Saturday, April 20, 2013

What The Prodigal Would Say to the Older Brother

Luke 15:28-32
28 “The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him. 29 But he answered his father, ‘Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. 30 But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!’31 “‘My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. 32 But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’”

When most people look at the prodigal son they see the mistakes that spiraled
out of his control. 
The lust after the woman in the red dress, the pride of wishing his father dead, 
so he could do everything
all by himself. 
Or, 
They see, the massive party that results
when his daddy welcomes him home. 
But what the older brother doesn't see, 
is the road between mistakes, and home. 
He doesn't see the bitter weeping
when he sees how his Father loved him, 
and how little he treasured that love. 
The older brother misses
the broken pieces of his heart
scattered next to beds of strangers,
thrown away in one Jack and Coke too many. 
The words the prodigal spray painted that he thought no one would read,
I. Just Want. To. Come. Home. 
The older brother doesn't see his prodigal sibling 
yell and rage at the time he lost. 
Cry at all the memories he missed out on. 
Shut his eyes at the lies that make themselves at home in his soul 
You are not worthy. You will never be forgiven. You should not dare to call yourself
Son. 
If a prodigal could say anything that would even hint at the truth. 
He would say, 
That time you thought I was having the time of my life
while you were stuck at home?
I paid for it. 
I have fought more, 
Fallen harder, 
Cried and wept and screamed. 
I have scars no one can see,
there is part of me that 
will always be
on the road
with the other 
Lost Ones. 
I know who I am now. 
But sometimes
those lies that I told 
mean people don't trust me. 
Those times that you spent with Dad?
I spent ignoring him. Those memories you have with Him?
Mine are few, though they are becoming more frequent. 
I have flashbacks reminiscent 
of war, 
and sometimes
I still feel 
like I belong with the pigs.
My victories may seem sweet
but they came with more
blood and scars
and tears. 
My story may have more twists and turns
but it's because
in so many ways I got lost. 
And while you were dreaming of running off like me
I was crying myself to sleep
because nothing sounded quite as good 
as home. 
So, dear older brother, 
just know, 
sometimes I get jealous
and Dad loves us both,
but my scars feel like they cut deeper. 
So don't want the open road,
When you already have 
a Welcome Home

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