The Prodigal's Brother
I don’t understand! It isn’t fair! I was there when he asked my father for his inheritance. He so much as disowned himself from us. He no longer wanted to be called son. All he cared about were the riches my father worked so hard to gain.
I saw the tears in my father’s eyes when he took those riches and started out the gate. I felt the pain in his heart as he watched him continue down the path. He never once turned and looked back! He was proud of the dishonor he bestowed upon my father’s house.
This thoughtless son humiliated our good name. The embarrassment I felt when I went back into the fields with the other workers! They knew what happened. I had to endure their stares and gossip; and I had done nothing wrong! There I would sweat under the burning sun from morning till night, listening to the workers tell me stories of my brother’s sins in faraway towns. The mockery continued until I pretended I no longer cared.
And that was hard in the beginning, because I did care. I hoped then that my brother would come to his senses and return to us. But each time I heard another story about his life of scandal, I began to care less and less. Finally, my pain turned to anger, and my anger to disgust. In my mind, he was gone forever, and no longer my brother – just as he wanted. I could bear no longer to hear the stories about him and demanded the workers keep quiet about such things. In time, my brother became a distant memory, one I had hoped to forget about once and for all.
And then today, after breaking my back in the field, my hands and fingers ingrained with the very soil this lost son had spat upon, instead of coming home to find rest, I find singing and dancing, for the sinner had returned!
I don’t understand it. He dishonored my father. He lived an adulterous life. He gave his money to gambling, and drink, and sin. I was the one who stayed behind! I did everything that was asked of me! I did what was right and noble and good! Yet my brother receives the reward. Everything has been restored to him!
There is something that I do understand, though. My father has compassion, forgiveness and love far greater than mine. And it was he who suffered the greater pain, yet he still forgives. I have respected my father for all he has taught me, and I respect him now. I will surrender my pride and bury my anger. And, while I don’t fully understand, for my father’s sake, I will show my brother compassion. For my father has taught me how to forgive, and so . . . I too will forgive.
