A Lenten Meditation on Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32
Home. That place, really that state of existence where one is free to be who one is and to become, to discover who one will be.
Home. That state of being in which one dwells secure in the assurance of acceptance in the presence of love.
Home. Earnestly sought, I believe, by all at all times and found, I hope, at least, by some sometimes. And sometimes, it seems to me, one has to leave – run away from – home in order truly to find it.
The Parable of the Prodigal (outrageously profligate, extravagantly wasteful) Son is a tale of a son who says to his father, “Give me my inheritance.” Not a particularly outlandish request, assuming that there is an inheritance to grant. Except for the fact that an inheritance is a bequest given at the time of death. The son, in asking for an early distribution of his birthright, in effect, wishes that his father was dead. So, this not-so-nice petition was, at least, impolitic and impolite and, at worst, crude and cruel.
Nevertheless, the father, as prodigal, as outrageously profligate, extravagantly wasteful as his son, agrees. The son leaves home, journeys to a far country, squanders his inheritance in riotous living, and was destitute.
© 2022 PRA
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