YOUNGER
SON
I left,
what can I say? I was inspired—by scripture even.
Being the
younger brother I always liked those stories in Genesis—Jacob besting his older
brother Esau, Isaac getting the promise instead of Ishmael—they both got the
drop on their older brother—and God willed it!
But just
because God acts a certain way for Jacob doesn’t mean he did for me…
It was
foolish—to leave.
I had it
all, and lost it all…
Do you
know what it’s like to lose it all?
What its
like to wallow with pigs?
To hunger
in a famine?
To hunger
so badly…
To be so
bad—the bad son—and to be so low that when you imagine going home to your
father and saying “I’m sorry” and you can’t tell if you are scheming or
repenting!
When you
get as low as I got you really can’t tell…
I had no
choice, I had to leave the new home I’d made off in that foreign land—to return
to my old home, not as a hero, but as a villain, or at least a failure.
Yet, there
was dad.
Running to
me—his Yallabi flapping like an embarrassed bird caught in a trap—as he ran to
me.
He hugged
me, and kissed me
I tried to
give him my line—my speech—my apology
But his
embrace swatted away my canned speech like it was nothing
There was
such a largeness to dad.
Ring,
sandals, a feast.
I didn’t
come back—I was found.
OLDER SON
My brother
left us.
He sold
off a chunk of the field—a chunk of our family name—our family birthright—the
old homestead
Sold.
Sold so he
could leave us.
You wouldn’t
believe how the people talked.
And not
just about him.
They wondered
what dad did wrong—
and if I
was in on it—getting the other half of the land…
they even
wondered if I wanted dad dead.
His
absence—my brother’s absence—was as trying as his presence. Dad was stuck with
a hang-dog look, staring to the East, to see if he would come back.
And he did
come back—that’s the thing.
I worked
and worked—I was…I am…the good son.
I was—I am—the
responsible one.
I managed
Dad’s land—at least the land that my little brother didn’t sell.
Being the
good one is hard work—it takes so much out of you—caring for dad, even when it
feels like he doesn’t care for you.
But that’s
what I did, I worked and worked and worked some more—because I’m the good son
who picks up the slack. I did what needed to be done.
And then,
in the midst of the work I heard merriment and play. I heard a party.
I thought,
naively, that maybe dad was pleased with me. Maybe he wanted to show me how
much he loved me.
I should
have known better.
It was him—that
sinner.
I sulked.
I yelled.
I let it
all out—how much it hurt to be the good son.
And after
I was done, dad reminded me that the work I did for him, I did for myself—tending
the field and the flock I inherited.
He
reminded me that my brother had been dead, but was now alive again.
FATHER:
You love ‘em
from the moment they come out of the womb, don’t you? Even when they’re bad.
It was a
kick in the gut though—when he came to me—asked me to sell off the land that
would be his.
It didn’t
just leave the family farm diminished—it left me diminished too—I became
smaller—there was a hole in my heart.
Especially
once he left.
He went
off to a new country—to become a new person—part of a new family… I guess that
was what he was looking for. Becoming a new person—
denying
being my son.
And I
worried about him.
Worried
day and night.
Until he
came home—it’s still his home—it really is,
even
though he left.
And he
came, starting up with this speech—it might have been insincere, or
maybe he meant it… either way I didn’t care.
I just
wanted to celebrate his return.
So we did.
And then,
my other son—my “good son” was sore, grumpy, just plain angry!
He felt
like I’d mistreated him by being gracious to his brother.
What could
I say to him? How could I explain it to him?
How do you
let them know how much you love them?
How much
you love them both—different kinds of love yes—different types for different
sons.
Continuous
steady love for the continuously steady son
Wild
improbable love for my wild improbable son.
But love
for both of them.
He didn’t
see it that way—he felt slighted—but couldn’t he see? All that remains of the
inheritance is his—think of his poor younger brother’s future!
And think
about his return.
And think how
amazing it is, that his brother who had been dead, was now alive!
