Prodigal Daughter

On Sunday mornings I pass miles of farms and homesteads in various states of use. There’s one stretch of road that used to be densely wooded but has been gradually cleared over the past year, seemingly by one man.

In the few seconds it takes me to drive by, I’ve watched him transform the dense brush into something that resembles a park, green meadows taking the place of the rough bramble, trees that create pools of dappled shade, and a narrow stream that winds through the land, cutting across this new space that wanders along between the road and a steep hill.

At the entrance to this now-cleared land, there sit a few stone angels. I’m not sure what they signify, whether invitation or memorial.

In this rural community, where I’ll pass a handful of cars as I drive the two-lane highway into town, I’ll also pass at least four different churches. I see the man working his land and in this Bible-belt community, I wonder why he’s not at church.

I like to imagine that while he’s not sitting in one of the long wooden pews, he’s built his own church—an open-air cathedral where he meets God while he clears the land for whatever purpose demands stone angels at its entrance.

This week’s gospel reading took us into the world of another farm-based family, the familiar parable of the prodigal son. Most of us know the story well: two sons, vastly different in nature, and the father who loves them both.

The younger son, eager to break free, asks his father for his inheritance early, and with it, he heads off to the city, lured by bright lights and empty promises. He throws himself into a life of indulgence, wasting his fortune on reckless living. And predictably, squanders it.

Penniless and homeless, he finds himself feeding pigs, longing for the food he’s giving to them. It is in that moment of desperation that he decides to return home, hoping his father will accept him back, even as a servant. But the father, seeing his son from afar, runs to him, embraces him, and throws a grand feast to celebrate his return.

Those among us who have lived upright and responsible lives may very well resent the prodigal son and his effortless restoration. “He’s never going to learn his lesson that way!”

But maybe that’s not always the end of the story for the prodigal son, or daughter.

For Lent, our parish book club is reading a selection of writings by Charles de Foucauld, a French soldier, explorer, and monk, who started his life much like the prodigal son, an aristocrat indulging his appetite for his mistress and his love of truffles and champagne. After encountering God, (the Father) his life takes a radical change toward service and missionary adventure.

Then there’s the older son. The one who stayed behind, worked the land, and followed the rules. When he hears of the feast for his brother, his heart swells with resentment. He has been the good son, the dutiful one, his father’s generosity toward the prodigal son feels like a betrayal. He feels invisible, unappreciated.

Many of us, at some point, have felt like the older son—making choices for responsibility’s sake, sacrificing dreams for practicalities, choosing stability over adventure, only to find that as time passes, opportunities slip away, and dreams become distant memories.

Our own lives may not have been lived to such extremes as Charles de Foucauld, but I will confess to have been both the prodigal and responsible daughter in my life. I believe we all have.

We often overlook the third character in this story. The father who not only welcomes his lost son home with open arms but also listens patiently to the complaints of his older son. He gives both sons what they need—one, unconditional forgiveness, and the other, understanding and reassurance.

This is God. The father who accepts us, no matter what we’ve done, who embraces us with grace when we’ve made mistakes, and stands beside us, even when we’ve done everything right and resent that we had no choice.

He is the father who helps us find new dreams when the old ones fade away. I see God standing near the man working his land, just as I feel God’s presence with me in church, as I struggle to pull my attention back to the altar and away from the worries that weigh on me.

We all can relate to the prodigal son or the older son, but let us turn from our own stories toward the father—the one who loves us endlessly, who welcomes us no matter how we come to him. God the father, who never stops loving, never stops forgiving, and always, always welcomes us home.

The Parable of the Prodigal and His Brother (Luke 15:11-32)

11 Then Jesus[a] said, ‘There was a man who had two sons. 12 The younger of them said to his father, “Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.” So he divided his property between them. 13 A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and travelled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. 14 When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. 15 So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. 16 He would gladly have filled himself with[b] the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. 17 But when he came to himself he said, “How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! 18 I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; 19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.’” 20 So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. 21 Then the son said to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.”[c] 22 But the father said to his slaves, “Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. 23 And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; 24 for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!” And they began to celebrate.

25 ‘Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. 26 He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. 27 He replied, “Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.” 28 Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. 29 But he answered his father, “Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. 30 But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!” 31 Then the father[d] said to him, “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. 32 But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.”’