A professional deformation, a sort of neurotic self-harm through words, since for an author, language is the most important thing. The most important conversations I had with my relatives about my coming to Congo always had a tone of importance to them. My coming there was important, and so it was spoken of in that way. Notice what register of language people are using with you, I used to tell my students at university.
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Is it ceremonial, familiar, official, frivolous? Without realizing it, I had been studying Africans my whole life. Every bit of information was engraved there, never to be forgotten. My father, I suspected, might be the same as them, so what were they actually like? That subconscious storing away of facts, of unsubstantial details, of absolute trivialities was consistent, whatever the occasion we met and in whatever country. Whenever I was introduced to anyone from Africa, a recording device started up, taking down everything meticulously.
The Prodigal Father: A True Story of Tragedy, Survival, and Reconciliation in an American Family
To a certain extent, of course, it was part of a phenomenon that every prose writer goes through. Namely, that phase of boundless observerdom which every beginner is condemned to initially, at least until he finds his own voice, his own themes, until he discovers what his writing is actually about. George Orwell wrote that true literature begins when the author breaks free of the first person and enters the third.
For highlighting the psychological gap between narcissism and literary tradition, dating at least as far back as Balzac. In any case it was clear from my first encounters with Africans that African Americans or Afro-Brits were of no use to me. There was no point observing them, or storing away information about them in my memory, since they were the same as any other American or Brit. Africans from Africa were different.
Sometime around , I was introduced to a few African students in Prague. It was the first time I tasted fufu and the first time I realized that Africans were different. I came to realize Africans had a different system when it came to relationships. Including the fact that, even on the steamiest summer day, no native Roman, for example, would be caught dead in shorts. The only people who would do that were those funny foreigners from America, Germany, or Bohemia.
I was aware of the fact that when my Congolese relatives spoke about my visit to Kinshasa they spoke in the language of the Bible, a language of respect and dignity. Familiarity with the Book of Ecclesiastes was practically a requirement. Yet it was while talking with them that the New Testament parable about the return of the lost son sprang to my mind.
Today it would certainly earn any copywriter a bonus, or at the very least a day off. In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus tells the story of two brothers. One asks his father for his future inheritance, sells it, and travels abroad. He squanders all the money and ends up in poverty, even stooping so low as to herd pigs, which for a Jew in ancient times was a major disgrace. At last, realizing the error of his ways, he goes back to his father, despite the deep sense of guilt he feels for having abandoned him. But the father says: He was lost, and he has been found.
It is stories like this that make me glad religion exists. Any religion at all. As if there were no text in the Bible that could be used to draw an analogy. No biblical text of a great return or a great family reunion that we could appropriate from a more general context to apply to our own. In short, everyone there was too familiar with the New Testament, and recognized its limitations.
Every now and then I find myself wondering what the return of the lost or prodigal son is saying. That he was capable of forgiveness?
That people should sit at home and not take risks? That the whole allegory describes the state of God and man? That God is always willing to accept sinners and fools back into the fold? Like any allegory—like any sacred text that is part of our cultural canon and whose meaning relies on institutions that fight ceaselessly for the authority to interpret them—the story may be interpreted, in the positive sense, or deconstructed.
It struck me as odd. How could there be no sacred text describing the opposite experience, that of children being abandoned by their fathers? Ceremonial language obscures reality. Language can either expose or conceal. Stories may both clarify and mislead, and symbols are oftentimes useless. Even before I realized I was making the typical atheistic mistake of ascribing greater weight to religious phrases than they actually possess, I sent an email to my friend Petr, who had a degree in Protestant theology and had worked three years as a pastor.
The Prodigal Father: God’s Extravagant Love
His love knew no limits, his forgiveness no boundaries, his joy no restraint. So watch the father. I decided that I would watch the great Michael Jordan the entire game regardless of where the ball was on the floor. He played an important role even without the ball because he set up the other players. In this story, watch the father. Who is the father in this story?
Jesus was hoping that you would ask. The father is God…and He is a Prodigal God! What must the father have been like for a younger son to approach him and even ask for such an outrageous request? If the father had been anything other than approachable, he would have never asked! He was a good father.
There was no reason to want out. In fact, the father was wise beyond his years and his wisdom is seen in the fact that he never tried to stop his son. Sometimes, you have to allow a child to learn the hard way. God does this with us. We can simply choose to take what God has given and walk away and break his heart and squander all that he has given to us on selfish, wasteful living.
God lets us do that, if that is what we want. Staying at home would cramp his style and he would lose out, missing the best the world could offer. What was there for him on the farm when the excitement was "all out there", just for the taking? Free of the endless chores. Free of getting up at the crack of dawn and working until long after the sunset. Free of milking the cows, tilling the fields, cleaning the stables, and all the other endless chores around the farm.
His future looked carefree.
He had plenty of money in his pocket and no responsibilities. They were commonly used for fattening pigs, and were also used for food by poor people. Sin promises so much more than it can deliver on. Used and abused, the text says…] But while he was still a long way from home his father saw him, and his heart went out to him; he ran and hugged his son and kissed him.
The Prodigal Father: God's Extravagant Love | Lifetime Ministries
Several suggestions can be offered as to why the father ran. Undoubtedly, he loved him. If they were going to stone him, they were going to have to hit the father too! Bring the best robe, and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet! Let us eat and celebrate, [In the ancient world, preserving meat was more of a challenge that it is for us with large freezers. When guests came, an animal was killed that could be eaten by the guests. If another family came, it would be appropriate to kill a chicken. If two families came, they might kill a duck or goose.
If more came, a goat or lamb was killed.