Asher‘s legs felt heavy, as if his feet were growing roots, and he had to rip them from the ground with each step. He didn’t want to keep going, but he had no other choice.
Asher was going home to his father.
His face was hot from shame. Each tree he passed reminded him of when he had left, disregarding his father’s advice. How would he face his father after all the things that he had done? After squandering all of the things that he had been given?
It was the burning hunger that propelled him forward.
Asher needed a job, any wage that paid enough for bread. His father was a generous man, always in need of field hands and he paid them handsomely. Asher would ask his father to hire him. He needed to stop the churning monster that had grown in his belly.
Just two months prior, Asher had been eating succulent pig roasted on a spit. He scoffed at the thought. Then, after the famine, after he lost it all, he had almost eaten pig’s feed instead, envying them for their full stomachs.
The irony made him shudder.
The owner of the pigs had caught Asher just as he was lifting the salty corn cob to his tongue, his saliva welcoming any morsel of food. “Hey boy,” the owner had yelled. “I’m paying you to feed the pigs, not eat their food. Do that again and you’re out of here.” Asher startled, as if he was in a trance. He dropped the cob and looked around him. The pigs were shuffling through the dirt, stupid and aimless, and Asher awoke to his own foolishness.
Just weeks before, Asher had been feasting in an elegant suite high above the arena in Tarsus. He had been lifting his glass of mulled wine with the city’s officials. One captain had a belly so large that it bounced each time he lifted a date to his lips. It had repulsed Asher but Asher kept feeding him, basking in the official’s attention.
But it had all been a rouse. None of Asher’s new friends helped him when he needed it. Once their cups ran dry, they moved on to those with deeper pockets. They were simply leeches and Asher simply the host. He wished he had seen that at the time.
He adjusted the bag on his back. It was threadbare and covered in muck, its silk strands not hearty enough to withstand the beating sun and harsh treatment of poverty. Asher moved slowly up the dirt road thinking of the pauper he had seen in the market when he was young. He was hunched and foul-smelling. Asher averted is eyes whenever his father handed the man what coins he had. Now, Asher was no better than him.
The trees along the path scolded Asher as he passed. Their leaves like accusatory fingers shaking at him. They used to be so friendly. He had spent his childhood picking up their sticks and building forts underneath their boughs. He and his brother had whiled away hours climbing to their tops and scrambling down.
The thought of his brother made Asher’s pulse quicken. In his hunger he had almost forgotten that he would be returning to Micah as well as his father.
Asher thought of the day that he had lost the sheep. He had counted one hundred of them as he brought them in from the pasture. He had counted them twice. As Asher latched the gate, Micah came up behind him. “Are you sure you have them all?” He had said. Asher lit with rage. He let loose a fury of words at Micah who just laughed at him. Their father broke up the fight, appearing at the gate with a small sheep slung over his shoulders. “This little guy was hiding,” their father said and chuckled. Micah’s smirk seared Asher’s heart.
“Come to the arena with me in Ephesus.” Matthias had said. He was an old friend. He was always making fun of Asher’s family. “Your brother is uptight. Your father is old fashioned.” Matthias had been on his own since he was young when his parents had left him with his aunt. “Get your inheritance from your father now, he’ll give it to you.” Matthias said. “There’s a big fight coming up. A new gladiator, said to be descended from the giants. We’ll place bets with your money and double it.”
Asher remembered his father’s eyes when he asked him for the money. He’d never seen them so large. “You want to leave?” His father said.
“Yes.”
“But why? You are needed here.”
Asher watched his father twist the large gold ring he wore on his right hand. It held three diamonds, one for his mother and one for each of his sons. His mother had given it to his father right before she died. He never took it off.
“I have to go.” He said.
His father granted him the money and Asher left. He didn’t say good bye to Micah.
The money made Asher feel better for a little while. He won bet after bet. Asher bought a suite above the ring and hosted large feasts for officials and beautiful women. With each sip of wine, he tried to forget his father, those huge eyes, his great patience. But he couldn’t.
Now, he was walking back to him, twelve paces from the top of the hill where he knew he would be able to see his house. He looked up at the sky. He hadn’t been gone that long, five months at the most. But the landscape had changed, become distorted somehow, as if Asher was looking at it through a piece of broken glass. He looked down instead, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other to keep himself moving.
The famine had come quickly and unexpectedly. One minute the arena was bustling with entertainment and people and the next it was deserted. It was like Asher had fallen asleep and woken to water being dumped over his head. The fun evaporated like morning fog burned off by the sun. The fights were over. Asher was out of ways to make more money.
He looked to Matthias.
“What next?” He said to the friend that had persuaded him to come.
But Matthias had made a deal with one of the officials for a high-ranking job and he hadn’t thought to secure a position for Asher.
“Go back to your father,” he said to Asher, then he left him in Ephesus.
Asher wept from disappointment and embarrassment.
What would his brother say?
The pig farmer had found Asher in the heat of the day hiding under one of his trees. The farmer threatened to kill Asher for trespassing. Asher pleaded with the man for a job. Reluctantly, the man hired him. But it didn’t pay enough to buy anything to eat, not even a loaf of bread. Asher starved. He watched the bones in his wrist become more prominent each time he flipped the pail of feed into the trough for the pigs. Eventually the feed became too attractive to resist.
Go back to your father, Asher heard Matthias’ voice in his head.
Asher didn’t remember the road being this long. The pebbles poked Asher’s feet through his worn sandals. The closer he got to the house the more his heart pounded. It filled his ears, blocking the sound of his footsteps.
Asher crested the hill and halted.
He could see his house. It stood like a candle in the dark cloak of night, like a smile in a room of strangers.
I’m so sorry, he kept thinking. That’s what he would say to his father. He would tell him how terribly sorry he was and how he had disgraced his family and how much he missed him. He would confront his brother and tell him that he loved him and that his judgement had hurt him, he would remind him of the trees and how they used to play together.
He drew closer and closer, one slow step at a time.
Asher heard a yell. He lifted his head and there was his father, running at him as fast we he could. He was clutching his robe above his knees. Asher had never seen him run so fast or hold his robe so high. Asher didn’t know if he should run away from him or toward him. He halted instead, too stunned to decide.
His father barreled into him, knocking him backward. Asher winced, preparing for a blow, but his father kissed him instead. He laid kisses on his forehead, his cheeks and his ears. The flurry of kisses sparked tears in Asher’s eyes.
“Father, I—” but he couldn’t get the words out.
“My son, my son, you have returned.” His father said.
“Father,” he said, trying again, breathless from the energy it had taken to get there. “I was foolish, I cannot be called your son any longer. Take me as one of your servants.”
But his father didn’t seem to hear him. He placed his hands on his son’s face, gently turning his head from side to side.
“Bring a robe for my son.” His father said to the line of servants trailing behind him. “Bring sandals and start dinner, we’ll eat the fattened calf. My son was gone and now he’s returned. We will celebrate!” His father took off his gold ring and placed it on Asher’s finger. “You have come back. I missed you so.”
“But father, I shamed you and your name. I took what was yours and then I lost it, all of it. I am not worthy of this.”
“You don’t have to be worthy, Asher. You are always my son.”
###
Jesus taught this parable to a crowd largely made up of Pharisees. The story seems to be about the prodigal son and how he squandered everything. While, yes, there’s a lesson in that, and in the amazing grace and unconditional love shown by the father who represents God, there is actually more to the story. Consider reading the scripture and stay tuned.
I appreciate how the author fostered compassion for the returning son. His physical state and swirl of thoughts and emotions were something I never considered before. So relatable. I'm looking forward to Part 2!