The Prodigal

It's a transparent story:
world-weary son,
driven by hunger,
back to his father's farm —
reduced to barefoot begging,
praying for menial work.

From a distance,
the father recognizes
something in the walk,
the posture,
the son he assumed
died dissolutely,
trudging toward him.

It only takes a second
to forgive.

Then the gifts:
the best robe, a ring,
sandals for his callused feet,
the roasting of a calf,
a party.

The thing is: we're all invited.
Let's put on our robes of love,
slip rings of faith on our fingers,
tie on our working/ dancing shoes,
feast at the table of spiritual cuisine;
let's rejoice!

a poem for the fourth Sunday in Lent, 2016.

by Rachel Horsley