She was labeled “prodigal” and it wasn’t said with reverence or awe. At first she resisted. It wasn’t true. She wasn’t one of the wayward ones. The ones that pious people whisper about behind their hands. She surely wasn’t one of those who religious people shake their heads over, speaking with false eyes about “how sad it is that so-n-so lost her way” and how we need to “keep that person in our prayers.”
She understandingly did not want to be labeled as a prodigal.
Everyone knows we look down upon the people in that camp.
But life has a way of continually ripping off the stubborn masks that we so desperately cling to. It has a way of turning things topsy-turvy enough that eventually our demons come out of hiding and we’re forced to either retreat to an entirely new level of denial or face the thing we are most afraid of. Why does no one tell us that our demons can be transformed into daimons — guides, who hold both light and darkness, and who will bring us to the truth if we’ll stop running scared and take time to listen.
It happened early one morning, that the insight came to me. I had slipped out of bed, intent on having my coffee before the demands of little ones filled my ears. I was pulling on my robe when he whispered, “Come back,” and so I crawled beneath the sheets again and found the warmth of his body. And it was there, lying skin to skin with the man I love, that the thought came.
I am a prodigal. I will always be a prodigal.
I lay there and pondered if the storyteller of this well-known tale had ever said anything negative about being a prodigal. I’d read the story dozens of times, tucked away in the gospel of Luke, but I pulled it up again, searching specifically for clues to the heart of Love.
Reading the words to this very dear and familiar story, my heart leapt all over again. I have always been drawn to this narrative and we must pay attention to that which draws us.
”Why” I wondered, “have we given the prodigal such a bad rap?” The more I read the more I saw the person I’ve always wanted to be. Imperfect — oh, yes, but endearingly so. He may be a little immature and impetuous but when push comes to shove, he knows how to listen to his heart. He knows who speaks his truest name. He know how to follow his inner wisdom all the way home.
Let me join his song — jumping the gun sometimes, and running away with the first idea that comes blasting into my head or the first protective instinct of my body. But in the end, listening deeply to my heart which always knows how to lead me back to the place where I can fully be at rest. The place where I will always find a God who will sprint like a fool to meet me, just so he can throw his arms around me and shower me with kisses.
Eventually, perhaps I’ll come to trust so deeply in the heart of Love that I will know in my bones that there is a party waiting for me every time I turn in her direction — no matter how far I’ve wandered, no matter how low I’ve sunk.
As the prodigal, let me embrace the giftedness of my humanity. Rather than the rigid religion of perfection held by the prodigal’s older brother, let me move with the fluidity and ease of grace.
Unafraid, because there is no fear in love.
Settled, because I know where I belong.
Soothed, because underneath are the everlasting arms.
Empowered, because even in the depths of my own darkness, Love is here.
When I read this today I couldn't help but think of the Prodigal Son as a metaphor for something else. Perhaps it is that we, as the prodigal son, need to escape the confines and find knowledge elsewhere and when we come back it is by dealing with our past. We need to make sense of it.
According to Maurice Nicoll, as explained in his book: “The Mark”, the Prodigal Son is about one aspect of our personality in a struggle against other aspects of our personality. The Prodigal Son, originally was under the influence of: “the father” and ate his “bread”. Thus, Nicoll points out that the prayer: “Give us this day our daily bread” is NOT about real bread or real food, but is a request for spiritual guidance.
My own experience was to leave to make sense of the world and expand my own spiritual awareness. I had started while still in my parents' house but needed to unleash my fullness of being.