There was a man who had two sons. The younger one said to his father, “Father give me my share of the estate.” So he divided his property between them. Luke 15:11, 12
Two brothers, a father, a ranch—all the makings of a Biblical story. In this version of the story, the ranch in question is in Ruby Valley, Nevada, first owned by my great-grandfather almost 100 years ago. In my contribution to our God-picture wall, we see two brothers of the third generation, standing by what was the barn for the one-room schoolhouse of their youth. This real-life story has a few twists to Jesus’ parable. Here it is the older brother who took his inheritance and went out into the world to make his fortune in speculative, risky, non-ranching ways. Things didn’t go as planned, and so, inheritance lost, the older brother returned home to the ranch. But the real world doesn’t always parallel the Bible. This time there would be no happy ending, no father running to offer forgiveness and a welcome back into the family. Instead, their father stuck to the original plan, and the younger brother who had stayed on the ranch inherited it all, including the house he lives in, which was actually built by the older. This time the prodigal returns to be the hired hand, now working for his younger brother, living in a smaller house on the ranch, but not sharing in the profits.
Visiting the ranch, we non-ranching relatives could pick up on a few resentments, carried on through the years, resentments including relationships between spouses, children and no doubt some other distant relatives. Mostly we picked up questions. Here they still are, working together to keep the family ranch operating. Why does the older brother stay, despite the lack of an inheritance? Why does the younger not offer the generosity their father could not and share the inheritance, instead of just the work? In the window of the larger house on the ranch, built by the older brother, but now occupied by the younger, I spotted a picture of Jesus, which made me wonder how it is that no one has attempted to rewrite the story of the Sharp ranch to be more in keeping with Jesus’ tale.
In a one day visit, you don’t get all the details. But there are other players as well. The one other house on the ranch is the oldest, the original house built by the grandparents of the two brothers. It is now occupied by the daughter of the older, prodigal brother, who with her husband does much of the work of keeping the ranch going. She is also the keeper of the family heirlooms—pictures, artifacts, and all the stories of how the family got to the valley and established this particular ranch, and that’s important. “Family,” the older brother told me, “is the most important thing in the world. It is what makes this country great.”
Jesus’ story is a parable about God; but my story is about people, and maybe Someone else besides. This little family drama lacks the glorious resolution of Jesus’ prodigal parable, but that doesn’t mean redemption is missing. Somehow, over and beyond the resentments and unresolved issues, grace could be finding a way. In Jesus’ parable, the Father forgives the prodigal. When we humans don’t follow that script, the Holy Spirit resorts to a Plan B. The plan takes time, and silence, patience, and eventually a softened heart or two.
The Holy Spirit has a couple of tools to use here. What all the players in this family drama hold in common—the ranch, the family—they may not call in holy, but that is how they treat it. They are there because they see something worth living for on this ranch, with this history, even if they don’t know what to call it. Scripture recognizes how places are made holy through connections with our past. The Holy Land, Israel, the Holy City of Jerusalem—maybe they aren’t the only places where we humans find something that lasts. Here the shared connection to this ranch provides the opportunity for change.
The Holy Spirit’s other tool here is stability—a commitment to just staying put. A rare value in our day, St. Benedict made stability one of the three vows in his Rule. Looking over a situation with the luxury of time, we can see why: Hope takes time. Faced with disagreement, too often we leave, seek out others who agree with us, and talk about, but not with, the one with whom we disagree. But if we stay, if we continue to stay in relationship despite our disagreement, things can change. New understandings, sympathies, appreciation—anything is possible. Then the next step–reconciliation–takes time. Getting the older and the younger brother together–that’s not the plot of a short parable. Forgiveness may be rapid with God, but we are another matter.
Connection is what makes the difference. The family stays connected, and, somehow, the Holy Spirit must be present, building forgiveness and reconciliation in ways that go beyond words. Both brothers know where they belong, and, given enough time, they may yet find a way to determine the ranch’s future together. In this hope of reconciliation, God’s Kingdom, even though unacknowledged, is making its way into the world.