The preacher once told a story
Pretty much about our affairs so gory
It’s the tale of a prodigal son
But isn’t it also of the prodigality
Of the father’s generosity?
For which father would stand a son
Poking him in the eyes
While his sun still shines in the sky?
Or, which man would bless a child
Who intends to pour him sand
While he still stands?
Prodigal! This father is even more
While the son is still away in a distant soil
Squandering his share of the father’s spoil
Father’s gaze is laden with mercy in full measure
And as the son comes to sight
Still approaching in a distant light
The father’s heart springs to highs
Prompting him to leap forward
To seek the lost son in a warmth embrace
Then he calls out to the folks
“Let’s celebrate”
This tale then is of a prodigal mercy
That moves every heart in folly
To shelter in the embrace of the father’s clemency
Where the lost is found
And the uncelebrated is celebrated
