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We, the prodigal people
“There was a man who had two sons. The younger one said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the estate.’ So he divided his property between them. “Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living.” Luke 15:11-13
We, the prodigal people, are squandering our earthly inheritance.
After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything. (v 14-16)
When will our hunger leave us desperately longing, even for food fit for pigs?
“When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired servants.’ So he got up and went to his father. (v 17-20a)
When will we come to our senses?
“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him. “The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ (v. 20b-21)
There will be a sensational celebration that day!
In our new sensation…
We will see,
shade by shade and color by color,
without presumption or conclusion.
We will hear,
word by word and sound upon sound,
without any hint of assumption.
We will smell,
scent by scent and odor by odor,
without recollection or revulsion.
We will taste,
bitter and sour, salty and sweet,
without hunger or apprehension.
We will touch,
soft and tender, harsh and painful,
without reluctance or anesthetization.
What will I do when I come to my senses? What will you?
For only then will we, the prodigal people,
realize just how far we’ve gone,
and decide it’s time to come home.
The Lost Art of Touch
I woke to the sound of whimpering turned to whining and then a generalized commotion. Silver, my decrepit and dementia -laden husky, had wandered in the wee hours and found himself trapped behind a chair. He was flailing, unsuccessfully, to free himself.
Upon seeing his predicament, I turned on the light, so he could see I was coming. Then I heaved the offending chair out of the way and lifted the anxious furry fellow out of his captivity. After helping him to his bed, I stroked his fur, until his breathing got easier and his face showed more contentment.
The stroking of fur. The breathing of calm. The touch of two souls in caress and comfort. How had I never seen this before? This place of prayer? So simple.
We don’t touch anymore. Or is it I who don’t touch anymore?
I set out into my day, dedicated to touching, physically touching, those who might receive me. But each sat behind his own computer, sat in rapt attention to her phone, traveled in his own world, speaking to no one or to the someone on the other side of those headphones. Even the man who paused to catch his breath was reluctant to receive my tentative tap. And I was afraid to offer it; we were strangers, after all.
Do not impose yourself. Don’t offend, surprise, overstep. Be cautious about touching; when it is unwanted, it is suspect or even abuse. Better to stand off than to stand near. Don’t crowd me. This is my space, not yours. Take your leave. I decide who I touch and who touches me.
What a neglected sense is touch, except in the most conceptual of ways: commercials that are “moving,” gifts we find “touching,” words that “get” us. But physical contact, the act of touch, has barely a place in our days.
Friends, as you go through your days today, if you touch someone, let it be prayer.