The beauty of not knowing
The Heavenletter I proofed this morning was about the Prodigal Son. God's interpretation is different from the standard, or so I imagine.
I know nothing about the Prodigal Son. How or where I heard the story, I don't know. I can only imagine that I heard it sometime during the twelve years of public school where the Word of God was read for five minutes at the beginning of school, before the Pledge of Allegiance to the flag.
I am grateful for those years when God and His great literature were acceptable in schools, not that I had any idea what anything was, yet, somehow some of what the teachers read out loud penetrated and did get in.
I remember one teacher, Mr. Smith. I remember that he read the Bible to us, as required in those days, and that he read it with joy and caring. Otherwise, I just remember teachers' reading for the perfunctory five minutes while everyone was quiet and my attention went elsewhere.
What I am leading to is how precarious I feel when God hits a topic from the Bible, pretty much the same way I feel when He talks about time and space about which I know nothing.
In Godwriting™ we have to set aside our personal selves. In topics such as in the Heavenletter I proofed this morning, I don't have a personal self to put aside. To start with, I am a blank. I have no ideas, no opinion. I don't have to put aside my personal take because I never had a personal take. It is a wonder to me that I do remember the highlights of the story. Certainly, I never heard any interpretation to have an opinion to set aside. I never thought about the Prodigal Son.
Certainly in this Heavenletter entitled Behind the Story of the Prodigal Son, it was all new to me. With or without the parable, God certainly makes some good points, and it feels good to me to get to the heart of it.
I suppose that God hung the points he wanted to make on the parable. Anyway, here are some of the points that speak to me:
The world judges. God loves.
What dwells in the heart of the stolid brother? What dwells in the heart of the son who returned?If the heart of the son who stayed home is frozen, who froze it?
Is the Good Son ego?May the stolid son get beyond his hold on world perception and, instead, be happy, if not for his brother, for his Father?
I like what God says very much. His emphasis on the heart means everything to me.
Comments
Now this is one I'm really looking forward to. In my view the story we call the Prodigal Son is in its own way the most important story in the whole Bible and packs that whole Bible into a nutshell including all that lies ahead out of sight.
Of course, as with all Bible stories, there are many ways of looking at it. Being a first-born myself, I have always had a very strong sympathy for the older son in this story. And yes, I think that part is about ego. Sometimes it seems like it all comes down to ego and maybe it does. Ah well.
Although I am the youngest child, it is natural to sympathize with the oldest son in the parable. That is naturally where our compassion goes, I think. It doesn't seem fair. It really doesn't. I think there is a Heavenletter in which God talks about fair and unfair, and, as I remember, He suggests that it's better to not get caught up in fair and unfair issues.
I especially liked the point to think about the Father's happiness.
Looking forward to more from you, dear friend.
The Prodigal Son revisited.
The simplest interpretation of this parable, in the light of Heavenletters, is that we are all prodigal sons and daughters.
By choosing to experience separation, we chose to seemingly lose ourself. Collectively, it is the Sonship of God that experienced darkness to return to light.
The son that stayed with the father did not really stayed with the father because he judged, not loved. The father did love, not judge.
He loved because he knew that the Son never really left home, only in a dream.
So very beautiful, Normand. You wrote a heart-melter.
I love that we are all Prodigal Sons who have come home.
Gloria, I am the oldest, my sister is seven years younger. Although we grew up in the same house, we had completely different lives.
I was the prodigal daughter, although the oldest. I left home at 16.
This is now being held under a spotlight, as people are choosing to remind me that "I was not always there." When I asked the question, why did no one visit me? The response was always the same, "You are the one who left."
Now, the fact that I left, doesn't mean I cared less. For some however, a physical presence and a box of cookies will give the appearance of one who cares more. Interesting isn't it?
Normand, what you have said is is definitely a heart melter.