Imagine how different the story would be if the prodigal son refused to accept his father's grace...
"The Prodigal Retold"
My father
Looks at me across the table--
which groans from the weight of so much meat
and bread and cake and wine--
past the laughing faces of
the other servants, who revel
in the wonder of my return
and the impromptu feast.
His eyes are sad.
They ask why I choke down bread crusts and
sip at stale water and
pass over the richer treats.
Is my meat not good?
Is my wine not to your liking?
I offer you my bounty--
why do you not receive?
This is my body, given for you--
take and eat!
I cannot.
I must not.
It is too painful to receive that which
I do not deserve, that which
I have not earned.
So here I sit--
hungry
guilty
mourning
fearing
rejecting the feast
as I reject
my self.
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