The parable of the prodigal son is one of the most well known stories Jesus ever told. There is an incomparable beauty in a father warmly and lovingly greeting his son, a son who returned after having seriously dishonoured him. There must have been some serious man-weeping going on when they embraced.
It’s a story I’ve heard a lot, a story I find wonderful, but a story I could never really relate to.
I’ve never dropped everything and ran away from God. I have been through “stages” with a “what’s the point?” attitude, I’ve been overwhelmed with doubt, but I’ve never slammed everything down and ditched God. I’ve stuck at it for the most part, though a lot of the time half-heartedly.
Two summers ago my dad’s brother, uncle Andy, was diagnosed with cancer and given 6 weeks to live. He hadn’t been terribly “tight” with God for about 20 years, but in his last weeks he prayed and said that he wanted god to use him, dead or alive, cause he felt like he hadn't given God the chance to over the years.
After he died, I toyed with the idea that he was now in heaven. It didn’t sit right with me that he’d spent his life, well the majority of it, away from God, and then got away with crawling back to Him in his final moments. Felt like he was taking the easy way out.
But check it. The father in the story of the prodigal son has an older son. This son portrays someone I can painfully relate to. When his brother came home and was welcomed wholeheartedly, he didn’t think it fair. He couldn’t bring himself to celebrate with everyone else as his brother had wronged the family, and come clambering back deserving punishment, but receiving huge festivities in his name instead. When his dad noticed his eldest son’s not-quite-partying mood, he told him his brother was dead, and now is alive. Think again, what’s not to be excited about?!
So here I am, two years late, on a sticky summer’s afternoon, celebrating along with God the return of my brother, Andy!
