The Father
“While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him.” Luke 15:20
Remember the rich kindness of your Father. Remember the way you had insulted and dishonored him, when you ran off before. Remember when you got to where you were running and the thrills had run dry, and you had to sit in the mud starving and cold, wishing you could eat with the pigs. There were long and sleepless nights of shame and sorrow, tossing and turning with the memories of the good life you gave away, the family you had forsaken.
There came a point where desperation surpassed pride, and you decided to go beg your Father to let you stay. Don’t forget the feeling as you walked alone on that long road home. You felt the emptiness of unsatisfied hunger, and the ache of disgrace was in every shuffled step. You rehearsed your speech, trying to make sure you’d get the lines right when the time came. There’s no way he’ll welcome you back as a son, that’s for sure; not after all you’ve done, not after the unimaginable grief you’ve caused him. Maybe you’ll catch him on a good day, maybe he’ll have pity and let you stay as a servant. A scrap of bread from the table of heaven must surpass the greatest feasts of hellish emptiness.
You crested the hill at the edge of the property and started down the long, rugged slope towards the main house, muttering the lines to yourself as your heart began to race. The grass was greener than you remembered, and the familiar aromas of fertile soil, along with the fruits of that earth, lavender and cinnamon and chamomile, beckoned you to hasten your pace.
Your stomach leapt into your chest as you recognized your Father, even after all this time and from such a distance; he was and still is a fortress, a bastion, a mighty lord of unrivaled stature. You paused in your steps as fear took over, for this mighty figure barreled towards you, and you never considered that he could kill you if he so pleased. The terrifying thought crossed your mind that if the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t show the kindness you were about to ask him for. You tensed up as he drew closer with no sign of slowing down, 50 yards, 40 yards, 30 yards. Your fear crescendoed at the thought of your own defenselessness in the presence of this titan. He was now close enough that you could make out his face, and what you found there shot electricity through your whole nervous system.
Indeed, the gaze of the Infinite, from which no far-flung corner of the universe has hid, turned on your frailty; the vision that has peered into the deepest fathoms of the Earth, fixed on your trembling frame; the examination that uncovers every dark and twisted crevice in the heart of man, concentrated and unwavering as your window of escape slammed shut. It is too high of a privilege for a mortal so wretched to be looked upon by one so royal. How much more unthinkable to be looked upon the way he looked at you. For in those eyes, the eyes in which you were certain you’d find hate, you saw them instead filled with joy, with compassion, with possibility. The next moment you were flat on your back.
It was hard to tell if you were breathless from the spectacle of forgiveness extended to you, or the wind getting knocked out of you as you were tackled to the ground. You later realized there was hardly a difference, as even the memory of the grace you received brings you regularly to the floor in reverence. Your Father stripped you bare that day, not to shame you, but to clothe you in robes and jewelry. He had a fire prepared, not to burn you for treason, but to fill you with the choicest meal. You didn’t deserve to serve in his house, and yet that day he restored your royalty.
