Understanding the Prodigal Son

We all know the story that I just read to you. But there are empty parts with questions left unanswered.

It is obvious that the Prodigal son rejected his Father and all for which he stood. He rejected his family and all for which they stood. He knew better. He took what his father promised and, as we are told, squandered it on riotous living, etc. What he did was unimportant here, but the facts tell us that he took what had been given to him and basically threw it away.

He had moved to “a far country”, and we know it was far away from where his family was because he ended up feeding pigs; something that no “Son of Israel” would have ever done. Now in my mind, this is where the story needs more info.

While the younger son was absent, what was going on at home. Did the Father simply write his youngest off? Did the family mourn the loss? Was there grief and memory?

This is what I see: The Father knew that his youngest was head strong and to make a big fuss about the “inheritance” would have been counter-productive. His son had to learn through experience.

What was being squandered… monies were just the tip of the issue. The boy was squandering everything that was given to him… money, love, community, and most of all belonging to those who loved him.

He rejected those who embraced him. He rejected the truths taught to him. He rejected those whom he perceived as not willing to love him as “he” sought to be loved. He rejected the rules and traditions that made his family a cohesive unit. It was too binding. It was too narrow. He need more.

Did the Father simply acquiesce to the request? I wonder. If he was a good father then he would have tried with all his might to deter his son in this path. I am sure he went from anger to sadness; from sadness to emptiness; from emptiness to resolve and from resolve to understanding. And so with a heavy heart, I am sure, the Father gave his youngest son what he knew was wrong… he gave him his freedom

I can see in my mind’s eye the grieving Father weeping as his son took up a staff and headed down the road and into a cold, unloving and cruel world.

I can see the Father crying late at night, and asking where he’d gone wrong. I can see the tears on his cheeks as he wondered if his son was well. I see the tear stains from seeing or hearing something that reminded him of his son. What pain the Father (and indeed the family) must have endured. I’ll bet the Father placed a lit oil lamp in the window every night, hoping that the errant son might see his way back to the family… to the traditions and love so easily given there. Eventually the Father resolves himself to the fact that his youngest son is not going to return. Yet, he still lights the lamp every night, because of hope.

I think the image of the oil lamp in the window, a tiny spark of light that carried the Father’s hopes into the night is powerful image. It’s the light that guides us in times of darkness. It’s the speck of light that tells us we still have a home, and a loving family waiting to embrace us. I understand the lamp, because it burns in my heart.

We all know how the story ends… the young man is starving and his pride is all but gone. He realizes that he had a treasure and rejected it for the sake of something, someone, some place. He was in a place where there were no rules or traditions, but there was also nothing with which to support himself. There was no foundation. There was no sense of harvest. He was in the midst of the “me first” world, and he was starving. In the story he was starving for food, but the allegory is that his soul was starving for nourishment. His sojourn was into a place without solid spiritual substance was causing his soul to die.

He wondered if he would be welcomed back into the Real Fold, and decided that if he didn’t try, he would never know. So he came home to the Family who gave him his life. He came home to the father who gave him strength of guidance. He came home to the foundations of rules and traditions. He came home to himself.

Even at a distance the Father noticed who was walking on the road. He couldn’t believe it. Was this really the son that had so rejected him and everything for which he and the family stood? Indeed the son had come home. The son tells his father that he is no longer worthy to bear his name. He is no longer worthy to called a member of the family. He is not worthy to carry the Familial name. He asks to be allowed to be on the edge of the family. Let me look in and my soul will be at peace.

The Father rejoices and prepares a party for the lost son. He tells him that he is welcome back into the fold of the family… without condition.
He explains to one of his other sons who is dismayed at the Father’s ready acceptance of the errant son, that my son and your brother is home. He who rejected us has re-discovered us. We cannot let him stand on the outside. We must welcome him home.

A candle burns in my heart for each person who came to us and then, realizing that there were rules and traditions that we need to accept to be a part of our family; were more than they wanted, left to go somewhere easier. I pray that our “Prodigal Sons” will someday come home and allow our family to be whole once more.