Parting
What was the first thing the man remembered? This is the picture: he, young, strong and determined, comes to his father and says:
- Give me the due part of the inheritance. I want to manage my estate myself.
He remembered how his older brother frowned and how his mother covered her mouth in horror. But I was ready for it. Yes, such words were tantamount to saying: “Father, I don’t have time to wait until you die to get my share. Give it to me now, let’s consider that you are already dead for me.” And he knew that everyone at home would be outraged by his demand. However, he had already decided everything for himself and now waited for his father to answer him. If he refuses, he will still leave here forever, albeit empty-handed. Just so as not to depend on the father anymore, not to feel like the youngest and powerless in the house. Freedom is his goal! He was now ready to achieve it at any cost. And, clenching his fists, he waited for his father’s answer.
Everyone around feared that the father would curse the daring madman and drive him out of his house forever. But the father only looked into the wide open eyes of his youngest son. And nodded understandingly:
- Fine. I will tell my steward, and he will calculate what share you are entitled to from my estate. Tomorrow you will receive your inheritance. Is there anything else you need from me?
The son did not expect such quick and complete agreement. Therefore, blinking in confusion, he just muttered:
“No, thank you...” and hurriedly left, closing the door behind him.
The next day he stood in the yard and watched how workers poured grain into bags, how they drove bleating sheep and milk cows into a separate pen, and how handsome horses were led out of the stables. Nearby on the ground there were already rich harnesses, carpets, beautiful jugs and dishes made of copper and silver and many other expensive things. Finally, the workers brought a heavy casket with gold coins. All this was the share of the youngest son. When everything was counted and collected, the father came out of the house with a sheet of parchment.
“Here I testified that from now on all this belongs only to you,” he said.
The manager brought a burning candle to the parchment so that a few drops of melted wax fell onto the parchment. The father carefully made an impression of his ring, which he wore on his right hand, in wax. Now no one could accuse his son of stealing this estate.
“Own it, now all this is yours by right,” the father said quietly.
The son took the piece of paper. He got what he wanted. But for some reason there was no joy in his soul. And it was much more difficult for him to look into his father’s eyes than yesterday, when he came to demand his inheritance.
I myself only recently returned to my father
In general, I myself relatively recently had a reunion with my own father, with whom I practically did not communicate until I was 40 years old. He simply wasn't in my life. There was a mother, there was a grandmother, but there was no father. They didn’t tell me that my father was a scumbag, he abandoned us. No. But they didn’t say anything else. They just separated - and that’s it, somehow.
It’s probably impossible to just say: “Oh, I’ll go see my father.” As a rule, this is a decision associated with a strong shock and repentance. About 10 years ago, such upheavals occurred in my life associated with the loss of people close to me, with many other problems. There was a time when I actually couldn’t walk on two legs, I was so sick. At some point, a severe crisis began. None of this was directly related to my father. But I suddenly saw that a lot of what was happening in my life was connected with his absence. And realizing this, I thought: I urgently need to fly to him.
I fly to my father and there I learn about the tragic events that happened in his life. I remember I took a friend with me who studies psychology, and he and I settled for a while in my father’s house, by the sea. Alone, my friend and I talked a lot, I tried to digest what was happening, endlessly continued the showdown: who abandoned whom, mom or dad, why, why, who is to blame, what my mother’s mother said, what my grandfather answered, what my aunt objected, who destroyed what...
And suddenly - like a flash. At that moment, when I confidently tell my friend how different my father and I are, he says: “Listen, what eyes your father has! So bright, so deep!” It was an incredible moment: his words just slammed into me, as if I had emerged from some kind of abyss. I suddenly realized that I had to look at this person not through the prism of some actions he committed 30 or 40 years ago, not through finding out the details of who betrayed whom and who let whom down, not through reproaches for the childhood spent without him, for my mother ... Poking around in this... Is it right? Of course, this does not mean that I should completely stop paying attention to the facts, but all this should not change anything at all in my initial attitude towards my father. Gratitude and prayer are the first. Isn’t it the same with God?..
I have three children, and I gave each of them a completely different amount of time and attention. If we talk about the two older daughters, then it would be more correct to use the verb “did not pay.” But I still hope that the attitude towards parents as an unconditional divine gift will prevail in them. I really hope for it. Not out of selfishness, not because you want someone to take pity on you and look after you in your old age. Not at all. I just felt it myself. And, without realizing this, they will not go further, they will spin endlessly in the wheel of egoism.
Pleasure
...The following picture appeared before the traveler’s eyes. He is in luxurious clothes, hung with gold chains and bracelets, feasting in a big city with many new friends. He immediately sold the entire inheritance to visiting Syrian merchants. Why does he need all these dirty sheep and cows? What should he do with the grain and corncobs? His soul wanted something completely different - joy, fun and most importantly - freedom!
And all this can easily be bought for money. And now he has so many of them that he can enjoy the long-awaited freedom all day long to the music of skilled flutists and the dances of beautiful dancers. The best wine, the most delicious food, beautiful girls to whom he gives jewelry and pieces of silk for dresses - he has all this every day! You no longer need to travel around dusty fields and gardens with your father, you no longer need to listen to the boring grumbling of your older brother, or see your mother’s reproachful gaze. He's free! And you don’t have to answer to anyone else in your life!
Why love the father who left me?!
Sometimes I conduct trainings that are attended by a large number of different adults and young people. And every time I am amazed that almost everyone has a difficult relationship with their parents. Everyone thinks that this is his secret, that it is only he who has such a difficult situation. Everything is so good around me, but for me it’s not so good. But when we start to touch on these things, when we start to figure it out, talk about ourselves, about love, about marriage, about the relationship between a man and a woman, everything comes out. Once I very simply, as a banality, said the following phrase: “If you have not resolved problems with your parents, if you are not in a relationship of love and joy with your father or mother, do not expect that you will have a good life in your own family.” " And at this moment the audience simply begins to turn inside out, tear it apart! And someone openly, someone during a break or after class comes up to me and, almost pressing me to the wall, begins to say passionately: “What are you talking about?! What kind of love is it if he just up and left, if he abandoned us?! What kind of nonsense are you talking about! No, I have a wife, I have love with her, but I don’t have this with my father! Why should we love him, if he..." - and then the details begin... Like for what? For what he is. Because he gave birth to you.
The parable of the prodigal son not only shows through the example of a father what it means to truly love. It also shows how it is sometimes difficult and painful for children to love a father against whom they have complaints. I think the eldest son still has a lot to say. If you arrange a hearing of the case, oh how much he will say! And he will probably start from childhood: “It all started a long time ago. This youngest son has always been a favorite...” - and this darkness and horror begins, into which we so often plunge ourselves. And then the path to repentance, to “coming to our senses” awaits us again. An infinitely wise parable...
Prepared by Daria Barinova
On the screensaver is a collage of Foma.ru based on the photo Photo of Moscow Moscow-Live.ru and the painting The Prodigal Son (1882, Nikolai Losev).
Devastation
...But the money from the sold estate ran out. Where are the cheerful friends who swore allegiance now? Where are the beautiful girls who promised ardent love until the end of their days? They melted away like smoke as soon as the young man saw that the casket with gold was empty. The musicians left and took with them the sweet-sounding flutes. And the joy went with them. True, there are still gold chains and bracelets left. But they also had to be sold soon. Famine began in the country. The jewelry sold was barely enough to pay for a cheap hotel and a meager lunch. And then the decorations ran out...
It became scary to live in the city. Gangs of hungry vagabonds roamed the streets, looking out for which house was wafting smoke from the fireplace. If there is smoke, it means dinner is being cooked in the house. Tramps, mad with hunger, burst into their owners’ homes, took their food and, choking, ate it right there.
The young man had enough prudence not to join these gangs. He remembered how as a child he helped his father with housework, and went out of town to the village. Perhaps there will be some work for him there? But even in the villages food was poor. After long wanderings, he joined a villager as a swineherd.
Every morning he drove a small herd of pigs out to pasture and made sure that predatory animals did not sneak up on them. For this, the owner once a day gave him a bowl of thin soup made with flour and a piece of stale bread. The young man, of course, did not have enough of this to get enough. He was hungry all the time so badly that he asked the owner to give him some dried carob pods, which were added to the pigs' feed. But the owner answered with a grin:
— I feed the pigs so that I can sell them later. Why should I waste food on you? Be glad that you have at least some stew.
At night the young man could not sleep from hunger. All this time he stubbornly pushed away memories of his parents' home. After all, he left there forever, his share there is no longer there. Now he is a stranger to all his relatives. But then suddenly an unexpected idea occurred to him: “How many of my father’s workers eat enough bread. And here I am dying of hunger. Yes, I am no longer worthy to be called his son. But I can hire him on his farm as a simple worker. And I will have normal food every day!”
The thought of this made the young man so happy that he did not even wait for the morning. Moreover, he didn’t have long to get ready. He took with him only a shepherd's crook and a torn cloak, which the owner gave him to the pasture on rainy days. Having calmed the dog, which had just woken up, he quietly closed the gate behind him and set off on the long journey home.
The hope I'm most afraid of losing
The parable of the prodigal son sounds today at all levels; it tells us not only about what concerns our faith. Our society is a society that has not only lost God, but also lost family. How many “birth scars” we have, terrible traumas that we carry from the time when temples were destroyed, when there were so many wars, when entire families were wiped off the face of the earth and their lineage was interrupted... I really miss a common line that would stretch from grandfathers and great-grandfathers, it does not grasp. I don't live in the house that my grandfather built. I have nothing material left from him. My great-grandfathers and I are not related by profession. And this terrible dispersion of our lives is manifested today in the simplest things.
For example, when my older daughters decide whether they will go on vacation with me or with their friends. Will they celebrate the New Year in their large family, with their father, or not? It is in such seemingly trifles that today the connection with the family is lost. This is very dangerous, this line must not be interrupted. And here I sit and experience all this. I communicate deeply with my daughters, but they both follow a path of independent choice. They took their part. Yes, they probably don’t “waste” it as stupidly as the prodigal son. But it still hurts me a lot. Condemning them for this is stupid. Complaining or being indignant is absolutely pointless.
And therefore, re-reading the parable of the prodigal son again and again, I linger on the lines and when he was still far away, his father saw him and took pity; and, running, fell on his neck and kissed him. My father is running, and his condition at this moment is very important to me. His run is imbued with absolute hope. It turns out that this is how you have to live - endlessly hoping. And my daughters still came for the New Year!
Return
...And now he stands in the middle of the road, not daring to take a step. What if his father drives him away in anger, without even listening? What if he doesn’t even agree to hire such a worthless person? This is what the traveler was thinking about as he eagerly looked at his home. His eyes were dry, but his heart was crying and squeezing with melancholy.
Then the door of the house opened and a familiar silhouette appeared on the porch. Father! Well, that’s it, now I definitely won’t have the courage to approach the house under his gaze. The exhausted, unhappy traveler already wanted to turn around and go away wherever his eyes were looking. How suddenly his father saw him!
Tangled in his home clothes, almost tripping on the steps, he ran towards his son, hugged him, and pressed him to his chest. The son stood and listened to the beating heart of his father, out of breath from running fast. With his tongue unruly from excitement, he began to utter words that he repeated to himself many times on the way home:
- Father! I have sinned against heaven and before you and am no longer worthy to be called your son. At least accept me as an employee.
But the father did not seem to hear these words. He kissed his son. Then, turning to the servants who ran up, he said:
“Bring the best clothes and dress him, and put a ring on his hand and shoes on his feet.” Bring the fatted calf and slaughter it, let’s eat and have fun! Because this son of mine was dead and is alive again, he was lost and is found!
And there was a joyful feast. The father invited all his relatives and friends, all the servants and workers who worked in the fields. People ate delicious food, sang funny songs, and congratulated the father on the return of his son. And the son himself, wearing new master’s clothes and a ring on his hand, sat in the place of honor.
Before he could fully understand what had happened, he suddenly found himself, instead of a hired worker, a master. After all, the ring that his father gave him was not a simple decoration. It was a sign of power, giving the right to command servants, give orders, enter into transactions, sealing them with a seal carved on the ring. His father restored him to his former dignity. He again became one of the masters in his home. This made him a little uncomfortable. But his heart was filled with quiet joy.
Birth of John the Baptist.
It happened as Angel Gabriel predicted. Less than a year had passed since Zechariah and Elizabeth had a son. They were very happy, and their relatives rejoiced with them. In those ancient times, families usually had more children than today. If someone did not have children, like Zechariah and Elizabeth, it was considered a great misfortune. Children were given the names of their parents and relatives. “When they came to circumcise the child on the eighth day according to the law of Israel, they wanted to name him by the name of his father, Zechariah. To this his mother said: “No, but call him John.” And they said to her: “There is no one in your family who is called by this name.” And they asked his father by signs what he would like to call him. He demanded a tablet and wrote: John is his name. And everyone was surprised. And immediately his lips loosened, and he began to speak, blessing God. And there was fear on all those living around them; and they told about all this throughout the entire hill country of Judea. Everyone who heard it laid it on their hearts and said: “What will happen to this child?” And the hand of the Lord was with him. And Zechariah his father was filled with the Holy Spirit and prophesied, saying: “Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, that he hath visited his people, and wrought deliverance unto them, and hath raised up a horn of salvation for us in the house of his servant David, as he hath declared by the mouth of his holy prophets that have been of old. ... And you, a baby, will be called the prophet of the Most High, for you will come before the face of the Lord to prepare His ways, to make His people understand salvation in the forgiveness of their sins, for by the gracious mercy of our God, by whom the East is from above, to enlighten those sitting in darkness and the shadow of death, to guide their feet ours on the path of peace." Very little has been written about the life of the young man John. In the Gospel of Luke one can only read: “And the child grew and became strong in spirit, and was in the wilderness until the day of his appearing to Israel” LUKE 1:57-80
A very short retelling
The Prodigal Son in a nutshell: a biblical story about a boy who wanted to live separately from his family, and what ultimately came of it.
Having left his father's house, he could not survive on his own for long. Immorality and wastefulness led him to poverty. Returning home with nothing, he did not hope for forgiveness. The old father showed generosity: he not only forgave his youngest son, but also arranged a feast in honor of his return.
The content of the parable is clearly illustrated in the plot of paintings by famous artists from different countries.
Fragment of Rembrandt's painting "The Return of the Prodigal Son"
