"The Many Faces of Forgiveness," the Season of Lent, and the Gospel give us symbols and stories to help us follow Jesus.... symbols like the loaf of bread from the first Gospel of Lent where Jesus said, "Man does not live by bread alone," and the white robe that reminds us of the Transfiguration, that we're called to be transfigured and transformed, the barren fig tree, reminding us of the story Jesus shared with us last week, and the symbol of a banquet given for the Prodigal Son.

The story of the Prodigal Son, it's a good story. And I always feel one good story deserves another. And besides that, I always wondered what happened the next day with this family. I mean, it was a little shakey right there. So, to find out, six years ago I sat down and I wrote what happened the next day. This story is six years old, but I'd like to share it with you today.

The Prodigal Son... And Then What Happened?

The day after the party, things went back to normal. The younger son was delighted to be home and delighted with the welcome he had received. His mom and dad were delighted to have the family together again. Things went back to normal, with one big exception. That exception was the older brother. He grew silent, sullen and angry. He worked as hard as ever - in fact, he worked harder than before. He helped everyone, but it was a stern and severe kind of help. He had wrapped himself in a shroud of cold and unforgiving silence. This went on, not just for a few days, but for years!

Then, one hot summer day, the two brothers found themselves working side by side under the blazing sun, digging holes for a row of new fence posts. It was something they had not done for years; something they had last shared with good humor, cheerful banter, and brotherly horseplay to ease the task. The younger son remembered, and began to cry. "What's your problem?" snarled his brother. "I've ruined everything," he said. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" "Well, you should be," his brother answered.

Then, the younger man shared the story of his days away from home, of how bitter, lonely and frightening it had been.

"Serves you right," his brother grunted. Then the older brother angrily told his story of how it had been at home, how no matter how hard he tried, nothing could help; nothing could heal the hurt." The pain in Mom and Dad's eyes, that was the worst thing, the pain in their eyes. And the whole deal was so unfair! You waltzed back home and they gave you a party!" He, too, began to sob. They were tears of anger, but tears, nevertheless. "Forgive me," his brother pleaded. "I can't," was his reply. "I can't!"

Then, as he turned from his brother, half blinded by tears and anger, his foot caught in one of the holes they had just dug. The crack of broken bone split the air. At first, the older brother insisted he could hobble the two miles back to home "without any help from you, thank you very much!" He didn't need anyone, least of all his younger brother. But hot sun, broken bone, and rough road soon wrote a different story...

Well over an hour later, the two brothers came staggering home, one half carrying the other, both laughing, joking, and crying in turns. For the first time in years, the younger helped the older and for the first time anyone could remember, the older let himself be helped.

A few days later, the father commented to his neighbor, "My son who was dead has come back to life." "I know," said the neighbor. "You already told us." The father smiled and his eyes twinkled, "No, no... my other son, the one who never left us, the one who was always so good, the one who never disobeyed and never got into trouble, the one who worked so hard and never missed church on Sunday.... He's finally learned how to forgive and he's finally learned how to be forgiven. That son was dead. That son was dead.... and he has come back to life."

.... And now you know the rest of the story!