We tend to talk up our families in conversations with others. It’s the instinct of love to indulge in a proud parental parade of achieving offspring. Yet, sometimes there will be that son or daughter who broke hearts more than records. Despite the hurt – the deep love for that child is evident.
Such relationship stories are ongoing, much like the parable of the prodigal son which doesn’t really end. Did the older brother ever let go of his logic, relax, and join the party? Did the younger son ever learn from his mistakes and get more mature and responsible? We don't know anything apart from their being together again, father and sons. They are a family, a home. It’s an eternal story.
We are all in a sense unfinished works. A “distant country” attracts as it means getting away from home- the place where you are known, and for some that feels like suffocation. You cannot stay there. Eventually you run out of achievements, jobs, health, and new ideas. Then you just feel spent, maybe not on a life of “debauchery.” but empty all the same. You realise that your successes or failures are not your identity, you are God’s child. This parable’s point is not about being right, or careful, or doing a good job with life. The point is to come home to the father's arms.
"The end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started,
And to know the place for the first time." -- T.S. Eliot
(Comments to Tom at frtom@ferbaneparish.ie )