Prodigals

Luke 15:11-32 is the story of the Prodigal Son. Short version: arrogant second son demands his inheritance early, runs off to Vegas (or in some translations Rio), squanders the entire lump sum on bad friends, worse booze, and cheap pizza and tacos (because we all know man does not live by bread alone), and ends up living under a bridge working nights sweeping out the local watering hole for leftover beer and cigarette butts. Decides it would be better to be a gardener or a coffee picker back at the family place and heads home. Dad, who has been watching for him every day, sees him trudging up the road – doesn’t even have money for an Uber – and runs to gather him close in welcome. There’s more about the ensuing celebration and a stiff-arming older brother but that’s for another day.

It’s easy to recognize outright prodigals. They disappear, often taking things that don’t belong to them, they reappear needing money which they always promise to repay, disappear again, don’t call their mother on holidays, and act surprised that anyone thinks their behavior is inappropriate.

What is more difficult to recognize are invisible prodigals. They seem to be there but really aren’t. They live on the edge of lives, never quite participating, apologizing for showing up, and ashamed of things they’ve done, but unable or unwilling to make the changes needed to feel comfortable being visible. They lead a shadowy existence of self-imposed exile, all the while not understanding that there are people who love them and are incessantly scanning the road back home for them.

During the holidays, many of us become invisible prodigals in some ways. We’ve fixed in our minds how we are seen by others (particularly family), what our “role” is, and we can’t get past an old wound or barrier. We struggle to set out on the journey back because the belonging we crave, we don’t believe we deserve or can ever have. So we lurk around the holiday table.

The challenge becomes do we believe there is room at the table for everyone? And do we practice that belief by our welcome and/or by our tentative step of return? We each have both roles to play: welcoming and returning. Both require releasing expectations and rewriting old stories – hard work.