There was a father who had two
sons. One son behaved respectfully,
never disagreeing with his father, always deferential. When his father would
say, “When you use the car, don’t leave an empty gas tank for the next
person. Fill it up, please,” this son
would say, “Sure dad, I will.” But he
never did. The other son was just plain
rude. He would say to his father,
“That’s a stupid rule to have! It’s a
ridiculously petty thing to care about, and I don’t know why it matters to
you.” But he never left an empty
tank. He always filled it. Which was the good son? Which son was better?
There was a father who had two
sons. When they were grown, one son
stayed at home with his father and cared for him in his old age, took care of
the house so his father could remain there.
He possessed a sense of duty that served him and his father well. But he never told his father he loved him -
with words or any other way. The other
son left home and moved to another state where he started a career and a
family. He visited the father rarely and
didn’t do the little odd jobs that needed doing when he did come back. But he called his father every week and
listened to his stories and at the end of every phone call he would say to his
father “I love you.” Which was the good
son? Which son was better?
There was a father with two sons. One went to his father and made his
demands. He would say to his father,
“You owe me.” The other son never asked
for a thing and never imagined that he was owed a thing in this life by his
father. Or anyone. But he never gave him a thing either. His philosophy of life was, “Everything I am
I did myself. Everything I have I got
myself. I look out for Number One, like
everyone does, and I don’t owe anyone a single things.” Which son was the good son? Which son was better?
These are the kinds questions asked by
such stories of fathers and sons. They
are either/or stories. Which one is
right, which one is wrong? Who wins and
who loses? These are familiar questions,
because we often do look at things in dichotomous terms: either/or, wrong/right, in/out,
black/white. Many things in life are
like that: you can either have this or that. You can do this or you can do
that. One is right and the other is
wrong. Make a choice, and wonder whether
you chose well. Sometimes you know right
away, sometimes you never find out.
I grew up in a family of four sisters
and I can say I honestly never knew if either of my parents had a
favorite. I think my sisters would have
to say the same. But that never stopped
us from thinking about it and making guesses.
There must have been one. They
must have had a favorite.
Kim and I have four children
ourselves. We don’t make a big deal
about our wedding anniversary, but there was one year when three of the four of
them gave us a card. The other one treated us to an anniversary dinner with
champagne; and her friends said to her, “You are so favorite child right
now.”
Scott Avett sings a beautiful song
about family love,
I wonder which
brother is better, which one our parents love the most.
I sure did get in
lots of trouble; they seemed to let the other go.
A tear fell from
my father’s eye; I wondered what my dad would say.
He said I love
you and I’m proud of you both in so many different ways.
It’s not easy, though, to convince
your children that your love for each of them is equally strong; that you love
each of them with as much love as you have; that each one of your children gets
all of your love. Because how is that
even possible? How can you give
everything away more than once?
There was a father with two sons. One son fell in with a bad crowd and walked
through life under a black cloud. He abused
alcohol and drugs, and when he hit the bottom, his father gathered him in and
sent him to the best rehab he could afford.
And when he was strong again, his father helped him get back on his
feet. The other son sailed through the
days steadily moving toward his goals with barely a hitch. The father did very little for him other than
to proudly watch him grow into a man.
Which son did the father love the most?
That’s not the kind of question that
can be answered, is it?
There was a father who had two
sons. One day the younger son dropped
the plow and walked in from the field.
He said to his father, “I can’t stay here on the farm, and I can’t wait
until you die to get what’s coming to me.
Give me my inheritance now, old man, so I can go out and live my
life.” The father divided his estate,
then, according to the custom, and gave this son one third of his wealth, and
watched him walk away with it.
The older son also received his share
of the estate; a double share, as was the custom. And he said nothing. He watched his younger brother walk
away. And he watched his father watch;
he watched his father’s enormous grief.
And the following day, and the day after that, he worked. And he said nothing.
Time went by and life went on. The younger son went out and had a ball. He threw lots of parties and gathered around
him a new group of super cool friends...until the money ran out. Then no more parties and no more friends. He found himself homeless and hungry and desperate. The only work he could find was the most
degrading kind of work imaginable. This
son had hit rock bottom.
When times are good we don’t think
much about the ones who can help us, but when times are bad we do. While he had probably not given him a thought
all the while he was flying high, now this son thought about his father … and
he missed him. He wanted nothing more
than to go home where he might be safe and provided for. It was different now than it was before, of
course. He didn’t think about being owed
anything from his father. But he did
think about - and hope for – a second chance.
So he went home with a prepared speech
to make the best possible impression on his father and hopefully convince him
that he would be worth offering a second chance.
But his father saw him coming and ambushed
him with love before he even had a chance to give his practiced speech. His father called out to the servants: bring the finest robe that we might clothe
him in it; bring the signet ring that he might wear it on his finger, showing
all the world who he is, where he belongs.
Make a feast, let’s celebrate for we have so much to be joyful about.
And now, at last, we hear from the
older son, the one who had kept his nose to the grindstone and eyes to the
ground. “What’s this about a party? Is there something we are celebrating? Is there something I should be happy
about?” When he hears that it’s about
the return of his long-lost brother – the one who took the money and ran – this
older brother finally had an emotion.
You know, during this season of
penitence and preparation, did you ever have the thought: Maybe I could give up
resentment for Lent. I would really like
to, but I’m not sure how one would go about doing that. It’s not quite like giving up coffee or
chocolate. It’s a bit trickier, because
it’s a feeling that surges up in you from out of nowhere, seemingly, and it
overwhelms you. It invades all your
thoughts and colors all your feelings and probably your actions too. Resentment can eat you up. It’s like poison.
Resentment was the poison in this
older brother’s heart that day when his younger brother returned. But, even worse, it was probably a poison
that had been harboring there for years, largely unnoticed. He had always done what he was supposed to
do, while this younger son had abandoned his responsibilities and walked
away. Who was the better son? He had never crossed his father or even asked
for a single thing, while this younger son had demanded the father give away
all that he had to his sons. Day in and day
out he had watched his father missing that younger son, feeling the empty place
left by this younger son - all the while he was still there, working his
fields, sharing his table. Who was the
better son?
What kind of a man was this father of
his, anyway? How stupid was he? It’s not rocket science: one son was good; one son was bad. Why couldn’t his father see that?
Why couldn’t he see that?
This father, like many fathers, hopes
that someday his children can understand that the parent’s love is not a
win-lose, either-or commodity. There is
enough and still more. You can give it
all away - every bit of it - again and again and again.
This father might say: I can love you with my whole heart and I can
also love you with my whole heart - this is not a mathematical problem. Love is not like that.
Maybe, someday, all of this father’s
children - every one of us - will get it.
God’s love is abundant and free.
Let it wash away the poisons that corrode your heart. Abide in God’s love. It’s where you belong.
Photo: By Gugatchitchinadze - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=49878879
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