We are all familiar with the parable of the prodigal son. (cf Lk 15:11-24). Through this parable Jesus wants to illustrate the boundless love of his heavenly father for his erring childern. And he paints the beautiful picture of the vagabond son being embraced and kissed by his father and welcomed back to the warmth and love of his home. It is a matter of great jubilation and celebration. The house is resounding with music and merry making - a reflection of the exultaion and joy that abound in heaven over the repentance of a sinner.

Abruptly a discordant note is struck. The scene shifts (cf Lk 25-32). To the backyard where the elder son eagerly questions the servants what the hustle and bustle is about. "Your brother has come, and your father has killed the the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound," informs the slave. We would expect the elder son to run into the house and throw himself into the midst of the rejoicing family. It would warm our heart to hear that his heart missed a beat or pounded with joy. Instead, he instantly becomes jealous and angry and refuses to go in.

The father's exquisite and tender love is in operation again. He comes out of the house. Does he have to do it? Certainly not. He can leave the son where he is, where he deserves to be - outside the house. But his fatherly concern does not permit it.

As much as he loves the younger son who has erred, he now loves his first-born who is also on an errant path, though in a different manner. He "pleads" with him. But the later has only a string of complaints to make: "All these years I have been working like a slave for you"; "I have never disobeyed your command"; "Yet you have never given me a young goat to celebrate with my friends," and so on.

Celebrate what? His slavish discharge of duties and meticulous obediece? He could, with the freedom of a son, have requested his father to throw a party in his name. Did he do so? His charges imply he did not.

The elder son is a perfect observer of the law. The law devoid of love. He has no filial affection. Hence the feeling that he worked as a slave. He has no faternal love either. He disdainfully refers to his brother as "your son." He does not mince words while accusing him of devouring his father's property with prostitutes. He is a lover of the law but not the law of love.

The beautiful affection of the father prompts an immediate assurance, "Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours." To the slaves he said, "This son of mine was dead and is alive again." But now he says, "This brother of yours was dead and has come to life." Did the elder son take the hint?

The moral of this parable is of a piece with the teaching of Jesus at other times. We are reminded of the prayer of the Pharisee and the tax collector. The former is puffed up with a sense of his own worth and denounces the public sinner whose prayer, notwithstanding his unworthiness, pierces the clouds and draws down the blessings of justification (cf Lk 18:10:14). Again, there is the instance of Simon the Pharisee looking down on the poor repentant sinner at Jesus' feet (cf Lk 7:36-50). The same attitude induces the Pharisees and scribes to bring the woman taken in adultery to Jesus (cf Jn 8:3-11).

Why Jesus has given us this unpleasant, unexpected sequel to the otherwise extraordinarily beautiful story of the prodigal son and his father?

We are all both these sons rolled into one. There are times when we squander the wealth of God's grace in useless, sinful pursuits, but, then, repent and return to his love. There are also times when we sin against our brother - not perhaps through direct aggression - but through lovelessness, lack of interest and compassion. It is the cry of Cain, "Am I my brother's keeper?" (Gen 4:9), arising from the abyss of lovelessness, and echoing across the ages. And this sin of omission, in the final analysis, turns out to be an offence against God, our father.

Between the two brothers, who has sinned more grievously? Obviously, the younger son. But his repentance is so deep, the reconciliation is perfect. While in the second case, Jesus is silent about the son's response. Is he touched by his father's love and does he enter the house to plunge into the rejoicing family circle? Or does he continue adamantly to stand sulking "outside", excluding himself from the warmth of love for his father and brother? The question remains open-ended.

It is easy to spot in ourselves sins similar to those of the younger son. They loom large on our mental horison. But those of the elder brother are so subtle, often clothed in the guise of righteousness and of justifiable outrage, that they are hard to discover. They are caused by a gradual hardening of the heart. Repentance is slow to come by in such cases.

It takes al the brokenness of the heart of a crucified Man-God to shatter this heart of stone.

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