A Story within a Story

Luke 15:1-2, 11b-32
A story within a story: “There once was a man who had two sons…”  And I knew both of them.  Well, I knew the whole family because I lived next door to them for years.  I was only a child when this whole episode unfolded, but I still remember it like it was yesterday.  I am willing to bet that everyone from our community still remembers those days.  For no one knew quite what to make of any of it.

 I was about 12—an age when I began to take on more responsibilities in my household.  I did not mind the new chores too much, because my new jobs made me privy to many different adult conversations.  It is amazing what one hears while washing clothes in the river.  As a matter of fact, it was down at the riverside when I first started to hear what was going on in that house next door. 

 “Can you believe what that boy has done?” a woman asked my mother.  “He has gone and asked his father for his share of the inheritance.  What shame!”  The woman’s voice was strident in tone.  She was clearly incensed at this young man’s behavior.  I walked quietly over to my mother.  I wanted to understand why this woman was so angry about something that did not involve her.  I knew the boy a little bit.  I was not particularly fond of him. He was always seemed too full of himself.  Crude too.  But I did not think he was a bad person.  So I softly asked my mother why it was so horrible that he asked for his inheritance early.  

 My mother did not have a chance to respond because the other neighbor woman heard me too.  “You don’t know what is so shameful about his behavior?” she asked me, red-faced.  She turned back to my mother, “Really, you all need to watch the way you are raising this one.”  Before my mother could defend me, the woman focused her eyes back on my face.  “No one who has any honor asks for his inheritance early.  He is basically saying he wishes his father were already dead![i]”  Her reply caught me off-guard.  I had not thought about it that way before.  I thought it was a stupid request, clearly insensitive, but I did not realize its severity. 

 The woman continued, “I guarantee if that request had come in any other household in town, that boy would have been severely punished.  His request heaps dishonor upon the whole family.  Why – if you notice, that boy’s mother cannot even wash her clothes down here with us anymore.  She cannot bear the weight of the shame that has befallen them.  And it is all due to the selfishness of that young man.  He better be glad that he got out of here quickly.  And he better not plan on returning.” 

 The woman had attracted a crowd, so she continued.  “I have heard some of the men talking already.  They are saying that if his own father is not strong enough to discipline his son, then they will do it themselves.  As a matter of fact, all of us are supposed to watch for the boy.  If he ever has the nerve to show his face around here again, we are to sound the alert.  The switches have already been cut from the trees.  The community will set him straight.” 

 She then focused on me again.  “So let all of this be a lesson to you, young lady.”  My face started to burn under the spotlight of her attention so my mother stepped in to my rescue.  “Go on now,” she told me.  “Take this basket back up to the house.  I will finish up down here.” 

 As I made the walk back home, I thought about what I had just learned.  I almost felt badly for the boy.  I wondered if he knew what he had done.  Did he mean to be to so cruel to his father?  Did he understand what his request meant?  Maybe he did.  But I somehow could not imagine it.  I mean, he was narcissistic and greedy, but I did not think he was evil.  I wondered how his older brother felt about everything.  His daddy gave him his money, too.  I heard he just split it down the middle and gave each of them half.  My guess is that the older brother refused to accept it.  He would have understood what it meant. 

 The older brother was a good guy—honest, hard working, loyal to his family.  But I bet he was steamed at his little brother.  I knew they had not gotten along for quite a while.  I would hear them arguing.  He would get angry at how his little brother was taking advantage of their parents’ kindness and generosity.  But no matter how angry he was, I bet his heart broke too when he saw his baby brother take off with his suitcase in his hand.  But, as far as I knew, he did not try to stop him either. 

 Over those next few weeks, I heard whispers about that younger son and his rather raucous behavior.  I heard he spent all of his money in just under a month.  He ate too much, drank too much, and paid for companionship too much.  He was living large.  No doubt about that.  But he had bad timing, too.  For just as his money started to run out, we had one of the worst famines we had seen in years.  All of us found ourselves battling hunger pains on many evenings.  Our animals were getting too skinny since the feed was running low.  The crops shriveled up and produced only puny amounts of food suitable to eat.  It was a bad time for everyone.

 But it was particularly hard in our neighbor’s household.  By this time, they had become the town’s fodder for both anger and laughter.  People no longer just whispered about them behind their backs.  They now talked about them right there in front of their faces.  It seemed like the hungrier the townspeople got, the meaner they became.  Some even started to blame the famine on that family.  “Look what you and your son have brought upon us!  He has obviously angered God.  How else would you explain such famine?”  The parents never responded to these accusations.  They would just keep walking, looking straight ahead.

 But what people laughed at was the way that father kept watching the road.  Every single day, from sun-up to sun-down, the father stayed on their porch and watched.  He did not work the fields.  He did not tend the livestock.  He did not pay attention to any of the household details.  The mother and their older son had to do all of that.  The father just stood there and waited. 

 I personally thought it was sweet, but also kind of pitiful.  Let’s just put it this way—men of my father’s generation and culture were not known for outward displays of emotion.  That was considered too womanly.  But this father’s longing for his son was obvious to anyone who walked by.  I even saw him cry sometimes, an event I never saw with my own dad.

 We could not figure out why he kept standing there.  None of us thought that boy would ever come back.  Not only had he shamed his family by asking for his inheritance, but the last we heard of him, he was working for Gentiles as a hired hand, taking care of the pigs.  Even I knew how awful that was.  There was no lower place for that boy to sink. 

No way would he come home now.  Surely he knew that he would not be welcomed.  Surely he figured that his father had changed the locks by now.  Surely he had heard about the mob that was ready to run out and “greet him” as soon as they saw him coming.  From the community’s perspective, he had not just shame his family.  He had shamed us all.  And everyone was ready to make sure he knew it.  I actually hoped that for his sake, we never saw him again.

But one day, the impossible happened.  I was outside feeding the chickens when I started to hear the yelling.  “He’s back.  He’s back,” people shouted.  I immediately became frightened because I did not want to see this boy beaten and I knew that was about to happen.  But just as the men of our village started to get organized, they suddenly stopped and just stared. 

 There in the middle of the road was that boy’s father.  He was running like me and my friends.  He had hiked up his robes, taken off his sandals and was running faster than I would have ever thought he could run.  If I had not been so scared of the mob, I would have laughed.  I had never seen a man his age run before.  It was considered humiliating for elderly men to run.  And he had hiked up his robes to his knees, too.  He was not one bit dignified.  His behavior was not one bit approved “head of household” behavior.  I could not believe my eyes.    I had never seen anything like it before. 

 No one else had, either.  There was complete silence as the group of men, switches in hand, stopped and watched this dramatic scene that was unfolding before us.  We watched as he ran out and caught the boy just on the edge of town.  We saw the boy fall to his knees but we also saw his father fall to his knees in front of him.  He embraced his son with his entire being, holding him like he had when the boy was just a child.  He kissed him right there in front of our eyes.  We heard the father’s laughter carried over to us by the wind.  And then we heard other footsteps coming up behind us.  We just stared as we saw the servants run out to them with a robe and sandals. 

 When they arrived at that pair, the father took his best robe and wrapped it protectively around his son.  He put sandals on that boy’s feet and stood him up.  Then, holding him tightly, that father walked his son right back through the crowd and over to his house.  People were so shocked by what was happening, they just parted like the Red Sea and let them pass through.  It was an incredible thing to witness.

 My own eyes grew wet because I realized that the father, knowing what would have happened to his son without his protection, had given up any remaining honor or power or control he had left in order to run the gauntlet of hostility for the sake of his son.  By running out to meet him on the edge of the village, the father immobilized the crowd’s hostility and desire for revenge.  His over-the-top love rendered them powerless.  And then, he showed us all once and for all how he felt about his son.  He walked with him, sheltering him under his wings, and declaring by his behavior that their relationship was completely restored.  But just as they were about to go inside, we heard the father yell out from the front porch.

 “We are having a big party tonight.  You are all invited—friend or foe.  We are killing the fat calf and we will feast and dance until dawn because my child has come home.  The one who thought he was lost is found.  The one who thought he was dead is alive again.  We are going to celebrate for both of my children are home.”  They then went inside and we heard the door slam shut.

 People in the crowd immediately started talking.  “Are you going to go?” everyone asked each other.  “Why not?” was the typical response.  A few folks stood self-righteously in the center and lectured about how attending the party would only encourage such dreadful behavior.  “Besides,” the woman from the riverside declared, “How do we know the young son has really repented?  How do we know that he is truly sorry?  How do we know this was not just some ploy to get back into his father’s house again without paying a price?  How do we know he really deserves that kind of welcome?” 

 By this time, my mother had stepped up beside me.  She winked at me and responded to her red-faced friend.  “But what if his repentance is not required?” my mother asked.  “What if the father’s love is the only thing that truly matters in that relationship?  What if the son could never do anything to deserve such mercy and grace but the Father desires to heap it upon him anyway? That is the Father’s prerogative, after all.  We cannot tell him who is worthy to be welcomed home.  That is not our place.  The only thing we are invited to do is to go to the party.  So we are going.  How could we not?”

 With that statement still lingering in the air, my mother took me by the shoulders and led me back to our home.  As we walked, I turned my head and looked out into my neighbor’s fields.  By now, the music had begun and we could smell the food cooking over the open fire.  I saw the father out in the field embracing a son again.  But this time, it was his older son.  I stopped and watched as they wiped their eyes and made their way back to the home.  My mother interrupted my spying.  “Hurry up,” she said smiling.  “We do not want to be late for that party, do we?”  And with her words, we both hiked our skirts up to our knees and took off running towards home, our laughter carried by the wind, for anyone who had the ears to hear.