The Prodigal Son

I hate this story.  Parable.  I hate it.  It’s only found in Luke—rather than being repeated three times in the other gospels; maybe that’s why I’m so daring as to say such a thing.  But I do.  Hate it.  And not because of the promise of love and forgiveness in it.

 Here—I’m going to explain it this way:

            Lessons I learn from the Prodigal Son:

            1.  It’s a good thing to give your kid a chance to grow-up before you start giving him ANY PART of his inheritance.

            2. If he hasn’t proven himself to be responsible, don’t give him more than he’s earned the right to have stewardship over, especially when other people’s safety or even comfort are at risk.  He only needs enough to experiment with—and by watching, you can see what he’s made of without hurting the family or himself.  This includes giving a kid a  car.

            3. If the kid goes off on his own before he’s ready (assuming you did not pay attention to points one and two), blows through his resources and comes home with his tail between his legs, that’s great.  But don’t throw a party for him until you’ve explained the situation to your responsible kids—you know, the ones out there plowing the field, driving the old family clunker, helping to support the household.

            4. Give those kids a voice in what happens next.  They’ve earned it. If you were willing to let your ne’er-do-well have what he wanted, surely your steady kids should be given the same consideration.

            5. Yeah, yeah – treat your prodigal like you’re glad to see him, but don’t throw the party until you’ve sat down with him and had a nice little talk.  You don’t have to lecture – but you could ask him what he’s learned.  Chances are, he’s going to over-state the case a little, but starvation and the betrayal of false friends might actually have given him a new perspective on things.  So – talk first, party after.

            6.  Invite your steady kids to the party.  Maybe let them bring in their friends, too.

            7.  Never assume that your steady kid knows he’s valuable to you.  Never assume that he knows he’s doing a good job.  Never assume that he knows he’s loved – even though you may have told him so once or twice.  ALWAYS tell them.  Always let them know when what they’re doing is good, that you are proud, that they’re a great help.  Praise the qualities in them that you can – that they are strong, that they make good decisions, that they’re responsible and hard working.  Also that they’re funny and true and kind and imaginative.  All of those things.  Not once.  But all the time, say it.  Just because their inheritance looms in the someday-when-you’re-dead, don’t assume that the looming alone should tell them everything.

            Of course, every one of us who breathe in this world will find himself, at one time or another – or much of the time – being the prodigal son.  The one lost sheep.  But we will also be one of the ninety and nine, the sheep who stay where there is love and safety, being led to water and good feed – and there is no shame or lack of creativity or initiative in being one of these (though the world loves to sneer about blind sheep—I’ve never actually met a blind sheep.  And I do like a map and good directions).

            The sheepdog gathereth, in other words, both the unjust AND the just.

            Anyway, when I have that story to plot out in my own life, there’s my editorial slant.