The “Rest of the Story” (as imagined or preached by many a sincere Christian,
regardless of communion or denomination)

Part One of this beloved tale:

So let’s call him Charley, the youngest of two brothers who grew up in a well-to-do home headed by a patient and loving father. Charley was a strong-willed, muddle-headed young lad, whose teen-age hormones led him to dream of far away lands filled with wine, women, and song . . . where he could truly be himself and experience, well, paradise and great unending pleasures.

Obviously, such paradises aren’t cheap, so Charley boldly (foolishly?) asked for his share of his Dad’s inheritance (something like 40 years ahead of time), which, surprisingly, his father gave him. As a wise father, he knew that if he said no, Charley would just find another way to leave home, most likely fraught with danger or crime, to pursue “all that life had to offer him.”

Which LIFE and PARADISE did offer him for . . . a season . . . until it didn’t. Charley had foolishly assumed his dad’s inheritance would, I don’t know, never run out? Or that “Paradise” wouldn’t or couldn’t eventually reveal its ugly and destructive underbelly, gladly devouring and enslaving many a foolish young man who just “knew they knew better” about what life could be?

So when Charley got sick and tired of his last sparse meal of leftover hog slop, he “came to himself.” He remembered all of the great blessings he freely had enjoyed at home, even that the servants were treated much better than the bill collectors and drug pushers who were after him in “paradise”.

So that saddest and deepest regretful and humiliating day of Charley’s life as he, head bowed, trudged back to his Father’s house, turned into the most unbelievable, totally unexpected and unearned gift of His Father’s strong and warm embrace while Charley wasn’t even fully home yet. To this day, Charley never forgets his Father’s booming voice – “Prepare a great Feast, bring me that special ‘sonship ring’ on my dresser because my son was dead – literally lost and separated from everything true and good in life. And now he is alive! He is found! This is amazing and wonderful for our whole household.”

An imaginary Part Two of this wonderful story, as told and repeated to countless Christian
folk as being the obvious and true next chapter of life in Dad’s house:

Charley’s feast and joy and celebration lasted for what seemed like months. Being back home was so freeing and celebratory and positive, far better even than before he left home to find paradise.

Then one day, there was a knock on Charley’s door. It was his dear Father, looking loving, as usual, but also now fairly solemn, serious, sober. “We need to talk son. You’ve been back home long enough to start learning what’s going to be expected of you if you stay here.

First of all, about all that inheritance of mine you squandered . . . I know, I know, it was free, but you’ll need to craft a plan to start paying it back. Fair’s fair, and people who hear about that need an explanation.

For another thing, as you know, your brother wasn’t happy you came back, or rather that I threw a lavish party for you. He began talking to me every day, reminding me of how he had always done everything I asked him to do – and it was a lot – and that Charley can’t just waltz in here and not follow all the rules and regulations and little jots and tiddles that life here entails. For everyone. No exception to it, and certainly not you.

Your homecoming gift was a once of a kind celebration; it was genuine and an overflow of my love for my son who was dead . . . I reminded your brother of that. But he did have a point, and I wouldn’t ever want you to just think that life back home would be a daily celebration of love and joy and the other great things you were led to believe about life here.

Chores have to be done; rules and regulations can’t just be ignored. That would lead to, well, a house full of humble and grateful people who would expect to find Truth and Beauty and true Freedom every single day here.

How in the world would that attract other lost boys down in life’s pig pens, who are dead and need to be here? My children NEED law and order and rational traditions or else they’ll just take advantage of me…

Can you imagine what that would be, if people took my promises to heart, and the freedom from passions I can give, and the joy at mortality’s defeat which we celebrate every Sunday, and the, well you know, all the “love joy peace, patience kindness goodness, gentleness faithfulness and self control” that staying thankful and close to Me will produce in their hearts? How can I not regulate that, and use threats of guilt and ultimately hell, to keep them ship shape and faithful in my Home?

Just think about it Charley? Did you really assume my initial celebration and loving, joyous welcome of you would last? Nope, that was just kind of a carrot on a string, a once at the beginning experience to get you through the door so you can learn the real truths of my laws and regulations.

So, Charley, I love you, I really do . . . but you need to start shaping up. This ain’t no Disneyland.”