Forget the Future - Enter Eternity

The younger of them said to his father, "Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me." So he divided his property between them. - Luke 15.12

Paul Brown is a lawyer, business writer, and consultant to the ridiculously wealthy. Recently, he and his wife decided to start giving chunks of their money to their grown children instead of leaving it to the kids in their will.

They had good reasons: The kids need the money now for things like mortgages, college funds for their own offspring, and business startups. They'll get the money eventually anyway, but having it now makes their lives easier. And, well - this keeps 'em from circling their aging parents like buzzards and wondering how much the will cuts them in for. Not that they would. Probably.

Brown's kids didn't let him down. Like wise little piggies, they all bought bricks: One invested in his infant son's college fund. One bought mutual funds. One made a downpayment on a house. One started the restaurant he'd carefully planned. Besides, Brown and his wife didn't empty the till; they have plenty left to live on.

That's not quite how Jesus' parable works.

The father probably wasn't terribly liquid; to meet the younger son's demand, he had to sell off land, sacrificing its future earning potential. Also, he probably had good reason to suspect the kid wasn't thinking about savings bonds or pork belly futures. Finally, instead of preventing the boy from wishing for dad's death, this action amounted to saying, "If you'll pretend you're dead, I'll pretend I'm sorry."

Of course, the miracle isn't that he let the boy go; the miracle is that he let him return. 

The older son (who had probably read all of Paul Brown's books and had signed first editions) disapproved. He reached into the pocket of his thrift store cloak and rubbed the first shekel he'd ever earned and calculated the going rate for beef on the hoof. 

Of course, the miracle isn't that he stayed outside; the miracle is that his dad begged him to come in.

The center of the story isn't the flesh pots or the pigpen, but the party. The issue isn't where we've been or what we've done but where we're going and how we're loved. The lesson isn't good sense, but a good God. The prodigal got one thing right that his big brother got wrong: The Kingdom isn't something we wait for but something we live in now. . .or not. The motto isn't "Carpe diem," but "Carpe eternity, diem by diem."

And anyway, who doesn't love a story where the firstborn isn't the good guy?

For more on this story, see Why I Am Giving My Children Their Inheritance Now