Sweat rolled down Jason’s back and his muscles groaned as he threw rotten scraps to seven enormous and hungry pigs. He wiped his forehead with his ragged sleeve and sighed. The hogs grunted into their dinner while the young man looked over the fields around him, not really looking at anything. His haunted face showed the unmistakable signs of premature age; too much life lived in too few years. It had been a day or two since his last meal, and his threadbare clothes were beginning to hang loosely on his slender frame. Jason spent most of his moments suffering the torture of painful memories. His stomach not only ached from hunger, but from guilt. As the sun set, Jason felt the first cool evening breeze that heralded the coming of fall. He flinched as he remembered a scene from this time last year.
The glass from a picture frame smashed against the wall inches from his father’s head. As a mouthy teenager of only 17, Jason was positive he knew more than his father and wanted out. He did not want to live the calm and patient life his parents had built for him and his brother Seth in the country. Their religion felt like a cage, and Jason wanted to move into the city to experience life for himself. This fight, unlike all of its predecessors, finally came to a conclusion.
“I’ve got to get out of here, Dad. I hate it! I hate the country, I hate your stupid animals, I hate my brother, and I hate this horrible house. I wish I wasn’t even born into this family.” The young man’s eyes flashed as the poison spewed from his mouth. His father, a stooped but hardy man, hung his head in defeat.
“Jason, please...” The old man stretched out his hands in a desperate gesture, ignoring the shattered glass that crunched under Jason’s feet as he backed away from the embrace.
“Not this time. Screw you, Dad. Screw you and your rigid beliefs. I wish you were dead so I could take what’s mine and get the fuck out of here.” Jason knew what he said was unforgivable, and he couldn’t blame his father for walking out of the room. He stood, breathless and red-faced, in the middle of a destroyed room. His heart was still beating wildly with his determined claims.
“Here. I will miss you desperately and I will pray for you every single day.” Jason’s father walked back into the living room, his shaking hand holding out a crisp check.
Jason mutely took the check without meeting the watery sea-grey eyes of his father, picked up his backpack, and stormed out of the door and into the evening. He had finally spoken his mind. Feeling braver and more free than he ever had, Jason shrugged off the guilt of his father’s stricken face and began planning his new life. His first move would be to find a place in the city, maybe a small apartment above a bar downtown - he had always dreamed of living within walking distance of a place where he could eat and drink without having to cook for himself. He would make friends who knew how to get fake identification, and he could really start over without feeling anchored to that stupid farm.
With revulsion, Jason took note of the fact that the pig’s feed did not smell bad to him anymore. In fact, he longed to jump the fence and eat the rotten food, and he hated himself for it. Even the people that Jason’s father hired to live on the farm and work for him ate three square meals a day. As he walked to the barn, Jason remembered the comfortable housing his father provided for his employees. Feeling a strong sense of self-pity, he tried to find a comfortable spot in the musty hay in the loft of the barn.
The past year was a blur of indulgence for Jason. Because of his preemptive inheritance, he was able to live any type of life he wished. After obtaining false documentation, the 17-year-old farm hand was now a 21-year-old lush on paper. He made up a back story; a family who had always given him what he wanted and praised his choices. “Who says money can’t buy happiness?” His trademark phrase would always be accompanied by a roguish wink. Men and women alike flocked to his charisma and charm. Underneath his overworked grin and polished demeanor, Jason tried desperately to convince himself that he was happy. He wanted to stall this inner monologue as much as he could, so Jason never spent a night alone. He would physically plaster himself to whoever he had brought back to his bed, and hold tight to the stranger, friend, or paid companion until the sun rose. Sometimes it felt that, if he let go, he would drown. His guests would discuss the matter privately among themselves after spending the night with him; wondering what had happened to this cool bar fly to transform him into a needy and helpless child in the wee hours of the morning. As soon as the sun rose, Jason would untangle himself from the sheets, apologize and say he must not have been feeling well during the night, flash his brilliant smile, and move on.
This particular night, and every night since he had begun working at this farm, Jason had been alone with no one to clutch during the witching hours. He curled defensively against the regret as he shook in his sleep, dreaming of his father’s pain.
Seven months after Jason had stormed away from his father’s farm, he ran out of money. As soon as he was no longer able to cover bar tabs and restaurant bills, his fair-weather friends and cohorts began fading. They slunk away from him as if poverty was contagious, and he was no longer “cool”. After a week of sleeping on the couch of a friend, Jason was unceremoniously kicked to the curb. He tried calling other people he had met in the city, but they dodged his calls and pleas for help. Jason began asking for work everywhere he could, but no one in the city seemed to be hiring someone who had nowhere to live. After the months of cheap thrills and bottled pleasure, Jason was left with nothing and no one. Eventually, he was lucky enough to find a job. At a farm. Feeding pigs. He had spent almost a year running away from farm life, and now he was in a worse position than when he lived at home with his father. The work was hard at his father’s farm, but at least he was fed, loved, and sheltered.
What sounded like an ear-splitting scream drove all dreams and thoughts of sleep from Jason’s mind. He immediately woke up, lashed out with his arms and shouted in alarm, and a rooster got a full mouth-full of old hay just for starting his song a bit early - and a bit too close to Jason’s head. The rooster, equally startled, fell from the loft where Jason slept. Moldering hay jostled loose from his fathers as he flapped his useless wings all the way to the ground. Jason cursed under his breath and slid clumsily down the ladder into the barn. “I can’t do this shit anymore.” He mumbled to himself. His muscles ached from yesterday’s work and last night’s nightmares. As he stretched his tight shoulders, he groaned at the slapping sounds of rain on the roof of the barn. Jason stepped outside, squinting his eyes against the deluge. It would rain like this all day, according to the heavy black clouds that surrounded the small farm. Jason got to work.
Near midday, the rain had shown no sign of letting up. Jason was soaked to the bone.
“You! Come here!” Just when Jason thought his day couldn’t get any worse, he heard the summons from his boss. The tractor roared closer to where Jason was working, and Mr. Eckworth motioned for him to come closer.
“Yes sir?” Jason walked out to the tractor, his bare feet slapping the muddy ground beneath him. His pay was supposed to come tomorrow, and Jason dared to hope that he might be getting it a day early.
“I been offered a deal for these animals. Money is tight, so I’m taking it. Get your shit and get out by sundown.” Eckworth’s face showed no apology as he tipped his hat, threw the tractor in gear, and thundered away.
There was no mention of a paycheck or any remittance for the work he had already completed. Jason swore as loudly as he could, staring up at the relentless clouds. For a brief moment, he remembered the God of his father. “Is this what you wanted?!” He shouted. Jason sunk to his knees. His voice shrank to a low moan. “What am I supposed to do now?” There was no answer.
Jason dragged himself to his feet. He took one step toward the barn, remembered he owned nothing, and turned around. One foot in front of the other, more miserable than he had ever been, Jason began to wander.
For days, Jason walked. He ate what he could out of gardens, trash cans, and handouts from friendly strangers. After a week, Jason noticed that he was walking towards the home of his childhood. Without being aware, a small change had begun deep in the recesses of Jason’s heart. No longer was he the rebellious teenager, nor was he the falsely-wealthy prodigal. He was a gaunt shell of what he was meant to be, and he yearned for his family.
Stomach churning, Jason wondered what his father would do when he walked into the house. He would probably send Jason packing, tell him he had already removed himself from the family and they were doing just fine without him. His malnourished shoulders sagged under the familiar weight of guilt. As he marched closer and closer to his father’s house, Jason began to rehearse what he would say.
“I hurt you so badly, Dad. I disrespected you and the God you raised me to serve. Can I stay here and work for you? I can sleep in the barracks with the other farm hands - and you wouldn’t have to pay me. I’ll just be here until I can get my feet underneath me, then I’ll leave. I’m so sorry.”
Jason lifted his head and saw the shape of his childhood home on the horizon. His arms went numb and his leaden feet froze in place. He stood like that for a long time, terrified to move forward. Like a man walking to his own death, Jason arduously put one foot in front of the other and forced himself to breathe.
After a few minutes, Jason noticed a commotion at the house. His heart stopped. People were yelling, farm hands were running back and forth, and his father was at the center of the motion. The old man locked eyes with Jason, even though he was still a mile away. He put his hand to his forehead, cried out, and begin to run toward Jason. “Oh no. No, no, no, no, no.” Jason’s breath was coming in short gasps as he backed away. He could not bear to see that pained look on his father’s face again, and he realized he had made a huge mistake in returning. He turned around.
Heavy pounding footsteps beat the dirt road behind Jason. His father had not stopped running. Slowly, Jason faced his father, his rehearsed speech finding its way out of his closed throat.
“Dad,” The first word rasped out. “I hurt you so badly and I disrespected you and the God you - UMMFH!” Before Jason could finish his first sentence, the wind was knocked entirely out of him as his father grabbed him around his stomach. The old man’s face was buried in Jason’s neck, and Jason felt the tears pooling in the corner of his collarbone. He could not remember ever receiving an embrace like this before. His father’s ancient body shook against him with sobs of joy.
“Jason! Oh my son. Jason.” Without letting go, the father leaned back to look at his son. The tears running from his grey eyes streamed down his face, winding around the wrinkles caused by working outdoors for so many years. He shook his coat from his shoulders and draped it around Jason. The familiar earthy and slightly sweaty smell of his father made Jason gasp a sob of his own.
“You were gone for so long! We thought you had died. Welcome home, my son! The workers are fixing up your room and we are making your favorite meal tonight. Come inside! I’ve got coffee on and some sandwiches to hold you over. Lord knows you could use some extra calories!” With a watery laugh, the father clutched his son’s shoulders and led him toward the house.
Jason was stunned. He had insulted and offended this man in the worst way possible. Why then was he being treated like a returning war hero? The smell of his father’s coat, the feel of his strong farm hands, and the warm feeling of family cracked Jason open. He fell to his knees and cried.
“I’m so sorry, Dad. I’m so, so sorry.”
Smiling, the old man clapped Jason on the shoulder. “No more of that, my precious boy. Welcome home.”
“The Parable of the Lost Son”
Luke 15:11-30
I’m pretty sure this story wasn’t meant as a cautionary tale - it’s meant as encouragement. I never ran away from my earthly father or my Heavenly father, but I have my own version of this story. When I choose to do something that goes against what I know is right and good, I know what I’m doing. I am disrespecting God, and telling him that his law isn’t good enough for me. However; even though I am a hedonist at heart and have problems with authority, I know that my God is exactly like the father in this story. He will sprint down a country lane before I have entirely decided to come home, and he will gather me up in his arms and he will be so happy to see me back. His fatherly love for us is relentless, and we can do nothing to shake him off. In those moments of self-indulgence, I don’t enjoy them as much as I want to. When I know I am drowning in my own interests, happiness seems fake. Nothing holds a candle to the joy that community with the Father brings.
