The Prodigal Son: In one sense, it’s one of the most relatable stories from the scriptures. But in many ways, it also has hard truths to fathom. One father. Two sons. Great wealth. And the waiting. Oh, the waiting! Humans are not hard-wired to wait. One late evening, the young fellow (let’s call him Georgie) decides he’s had it. He brazenly walks to the father and asks for his share of the inheritance. I can imagine doing that. No. In fact, I tried doing that one day many, many years ago. My wise old man effectively told me: Go take a hike. And while you are out there, stay a while, will you?!

But this father. He was not like old man Zik. He obliged. And so begun Georgie’s la dolce vita – a life of heedless pleasure and reckless abandon. Enter the bright lights and neon signs. Foxy toothsome ladies. Fast cars. No holds barred.

Then one day it all came crashing down like a pack of cards. If there was an immediate lesson learned, it was that money takes a very dim view of folks who do not earn it. Easy come, easy go. At wits’ end, Georgie heads back home – on a wing and a prayer. This time round, life has sobered him up enough. He pre-scripts his homecoming speech with a pious renouncement of his sonship. He’s happy to be taken on as a servant. But the good old man will not hear any of it. He has been waiting on the road that leads to Sin City every day since his son sped off into the rising sun. Tonight, Georgie goes from sharing dinners with pigs to being draped in fancy robes, and having a ring with the family seal placed on his finger. He is treated to a late summer’s day barbecue.

But that’s not the part of the story that grips me today. It’s the other son. Let’s call him, er, Benedict. Benny is as good as they come. He says the grace before every meal. When sent on a shopping errand, he brings back the change. He is the son of every father’s dream. But today, the scoundrel Georgie returned home and an impromptu party is on in the main house while Benny is busy cleaning the tools in the farm house. He is frothing at the mouth. “That wastrel should never have been allowed back,” he mutters under his breath. He does not belong. Whatever he could lay claim to, he took. Now what does he want, my stuff too?

In the telling of this parable, there is no mention of the elder son searching for his younger brother all those years he was away. All we know is that he is not amused today. Not at all. As far as he sees, that grain-fed calf that was slaughtered this afternoon was His. That party should have been thrown, you guessed right, for him.

But let’s bring this home. We are the Georgies. The Georgettes. Whatever. Only (lucky for us), we not only have a Father who loves, but we have a big brother who cares. He did not wait for us to come home, he came looking. And when he found us on the city dump, he did the unfathomable: He gave up His life (for us) right there on the city dump to convince us to return home to the Father, where we belong. He said a feast was being prepared for us. And that if we made that decision to make the U-Turn towards home, the party bells would ring.

When our hearts wander on the journey of life, He rejoices to see us come home.