By Don Kenobi
Opening Questions
Does the love of God for us somehow turn to hate,
because we asked to go out into the world and live licentiously?
Does the love of a father, a good father,
turn to hate because of that child’s choices?
Are good fathers not patient?
And good sons, those raised by good fathers,
though they may not at first understand,
do they not, in time, hearken to their father?
Who can explain mercy,
that inexplicable love of a father?
Would a true and loving father not still love
his prodigal son or daughter,
or even a neutral-gendered child?
Let us talk about the parable of the Prodigal Son.
Does the love of God for us somehow turn to hate,
because we asked to go out into the world and live licentiously?
Does the love of a father, a good father,
turn to hate because of that child’s choices?
Are good fathers not patient?
And good sons, those raised by good fathers,
though they may not at first understand,
do they not, in time, hearken to their father?
Who can explain mercy,
that inexplicable love of a father?
Would a true and loving father not still love
his prodigal son or daughter,
or even a neutral-gendered child?
Let us talk about the parable of the Prodigal Son.
Digression: Why the Prodigal Son, Not the Daughter?
Is it curious that our Lord used a son in the parable,
and not a daughter?
I do not think so.
A daughter who went away to live licentiously
would have had no way back,
not in the hearts or minds of a first-century patriarchal world.
She would have been deemed dishonoured,
perhaps even marked for death by her own father.
Only men were permitted
the luxury of failure and redemption.
(I am not sure why this digression is necessary,
but I am a bondsman,
and my outil de travail is the pen.)
Is it curious that our Lord used a son in the parable,
and not a daughter?
I do not think so.
A daughter who went away to live licentiously
would have had no way back,
not in the hearts or minds of a first-century patriarchal world.
She would have been deemed dishonoured,
perhaps even marked for death by her own father.
Only men were permitted
the luxury of failure and redemption.
(I am not sure why this digression is necessary,
but I am a bondsman,
and my outil de travail is the pen.)
Back to the Son
Now imagine the prodigal,
still on his wayward path,
still with enough money to live as he pleased.
Suppose he came to harm at the hands of another,
seriously injured, perhaps even killed,
and the news reached his father.
What do you think his father’s reaction would be?
Ah, here the digression sheds its light.
Now imagine it was a wayward daughter,
still on her wayward path,
still with enough money to live as she pleased,
and suppose she came to harm.
Bound by the customs of the time,
might he not even have been glad
that his shame had been erased?
And if he sent men out,
it would not be to avenge her death,
but to make her grave anonymous
if it bore his surname.
Being a girl-father, it is hard to write this,
but that was the ethos of the time.
For a prodigal son,
you and I know he would have sent men to avenge him.
And even if the son had not survived,
he would have sent men to bring his body home for burial.
For though the son had dishonoured him,
he remained a son
and deserved honour still.
Now imagine the prodigal,
still on his wayward path,
still with enough money to live as he pleased.
Suppose he came to harm at the hands of another,
seriously injured, perhaps even killed,
and the news reached his father.
What do you think his father’s reaction would be?
Ah, here the digression sheds its light.
Now imagine it was a wayward daughter,
still on her wayward path,
still with enough money to live as she pleased,
and suppose she came to harm.
Bound by the customs of the time,
might he not even have been glad
that his shame had been erased?
And if he sent men out,
it would not be to avenge her death,
but to make her grave anonymous
if it bore his surname.
Being a girl-father, it is hard to write this,
but that was the ethos of the time.
For a prodigal son,
you and I know he would have sent men to avenge him.
And even if the son had not survived,
he would have sent men to bring his body home for burial.
For though the son had dishonoured him,
he remained a son
and deserved honour still.
The Wrath of a Father
Now imagine once more
that the son or the daughter,
down on their luck,
feeding with swine,
were killed by cruel hands.
If the father had sent ten soldiers the first time
to avenge the death of his son,
and none for his daughter,
this time, in his wrath,
he would send fifty for the daughter
and a hundred for the son.
Because to kill his child,
already broken, hungry, desperate,
that, in his eyes, would have been unforgivable.
An act demanding exacting retribution.
For the sin of the son or the daughter
was against the father alone,
against his dignity, his prestige, his honour,
and against no other.
Woe unto those
who raised a hand against his children.
As much as it was within his power,
they would suffer his wrath.
Now imagine once more
that the son or the daughter,
down on their luck,
feeding with swine,
were killed by cruel hands.
If the father had sent ten soldiers the first time
to avenge the death of his son,
and none for his daughter,
this time, in his wrath,
he would send fifty for the daughter
and a hundred for the son.
Because to kill his child,
already broken, hungry, desperate,
that, in his eyes, would have been unforgivable.
An act demanding exacting retribution.
For the sin of the son or the daughter
was against the father alone,
against his dignity, his prestige, his honour,
and against no other.
Woe unto those
who raised a hand against his children.
As much as it was within his power,
they would suffer his wrath.
The Samaritan Connection
Now let us imagine the parable of the Good Samaritan differently.
Suppose the traveller beaten and left for dead
was none other than the prodigal son,
on his way home,
having wasted himself.
The priest and the Levite pass him by.
But the Samaritan stops.
(You know the Samaritans,
Jews who were not carried off to Babylon,
who intermarried,
and were despised by the returnees.
Now you know.)
The Samaritan nurses him
and takes him to an inn.
The next day, the prodigal awakens.
He tells the Samaritan his name
and where he was headed,
his father’s house.
Now imagine the father,
recognizing his son from afar,
running, robe flapping,
dignity forgotten.
Imagine the joy, the tears, the feast.
Now imagine the moment
he learns who brought his son home,
the Samaritan.
Can you picture the father’s gratitude?
His reverence?
His love for the stranger
who showed mercy when others would not?
Now let us imagine the parable of the Good Samaritan differently.
Suppose the traveller beaten and left for dead
was none other than the prodigal son,
on his way home,
having wasted himself.
The priest and the Levite pass him by.
But the Samaritan stops.
(You know the Samaritans,
Jews who were not carried off to Babylon,
who intermarried,
and were despised by the returnees.
Now you know.)
The Samaritan nurses him
and takes him to an inn.
The next day, the prodigal awakens.
He tells the Samaritan his name
and where he was headed,
his father’s house.
Now imagine the father,
recognizing his son from afar,
running, robe flapping,
dignity forgotten.
Imagine the joy, the tears, the feast.
Now imagine the moment
he learns who brought his son home,
the Samaritan.
Can you picture the father’s gratitude?
His reverence?
His love for the stranger
who showed mercy when others would not?
Questions We Must All Answer
How many prodigal sons and daughters
are lost in the world, hungry for grace?
How many lie by the roadside,
beaten by life,
robbed of joy?
How many have we walked past?
How many, lying prone by the way,
have we taken up
and carried to a place of care,
or home?
How many?
How many fathers,
lost in grief for their wayward children,
have you sent running down the valley,
robes flapping,
dignity forgotten,
weeping as they run
to embrace their returning sons or daughters?
How many?
How many prodigal sons and daughters
are lost in the world, hungry for grace?
How many lie by the roadside,
beaten by life,
robbed of joy?
How many have we walked past?
How many, lying prone by the way,
have we taken up
and carried to a place of care,
or home?
How many?
How many fathers,
lost in grief for their wayward children,
have you sent running down the valley,
robes flapping,
dignity forgotten,
weeping as they run
to embrace their returning sons or daughters?
How many?
When Judgment Came Before Mercy...
Here's what happened when Judgment came first
He saw the traveller,
beaten and left for dead by the road,
but would not kneel to bind the wounds,
for the man was LGBTQ.
Looking away,
his robe unsoiled,
a life slipped away,
and a man died.
But glory to God,
Mercy always travels faster.
Mercy does not ask for righteousness.
Mercy does not weigh the sin,
only the suffering.
Mercy runs,
robes flapping,
dignity forgotten,
to embrace the fallen,
the broken,
the despised.
Cradling the wounded,
whispering,
"You are still my child."
I rest my case.
— Don Kenobi
#MyFrancisEssays #OldManInTheMolue #MercyNotJudgment #MercyAlwaysRunsFasterThanJudgment #MercyOrJudgment #TheProdigalSonMeetsTheGoodSamaritan
Here's what happened when Judgment came first
He saw the traveller,
beaten and left for dead by the road,
but would not kneel to bind the wounds,
for the man was LGBTQ.
Looking away,
his robe unsoiled,
a life slipped away,
and a man died.
But glory to God,
Mercy always travels faster.
Mercy does not ask for righteousness.
Mercy does not weigh the sin,
only the suffering.
Mercy runs,
robes flapping,
dignity forgotten,
to embrace the fallen,
the broken,
the despised.
Cradling the wounded,
whispering,
"You are still my child."
I rest my case.
— Don Kenobi
#MyFrancisEssays #OldManInTheMolue #MercyNotJudgment #MercyAlwaysRunsFasterThanJudgment #MercyOrJudgment #TheProdigalSonMeetsTheGoodSamaritan
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