A story

A rich man had two sons, Robert and John.  They lived in a large house on a large property.  The house was far from the road, surrounded by fields and woods.  They had servants but the two sons were also expected to work on the property.  There was a stable of fine horses to be taken care of, cattle to tend, fences to be maintained, brush to be cleared, etc. 

On the other hand, there was plenty of land to ride the horses, there was a small lake stocked with trout, bass and pike.  There was a swimming pool and a beautiful and peaceful garden tended by the boys' mother.  Some would say they lived in paradise.

But the younger son, John, was unsatisfied.  He had friends who told him of life in the big city; a life of parties, movies, concerts, sporting events and pretty girls.  Life in the city made life at home seem dull.

John brooded about his misfortune until one day his father asked him about a portion of a fence that needed mending.  That was it for John and he made up his mind to get out.

He knew his father had set aside a large trust fund for each of his sons.  John wasn't of age yet to receive his money but he approached his father and demanded it.  When his father quietly asked him why, John shouted "I want out of this hole!  Life here stinks!  I don't want to be your little slave anymore!"

His father didn't say another word but retrieved the money from the bank.  It was a very large amount.  John immediately bought an expensive sports car and drove away.  His father stood at the front door and watched the trail of dust disappear.  Tears rolled down his cheeks.

John was foolish, but he wasn't stupid.  He put the remainder of his money in the bank in order to live off the interest.  He filled his days and nights with parties and games and riotous noise and laughter.  He had many friends and beautiful girls.  He indulged his senses with many delights.  There was good wine, delicious food and the delicate perfume of his lady friends was a constant presence.  He could even afford the luxury of cocaine.

He rented a splendid apartment high in the sky, overlooking the city.  He wrecked a few fast cars now and then but managed to walk away without serious injury each time.  Life was great.

The pleasure-filled months rolled on into years.  The interest from his money in the bank wasn't always enough to fund his escapades and he began to dip into his principle.  Just a little.  Now and again.  He would manage to save back that principle sometime later.

It sometimes happened that John woke up early in the afternoon, after partying all night, in a pool of his own vomit.  But that was something that could be laughed off with youthful bravado later.  His expensive clothes stained with sick could be replaced and the cleaning lady would clean the carpet.  Heck, that could be replaced too if necessary.

But a day arrived when John discovered that he was broke.  He was being evicted from his high-rise apartment.  His friends were nowhere to be found and his lady friends didn't return his calls.

Since he had no place to stay he slept in his sports car for a couple of nights.  He had lots of quiet time for thinking.  He finally decided to sell his car and rent a small apartment.  He looked around for a job and eventually got one at McDonalds.  Because of his upbringing, John had a touch of pride in him.  His boss detected this and so was extra hard on John.  He always got the task of cleaning out the greasy kitchen every night after closing time.  Most of the customers were of low intelligence and spoke rudely to Jack.  However, the job kept him from starving. 

Every night he trudged home to his tiny apartment, reeking of fat and grease, and slumped into bed.  Somewhere in the apartment complex doors slammed, someone cursed or screamed, or music throbbed during the night.  Roaches crawled through his kitchen sink piled with unwashed dishes.  Mice scurried behind the base boards.  John's face had broken out in acne from his fast food diet.  It was like hell.

One morning John awoke without a hope in the world.  He thought he would surely die that day.  Maybe he'd jump in front of a bus or off the roof, he wasn't really sure. 

As he sat and brooded he remembered his former home.  He hadn't spoken to his father since he left home years before and figured his father had disowned him.  But if he couldn't return as a son he could surely work as one of the servants.  He'd clean the stables, strain the pool, whatever.  It didn't matter.  He just knew he couldn't live like this anymore.

So, John bought himself a bus ticket to get home.  It was a long walk from town where the bus stopped to his father's house.  The weather was mild and sunny and he had plenty of time for thinking.  He clearly saw the foolishness of his life since leaving home and, though he could no longer be a son to his father, life as one of his father's servants would surely be tolerable.

As John walked down the long road from the entrance to his father's property toward the house he noticed a figure in the distance, running toward him.  John squinted his eyes to see who it might be.  It appeared to be an elderly man and he looked a little comical running up the road with his arms waving in the air.  He was shouting something.  As the old man got closer John could finally make out what he was shouting. 

"John!  John!" the old man was shouting.  "Oh, Johnny!  My dear son!  You're home!"

* * * * *

 



This of course is a retelling of the Parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32), which is the Gospel reading for mass this Sunday, March 10th.  I don't presume to have improved on our Lord's parable (I haven't even dealt with the older son, who is important in the orginal), but I think we can get so accustomed to a particular version of a story that hearing it in a different way can help us refocus on the point of the story.

Here are a couple of things to think about with this story.  First, neither Jesus nor Saint Luke gave this story a title.  It became known as the Parable of the Prodigal Son since the son's actions make up most of the story.  But I've heard it said that it really ought to be called the Parable of the Merciful Father.  The story is really about God and his infinite love and mercy. 

Secondly, I once heard somebody explain that in the Jewish culture in which Jesus lived, for a son to demand his inheritance from his still living father is the same as the son telling his father, "You're dead to me."  I can well imagine the Jewish men listening to Jesus telling this parable flinching or their faces going pale at the part where the son demands his inheritance.  That little cultural fact has added a deeper dimension to a story that was already powerful for me previously. 

So there we have a son who in effect spits in his father's face and tells him he no longer exists for him and the father who apparently was scanning the horizon for his wayward child day after day, year after year, and when he eventually spotted his child returning home he ran out to greet him with joy.  That, brothers and sisters, is God our Father.

The Return of the Prodigal Son, Giovanni Francesco