The Prodigal Son – Twenty-first Century Version

The story of “The Prodigal Son” is one I learned as a child and there is a very good chance you’ve heard it as well for it is a story that is over 2000 years old. For any who may not have heard it and who might be curious, I’ll end this short piece with a synopsis of the original story. The thought occurred to me (to write how today’s version would likely read) as I followed a particular story line in the media.

There was a fairly well off middle-class father that had two sons. One day the younger one said to his father, “Hey dad, I shouldn’t have to wait for you to die before I get my share of the estate, gimme it now and then I’m outta here.” So, despite the hurtful nature of that comment, the father divided his property and gave the younger son his half.

“Not long after that, the younger son got all his stuff together and set off for a distant country where he blew his whole inheritance on partying and wild living. After he had spent it all, there was a severe famine in that whole country, prices of everything shot way up and the young man began to be in real need. In desperation he agreed to work, for a citizen of that country, on a farm . He was given the job of feeding the pigs. The young guy was so hungry by this point that he even considered eating the pig’s food, but this time there was no one to come running to his rescue.

(Now at this point, the story changes somewhat from the original)

When he finally took a good look at his current circumstances, he said, “The old man is rich, he’s got tons of money and even his hired servants have more than me, and here I am starving to death!” He thought to himself:

“Screw this, I’m outta here. I’m going back to my father and say to him, ‘Look at the mess I’m in because of you. When you gave me that money a while ago, it wasn’t enough and now the cost of everything is going up. You ripped me off man and I want more – at least enough to live in the style I’ve become accustomed to!’” So he got up and went back to his father’s home.

While he was still some distance from home, his father learned he was coming and feeling a burst of excitement as well as a huge sense of relief, he started out to meet his wayward son. 

After a quick “Hello” and brief hug, the son started in with his demands. The son said to him, “Look at the mess I’m in because of you. When you gave me that money a while ago, it wasn’t enough and now the cost of everything is going up. You cheated me and I want more – at least enough to live in the style I’ve become accustomed to!”

The father said, “I want to help you son – and I will. First, let me explain the situation here and why I can’t meet all your demands.” The father tried to tell his son that the remaining portion of the estate was (as agreed before) to go to the older brother and therefore the father could not give any of that to him. He told him that times were tough here as well and he didn’t have any extra money to give him but he’d gladly give the young man some work to do and would provide him with a place to stay, clothing and good food to eat.

The young man felt enraged and said, “Why should I work for you? I’m entitled man. You owe me and I’m gonna get what’s mine!” He didn’t want to hear about how hard everyone else (including his older brother) was having to work to pay the bills and make ends meet – he just wanted what he figured he was owed; even if the old man had to borrow in order to give it to him.

The young man then stormed out and got a bunch of his dead-beat friends and together they all went back to his father’s home. There they all set up a huge protest and demonstration. The father tried to reason and compromise with the son but just as the son was unwilling to work for his father, he was also unwilling to compromise or consider anything except getting what he felt entitled to.

As the days progressed, the protest grew. More riffraff joined the crowd and they started to get both destructive and even violent. They set fires, destroyed property and even prevented those in the father’s home from coming and going freely. Some of the protesters took note of the fact that some of the neighbouring homes showed promise for protesting – as far as they were concerned, the problem had spread well beyond some kid and his old man. They decided to expand their extortionist ways and protest all the neighbours (who they now referred to as the “one percent”).

Unfortunately this is where the story stops because it’s still being written. How it ends…I don’t know…stay tuned…

Now, the original story goes like this:

A man who has two sons and the younger of the two asks his father to give him his portion of the estate as an early inheritance. The father gives it to him and the son then sets off on a long journey to a distant land where he wastes his fortune on wild living. After the money runs out, a severe famine hits the country and the son finds himself in dire circumstances. He takes a job feeding pigs. He is so broke that he even considers eating the food assigned to the pigs.

The young man finally comes to his senses and remembers his father. In humility, he recognizes his own foolishness, decides to return to his father and ask for forgiveness and mercy. The father who had been watching and waiting, receives his son back with compassion and open arms. He is overjoyed by the return of his lost son! Immediately the father has his servants prepare a giant feast in celebration.

Meanwhile, the older son is not one bit happy when he comes in from working the fields and discovers a party going on to celebrate his younger brother's return. The father tries to dissuade the older brother from his jealous rage explaining, "You are always with me, and everything I have is yours.” He adds that they had to celebrate the return of the younger brother, “because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.”

If you've read them both, you will recognize that one is a story of redemption and the other is a story of entitlement. You should be able to recognize the difference.

Where Did She Go?

I met Susan Edith Mosier in 1969 at Kingsway College. She was fifteen, I was sixteen and we dated steadily for the next three years. Among our friends there are a number, I’m sure, who can recall this budding romance. With all the functions and activities, choir practices and tours, there was scarcely enough time for school and classes. We were together as much as possible and three years later, in 1972, we made a lifetime commitment to each other as we took our vows in marriage.

There were many who, out of love, expressed their concern that we were much too young to be making such a commitment and they feared that it would not last. Ours was not anywhere close to being a perfect union and many times (especially in the earlier years) we went through times when we thought it might not last. Both of us did and said things, at times, that we would later regret but through the fights and the make-ups, through the good times and bad we always chose to remain together and our love reached a depth I couldn’t have imagined as a 16 year old kid.

Just a very short time ago, on January 5, 2012, we had to say our final good-bye as cancer took her life and robbed her of her of any remaining years. Susan fought hard with much courage and dignity but the disease was aggressive and cruel. Many friends and family fought the battle with her and she drew strength from all who lent it through their prayer, kind thoughts and encouraging comments and wishes. While the cancer ultimately proved fatal, death is not - and cannot be – the final victor. While I miss her now (terribly) I plan on someday catching up with her once again.

As I sit and ponder all this and what has transpired over the past four months, I’m filled with a number of questions and a variety of conflicting raw emotions. I feel pain and sorrow, as my eyes repeatedly fill with tears. But I am also able to laugh with friends as we recall some of the humorous moments we all shared with Susan. When I see the expressions of love from so many people who knew her, I am humbled and grateful. As I begin to realize that God’s love for Susan is even greater than my love for her and the love of all her friends combined, I begin to experience a sense of comfort and peace.

Susan had fifty-eight years between her very first breath and her very last breath. When I was standing at her side, after she was gone, I thought about those 58 years. Something had been completed that day; she had written the final chapter in the book of Susan. I know how profoundly she had touched me and my life, as she lived that book, and I know from the testimony of many others how she had touched them. When talking with friends and family, I realize there are special chapters which she shared with them that I never knew – for they were not meant for me – and I begin to get a glimpse of just how complex a person she really was. That which she shared with me over a period of 42 years was volumes…and yet she was so much more than that; her life and work went so much further.

During the last few months of her journey she focused mostly on Danny and me – to prepare us for when she was gone. She decided she would battle the cancer for as long as she could but she also knew her time was short and she decided she wasn’t going to waste any of it by getting negative, angry or complaining. She said she wanted to use her remaining time being with and enjoying her family as much as possible. She took time and spent valuable energy teaching us and making sure we could carry on the various necessary household tasks that, up till then, she had always done. She taught us how to cook and prepare various meals. Many a conversation began with, “When I’m gone, you and Dan will need to …”

On December 14, after spending a week in hospital, Sue was due for discharge home. She had gotten very ill that morning and so the doctor decided to keep her in hospital for an extra day and discharge her on December 15 (her birthday). That evening when I went to visit her, I discovered there was to be a Christmas celebration in the main cafeteria. They were going to be lighting the lights, welcoming the Christmas season and several groups were going to put on a small concert. Susan felt well enough to go and so she got her walker and off to the cafeteria we went. I didn’t know then that I would only have 22 more days with her.

One of the groups at the concert was a women’s choir and they sang, “Song For A Winters Night” by Gordon Lightfoot, as sung by Sara McLachlan. As they were singing, Susan tucked her arm in mine and began to hold tightly. I looked at her and saw she was sobbing and her face was wet with tears. I asked her if she was alright – did she need to go back to the ward? She said no, that she was OK … she said, “It’s the song, I know the song.”

I’ll end this here with the words of that song to follow. Susan’s loving husband, Roger Hild


Song For A Winters Night - by Gordon Lightfoot
“The lamp is burning low upon my table top
snow is softly falling
the air is still in the silence of my room
I hear your voice softly calling

If I could only have you near
to breathe a sigh or two
I would be happy just to hold the hands I love
on this winters night with you

Smoke is rising in the shadows overhead
my glass is almost empty
I read again between the lines upon each page,
the words of love you sent me

If I could know within my heart
that you were lonely too
I would be happy just to hold the hands I love
on this winters night with you

The Fire is dying my lamp is growing dim
shades of night are lifting
morning light steals across my window pane
where webs of snow are drifting

If I could only have you near
to breathe a sigh or two
I would be happy just to hold the hands I love
on this winters night with you
And you'll be once again with me”

No Problem

“Thank you so much for your help.”

“Not a problem”
“Thanks for doing that, I really appreciate it”
“Hey, no problem”
OK, so I guess the problem’s mine

…or at least it qualifies as a pet peeve...but whatever happened to “You’re welcome?” I’ll grant you that a, “no problem” is possibly marginally nicer than a hearty, “whatever,”…but not by too much.

When someone has helped me, the appreciation I express is genuine. Sometimes my “thank you” isn’t enough to express the depth of my gratitude - and so I’ll make an extra effort to let the other person know that I’m very thankful for their assistance. In days gone by, the reply might have been, “my pleasure” (as in, “it was my pleasure to help you”) or “You’re welcome (to the help).

These days the reply simply implies that I’m not a problem (yet) but somehow it kinda leaves me feeling cold and wondering if I should replace my thanks with something else. Perhaps something along this line:

Me: (After asking for assistance with something) “So, was that a problem for you?”

Them: “Hey, no problem”

Yeah, that kinda works……….