“A certain man had two sons, and the younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth unto me.’ And he divided unto him his living.” Luke 15:11-12
Listening to Garrison Keillor read this story today, backed up in chorus by the Fairfield Four, I again realized the beauty of this parable. Whether it actually happened is, like most good stories, irrelevant because it is a great story, great literature that does what great literature should do – pulls me into the story and makes me think.
The heartbreak of the father must have been overwhelming, but I suspect he had been down this road with the younger son umpteen times, had this very discussion more than a time or two, and was (as my mom would say) sick and tired of the insolence of the younger son. Stated simply, the father had finally had enough! (Been there. Done that.) The father figured WTF and just let the son have his way, partly just to shut him up and get him out of his hair, but also partly with the hope/prayer that somehow (against experience, logic and reason) as a result of this “all in” bet the son would somehow “come to himself” and things would work out. (He did, and they did, at least as far as the story goes) – but I get ahead of myself.
I suspect this scene has played out with me and God on a regular basis. He knows what is best for me, tries to tell me, tries to point me here or there, and I just don’t listen to Him. Stubbornly, proudly, I insist on making my own way, cutting my own path. I am reminded here of the Bill Anderson/Kenney Chesney song, A Lot of Things Different where the singer, among a long list, laments: “I wish I’d a listened all the times they told me ‘Son, you’re gonna wish you hadn’t’ – but I didn’t.”
We are introduced to the father and the younger son, yet those who have read ahead realize that the older son must have been sitting there in the background, silently hoping that the younger son left them the hell alone and fell on his ass once he left. (He did and he did, until he didn’t).
Next up — rioutous living.
It occurs to me... 