The prodigal walked home through hunger and shame, rehearsing his small speech all the way. He did not know the Father was already running. This sonnet sits with that long, weary road, and with the welcome that meets us long before we deserve it.
The Sonnet
The road home stretches longer than I knew, Each step a small confession of my wrong, Rehearsing words that I will say to You, A speech I shape and break and shape along. I cannot lift my eyes. The shame is great. The country I have wasted is behind, And every wind that crosses my late gait Reminds the hungry traveler of his mind. But somewhere on the road, before I find The proper sentence I had meant to say, A figure runs. The Father is not blind. He saw me turning, far across the way. So home unfolds itself before I speak, And love outruns the words of the weak.
Reflection
The most striking thing about the parable of the prodigal son is not the son’s coming home. It is the father’s running. In the ancient world, dignified men did not run. They walked. They waited. The image of a father lifting his robes and running down the road to meet a returning child was meant to startle, and it still does.
This is the gospel in one image. We are still rehearsing our small speeches, still convinced we must earn our way back into the room. Meanwhile, the Father is already on the road, already coming to meet us, already preparing the feast. The walk home is real and the shame is real, but the welcome is realer still, and it began before we did.
If you are walking a long road back today, keep walking. The welcome you fear you do not deserve is already running to meet you. Love has been on the road longer than you have.
