Sermons

Sun, Mar 06, 2016

What sort of father...

A story sermon on the "Parable of the Prodigal Son"
Series:Sermons

You know, I just couldn’t believe it!

I’d never been to a party like this!

The band, with their flutes, and drums, and harps––

they must’ve cost a shekel or two.

So too that troupe of belly-dancers.

Not to mention this sumptuous banquet:

all the plump olives, figs, and dates…

the char-grilled peppers…

the creamy, soft goat’s cheese with its mouth-puckering tang…

the fresh, crusty loaves of bread, straight out of the oven…

the pigeon pie, delicately spiced with cinnamon…

and now that grain-fed beef…

slow roasted on a spit till it would melt in your mouth.

Mmmm!

Old Eli’s been fattening that steer for ages now.

I could’ve sworn it was destined for market––

up there in Jerusalem.

After all, only someone like a King Herod would’ve been able to afford it!

Never thought the likes of me would be eating it!

And not at an occasion such as this…

a lavish celebration…

no expense spared…

and all because young Jacob’s come home.

Huh!

I still can’t believe old Eli took him back like that.

After the way that Jacob treated him.

Fancy!

Having the gall to go to your father…

and demand your share of the inheritance while your father’s still alive…

and then to sell it.

Nobody sells land in our society.

Not unless they have to.

Not unless they’re broke or something.

Because, without land, you’re nothing––

you have no security…

no means of livelihood.

Huh!

Asking for your inheritance, selling it, then taking off…

and old Eli just let him go!

Didn’t try to stop him.

Didn’t try to talk him out of it.

If it’d been me…

well…

I would’ve forbidden him.

I would’ve pointed out his responsibilities.

I would’ve jogged his memory about how much I have done for him…

and all that he owes me.

I would’ve reminded him of what the neighbours would say.

But no!

Not old Eli.

He just let him go.

I don’t understand it!

Turning your back on your whole family like that.

Rejecting your father.

As if to say…

“I don’t care about you––

as far I’m concerned you might as well be dead”.

 

Then again…

Jacob’s older brother––

Mordecai––

he’s not much better.

Nobody heard him protesting when his father offered him his share.

Took it without a whimper.

If he’d had a modicum of decency or honour, he would’ve refused.

But, I suppose, at least, he hung around and didn’t sell it.

Let alone go scampering off and living the high life:

the seedy nightclubs…

the high-class hookers…

all those designer-label tunics and sandals.

And then to come running back only when he’d wasted all of it.

And look at him, sitting there, all smug!

No sign of remorse or regret.

Didn’t come back because he realised what he’d done was wrong…

or the pain that it had caused…

or how his father’s reputation was tarnished.

No offer to repay it…

or to make it up to the old man.

Only came back because he was hungry.

Because he decided that he’d be better off.

What’s to stop him taking off again given half the chance?

And old Eli just took him back.

Actually ran to meet him––

half way across the village.

It was quite embarrassing, really.

I saw it all––

while I was out fixing my front fence––

old Eli went running past…

tunic hitched up…

all very undignified for a man of his age and stature.

Embraced young Jacob and kissed him in public.

And didn’t care about any of his feebly rehearsed excuses.

Paid absolutely no attention to them.

Just started barking orders at his slaves––

who’d come running up after him…

like some procession of clowns.

Even gave Jacob that robe he’s wearing now…

dyed with the most expensive purple you can buy…

and inlaid with real gold thread.

Not to mention a new signet ring.

Just took him back as if nothing had happened.

If it had been me…

why…

I would’ve made him grovel.

I would’ve worked out some repayment scheme…

at least given him the menial tasks to do…

made him sleep with the servants…

muck out the stables…

empty the bed-pans…

or clean up the slaughter house.

Not throw a lavish party like this.

As if he were being rewarded for how he’d behaved.

 

But, looking around the room, it suddenly occurred to me… where’s Mordecai?

Why isn’t he here helping his father entertain the guests…

like the eldest son is supposed to?

And, just at that moment, a servant came in from outside.

Looking quite visibly shaken.

Went straight up to old Eli and whispered something in his ear.

Eli leapt to his feet and rushed outside.

Leaving all of his guests behind.

Someone called out, “Shhh! Everyone!

Stop the band.

Can anyone hear what’s going on?”

Being closest to the door, I listened:

‘Seems it’s Mordecai…

he’s finally turned up…

now…

after all this time…

and he’s refusing to come in.

He keeps yelling all sorts of obscenities at old Eli…

berating him for taking Jacob back…

doesn’t want to be seen condoning his brother’s behaviour…

and he’s angry that his father seems to be doing so’.

 

And, I thought to myself, he’s got a point.

Still, old Eli’s done it.

And if Mordecai were a good son, he would do what his father asked.

Only goes to show…

he’s just as bad as his brother, really.

Not coming in and joining his family…

it’s like… he’s turning his back on them this time.

It’s like he’s rejecting his father.

Mordecai’s even accusing Eli of treating him like a slave.

Despite all that Eli’s done for him and given him.

Why, the ungrateful so and so!

If it were me, I wouldn’t stand for it!

I’d drag him in here by the ear…

tell him to grow up and stop acting like a spoiled brat.

But no!

Not old Eli.

He just stands there, letting him blow off steam…

keeps telling Mordecai how much he loves him…

and how much he loves Jacob, too…

and how thrilled he is that Jacob’s come back, safe and sound.

 

You know… sometimes… I just don’t understand old Eli.

He doesn’t seem to care what others think of him.

He doesn’t seem to care what his sons do.

How ungrateful they are.

How they ignore him.

Turn their backs on him.

Run away.

Abuse him.

Refuse to do what he asks.

And he doesn’t seem to care what sort of feeble excuses they make.

Doesn’t even wait for them to say they’re sorry…

or demand that they change…

or insist that they mend their ways.

He just keeps loving them.

Taking them back.

Welcoming them with open arms

I really don’t understand it!

What sort of a father treats his children like that?

 

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