honest, one look at my emaciated brother told me that he wasn’t the arrogant **** he used to be. Frankly, he looked like he could use a few extra helpings of prime rib.
The next “heart-softening” stage was triggered when Dad died. I know that people react to grief in different ways, but that mutual loss actually drew me closer to my brother. Did you notice that I called him “my brother” just now? Before Dad died, I’d persisted in referring to him as “your son”—as if he could be Dad’s son without also being my brother. But standing together at Dad’s funeral revealed that as the adolescent idiocy it was. I think that was also the moment when I decided that I would share the inheritance. Not that that decision did much good. Thus far, my younger brother has refused to take so much as a shekel.
The third stage was when I had sons of my own. I’ll spare you the details, but these apples have not fallen far from the tree. The whole experience has given me a whole new appreciation for what my “prodigal father” when through with the two of us.
“Whatever is mine is yours,” Dad had said to me all those years ago. Now I realize that the greatest inheritance I received from him was what I learned from him about forgiveness. And that—I hope—will always be with me.
Ponder: The word “prodigal” means to be recklessly extravagant. While this story is usually referred to as the story of the prodigal son, there is also a sense in which it’s the story of the prodigal father. How do these imagined musings of the elder son/brother help you to see that? What do you think Jesus was trying to teach us through this story?
Pray: Help us to forgive as prodigally as we have been forgiven.