Updated February, 2025
This series of services based on the parable of the prodigal son was developed by Rolf Bouma when he was co-pastor of Eastern Avenue Christian Reformed Church of Grand Rapids, Michigan. He was influenced by Henri Nouwen's The Return of the Prodigal Son and Robert Farrar Capon's The Parables of Grace. Bouma also acknowledges contributions by others in churches where he preached this series, including copastors Leonard Vander Zee and Roy Berkenbosch at Eastern Avenue and Paul Brink and Charlotte Larsen of the Ann Arbor (Michigan) Christian Reformed Church.
The sermon excerpts here are meant to give a general direction. Note that the series comes to its most crucial moment in the third week, when the focus is upon the Father. It works very well to divide the sermon into two parts, the first illuminating the gracious character of God, which goes against our intuitions, and the second using Nouwen's insight that our strongest identification with the parable needs to be with the Father, not either of the sons.
The painting The Return of the Prodigal Son is by Rembrandt, and can be found in most collections of Rembrandt's works. Henri Nouwen's book provides an excellent commentary on the painting (see sidebar below).
Week One: The Younger Son
God Gathers Us for Worship
Opening is structured as the congregation is accustomed, with emphasis on praise for God's graciousness. Suggested hymns include "I Will Sing of My Redeemer" Bliss, "Oh, for a Thousand Tongues to Sing" Wesley.
God Embraces Us in Grace
Drama: The Wayward, Wanton, and Wasteful Daughter (see sidebar)
Prayer: (sung to the tune of EWING, "Jerusalem the Golden")
O God, how we have wandered
and hidden from your face,
in foolishness have squandered
your legacy of grace.
But now, in exile dwelling,
we rise with fear and shame,
as distant but compelling
we hear you call our name.
And now at length discerning
the evil that we do,
behold us, Lord, returning
with hope and trust to you.
In haste you come to meet us
and home rejoicing bring,
in gladness there to greet us
with calf and robe and ring.
—Words by Kevin Nichols
God Speaks a Word of Grace
Prayer for Illumination
Scripture: Luke 15:11–32
Sermon: "The Younger Son"
Would any of you ever dare to say to your dad, "Drop dead, Dad?" That's essentially what the younger son meant when he said to his father, "Give me the share of the property that will belong to me."
When the younger son rejects his father, he does so in two ways. First, he lets the father know that Dad's more valuable to him dead than alive. He wants the property now that could only come to him upon his father's death. In effect, he's saying, "Die, so I can get on with my life." The younger son rejects his father's life in favor of cold, hard cash.
Beyond that, the son rejects his father's name. If his father had died and the son had inherited, he would have received livestock and land. The land would be the family land, associated with the family name. The livestock would have the family mark upon them. Instead the younger son turns the inheritance into liquid assets that bear no trace of his father's or his family's name. It's a double rejection of his father's life and his father's name.
In a way, it's the story of humanity. Everything we are and everything we have comes from God, our Parent: God's world, God's air, God's design, God's crafting of our minds and bodies. Then it's as if we say, "Drop dead, Dad. I'm out of here. This is my world, my life, my gifts. I'm going to find love and appreciation and affirmation on my terms." We turn our backs on the Father's love and try to find our own place and have our own way.
Henri Nouwen, in The Return of the Prodigal Son, makes an interesting point: there is a far country in all of us. As he puts it, "I am the prodigal son every time I search for unconditional love where it cannot be found. Home is the place where I am a son and daughter of God. Home is that unconditional and absolute love of God which says to me, as it did to Jesus, 'You are my beloved son, or daughter."
That's rebellion. And whether we find it in the fleshpots of a far country, or in secret sins close to home, or in gaining the admiration of neighbors or bosses or coworkers or people we think we want to have admire us—each time we turn our back on the love offered to us by God and try to find it somewhere else, we are in the midst of rebellion; we are telling God, "Drop dead. I don't need your love. Just give me cash, or a line of credit will do."
The turning point is the modest sentence, "One day he came to himself." What happens when we find ourselves in a far country, far from God, searching for love and acceptance in remote places? We look in the mirror, and we see ourselves for what we are. Sinners. Poor and needy. Had it good with God, but thought it could be better on our own. Only managed to get ourselves battered and bashed and our spirits bruised. Then, and only then, do we come to our senses and begin the long journey back to God. The initial temptation will be to bargain with God, "If I…, then will you…?" But when we arrive back, we find a waiting God, open arms, and the simple fact that we are sons and daughters of God, even though unworthy.
Look at the painting by Rembrandt and compare what you see there with what you imagine the younger son must have looked like when he left his father. The suave and fancily dressed young man with money to burn now wears only a tattered undergarment. The proud head with flowing locks, which once dared ask for an early inheritance, is now the shaved head of a slave. The lively step of the man-of-the-world, which took him far from home, has disappeared, replaced by a weariness that brings him to his knees. The face, which once was turned away and looked longingly towards a far country, is now buried in his father's lap. His back, once arched with pride and self-assurance, now bends in humility and is lovingly caressed by the hands of his father.
Which would you prefer to be: the suave, debonair, so-sure-of-himself young man heading off for the far country with not so much as a backward glance at his father? Or the broken-down wreck in this picture whose eyes close in relief as he buries his head in his father's garments? Your answer will tell you whether you are leaving or entering the kingdom of grace.
Hymn: "Come, You Sinners, Poor and Needy" Hart
God Prompts Us to Respond
This service concludes as the congregation is accustomed, with care to give opportunity for response. The original services closed with prayers of the people, offering, doxology, and final blessing.
Week Two: The Older Son
God Gathers Us for Worship
Opening is structured as congregation is accustomed.
God Embraces Us in Grace
Reading: From Madeleine L'Engle's And It Was Good
Reflections on Beginnings
We are so familiar with the parable of the prodigal son that we forget part of the message, and that is the response of the elder brother. As I read and reread Scripture, it seems evident that God is far more loving than we are, and far more forgiving. We do not want God to forgive our enemies, but Scripture teaches us that all God wants is for us to repent, to say, "I'm sorry, Father, forgive me," as the prodigal son does when he comes to himself and recognizes the extent to his folly and wrongdoing. And the father rejoices in his return.
Then there's the elder brother. We don't like to recognize ourselves in the elder brother who goes off and sulks because the father, so delighted at the return of the younger brother, prepares a great feast. Punishment? A party! Because the younger brother has learned the lesson he has, in a sense, already punished himself. But, like the elder brother, we're apt to think the father much too lenient.
Prayer of Confession
O Father, the sense of salvation is too simple for us to accept. "My grace is sufficient for you" is what you say, but how can it be, when in our hearts and minds we want to earn our own way?
More sadly yet, sometimes we think we've almost earned it, and then resent the notion of grace, particularly that it be shown to others.
"My grace is sufficient for you" is hard for us to take when we realize the "you" is plural and that your grace embraces people we don't like, people we are uncomfortable around, people by whom we are scandalized.
Then you throw a party and invite us all as guests of honor, and we stand sulking in the corner because it isn't all just for us. Lord, touch us with your healing grace that frees us from this silliness. Amen.
Hymn: "We Cannot Measure How You Heal" Bell
God Speaks a Word of Grace
Prayer for Illumination
Scripture: Luke 15:25–32
Sermon: "The Elder Son"
What can be said about the older brother? Well, he's a good person. That's OK. There's nothing wrong with being good. The father never rebukes him for being good. Jesus never criticized the Pharisees for being too good either. The older brother's problem is not his behavior, it's his attitude. He worked hard, stayed out of trouble, did all the right things, but he failed to be a true child of his father. He never caught on to the party spirit of the home where he lived.
All that looked so good on the outside turns out to be only skin-deep. Beneath the surface there lay a resentful, bitter person. Although he only says a few sentences, there's enough in those two sentences to keep a therapist occupied for years.
All these years I've been slaving for you. His work wasn't the joyful obedience of a thankful heart. It was the resentful duty of a household slave.
And when he speaks of his kid brother, he calls him "This son of yours." He disowns his brother and almost seems to blame the father in part for his brother's behavior. And then he exaggerates his brother's immorality, filling in all the blanks. In his mind's eye he's imagined his brother's sensuous life, a hooker on each arm and an entourage of drinking buddies in tow—one almost gets the impression that his disgust is mixed together with more than a pinch of jealousy.
The scandalous extravagance of the father's grace rips the elder son up and brings to the surface the dark and bitter side of his existence. His virtue has a shadow side of anger and resentment. It's frightening to consider how much hate and condemnation and judgment can lurk in the cold hearts of saints.
In his book on the prodigal son, Henri Nouwen describes his own experience as the eldest son of a large family. His siblings, says Nouwen, live the good life—fine jobs, big money, nice homes, fast cars—while he became a priest, served the poor in Latin America, then moved to the L'Arche community to minister to the severely disabled. He admits that he often feels resentment when he thinks about their lives of luxury compared with his own of frugality and service. He says: "My resentment is not something easily distinguished and (rational). It's far more pernicious…something that has attached itself to the underside of my virtue. Isn't it good to be obedient, dutiful, law-abiding, hardworking, self-sacrificing.... and still it seems that my resentments are tied to my most praiseworthy attitudes. When I want to be most generous, I get caught in anger; when I do my best to accomplish a task well, I wonder why everyone doesn't work as hard as I do."
Saint Augustine said, "A darkened heart is the far country, for it is not by our feet but by our affections that we either leave or return to you." In a way, this older brother is more lost than his high-rolling sibling. So close to grace, beloved of his father, yet he feels he must earn that love. Home on the farm but really living in a far country. The younger brother has come home; the older brother is still in the far country of his heart.
Do we suffer from elder-brother syndrome? If so, we need to hear the gracious invitation of this story—the invitation to come to the party!
Hymn: "The Summons" Bell
God Prompts Us to Respond
Closing: See comments in week one.
Week Three: The Father
God Gathers Us for Worship
Opening is structured as congregation is accustomed.
God Embraces Us in Grace
Drama: The Wayward, Wanton, and Wasteful Daughter
Hymn: Sung to the tune of MORNING SONG Attributed to Dare
[Sing stanzas 1 and 2].
1 Afflictions, though they seem severe
are oft in mercy sent.
They stopped the prodigal's career
and caused him to repent.
2 Although he no relenting
felt till he had spent his store,
his stubborn heart began to melt
when famine pinched him sore.
[The liturgist recites stanzas 3 and 4].
3 What have I gained by sin, he said,
but hunger, shame, and fear?
My father's house abounds with bread,
whilst I am starving here.
4 I'll go and tell him all I've done,
fall down before his face,
not worthy to be called his son,
I'll ask a servant's place.
[Everyone sings stanza 5].
5 He saw his son returning back,
he looked, he ran, he smiled,
and threw his arms around the neck
of his rebellious child.
[Congregation recites stanzas 6 and 7].
6 Father, I've sinned, but O forgive!
And thus the father said:
"Rejoice, my house! My son's alive
for whom 1 mourned as dead.
7 Now let the fatted calf be slain,
go spread the news abroad.
My son was dead, but lives again,
was lost, but now is found."
[Everyone sing stanza 8].
8 'Tis thus the Lord himself reveals,
to call poor sinners home;
more than the father's love he feels,
and bids the sinner come.
Note: This hymn enjoyed a fair amount of popularity in the mid-nineteenth century. It originated in the The Baptist Harmony of 1834 and was reprinted in many different shape-note hymnals, including The Sacred Harp and Southern Harmony. Contemporary hymnals have picked up many tunes (for example, the tune for "Amazing Grace") but few texts from these popular hymnals from the southern United States.
Assurance of Pardon
God Speaks a Word of Grace
Prayer for Illumination
Scripture: Luke 15:11–32
Sermon: Part 1: What Love Is This?
Today the spotlight shifts from the boys to dear old Dad—the father who willingly hands over his estate early to his boys, the father who receives the younger son back with open arms and who pleads with the older son to join the party.
Although he's a rather magnificent figure, really, that shouldn't stand in the way of directing some hard questions his way. Because, you see, the father in the parable (just like the mother in the drama of week one) doesn't do or say exactly what we would expect fathers to do either. When the younger son asks for the inheritance, the old man hands it over. No protests. No seven-day waiting period. No mutterings about "you ungrateful wretch." No anxious urgings to "spend it wisely." The father just hands it over and watches the younger son walk off into the distance.
There's something odd, too, when the younger son returns, groveling, admitting his error, saying, "I have sinned against heaven and against you…" This is a moment to savor and to chide the boy for his sinful ways. Yet the words are barely out of his boy's mouth before Dad's working on the guest list and the menu for the welcome-home bash. Doesn't the father worry about what's going to happen a month from now when the son gets tired of home again?
What is it with this old man? It's what you might call ultimate love. It's a love that startles us both by its simplicity and its depth.
In the first place, there is a freedom in this love. It's a love that recognizes the freedom of others. It hands over its own goods and property without so much as a word of protest. You can wish this father dead and still have a go at life. Your meal ticket doesn't get revoked just because you complain about the food or don't care to acknowledge the existence of the chef. Even those who tell God to drop dead, who take this creation and run to a far country, are free to do so. God's love for us is great enough that it exists and continues and gives even in the face of our rejection and rebellion. There is freedom in God's love.
At the same time, though, it is a tough sort of love. It may not lecture or browbeat, but it allows us to bear the consequences of our decisions. It doesn't prevent the son from running off to the far country or wasting the father's property, but then, neither does it shield the younger son from the consequences of his actions. The father doesn't send a private detective to the far country to track his son down; the father doesn't warn the bartenders not to serve him more than two drinks; the father doesn't slip his son a box of condoms and warn about safe sex. It's a love that waits and watches, but it also lets go even if it means that ill things may come to us due to our obstinacy and rebellion. It's a tough love.
But in the end, it's the sort of love that overwhelms us and draws us back, even when we are mired in the midst of tragedies of our own making. Look at the picture on the front of your bulletin. This is a close-up of part of a picture by Rembrandt. Notice particularly the father's hands sheltering the weary child. Aren't those hands marvelous? They caress and comfort. They shelter and shield. If you look closely, you might notice that they are two different hands. The left hand is gnarled, strong, protective, masculine. The right hand is soft, elegant, comforting, perhaps feminine? Some art historians think that Rembrandt may have painted a masculine and a feminine hand to show the wide-ranging love of our genderless, or perhaps we should say "genderful," God. There is no more wide-ranging love than the love of God: a love that sets us free, that opens its arms to let us go when we insist, but that also beckons us back and enfolds us.
Quartet: "Softly and Tenderly Jesus Is Calling"
Sermon: Part 2: Will the Real You Please Stand Up?
In thinking about the parable of the prodigal son, most of us oscillate back and forth between identifying with the younger son or the elder son. The younger son touches that rebellious side of us that wants to be off on our own, finding our own happiness, setting our own rules, pursuing our own agenda. The older son touches the resentful side of us that seeks to earn love and respect by obedience, resenting being dependent, secretly wishing to be off cavorting in a far country.
Where do we find ourselves in this parable? Are we the younger or the older? Or is our life a pendulum, swinging from a resentful obedience to a rebellious disobedience, hoping that somewhere in the middle of the pendulum swing we can maybe, just maybe find a joyous obedience?
Henri Nouwen has an interesting perspective on the question of which is the real you in the parable. He writes: "It was during (a) period of immense inner pain that…a friend spoke the word that I most needed to hear and opened up (a new) phase of my spiritual journey…When (this friend) visited me in my 'hermitage' and spoke with me about the Prodigal Son, she said, ' (Henri), whether you are the younger son or the elder son, you have to realize that you are called to become the father…You have been looking for friends all your life; you have been craving affection as long as I've known you; you have been interested in thousands of things; you have been begging for attention, appreciation, and affirmation left and right. The time has come to claim your true vocation—to be a father who can welcome his children home without asking them any questions and without wanting anything from them in return.'"
This story—insightful as it is into our tendency to rebel and run away from God or to resent our obedience to God—most strikingly provides a glimpse into our calling as Christians: to become spiritual mothers and fathers who can welcome God's children home without asking any questions and without wanting anything from them in return—merely rejoicing in their return.
Why do we think so much about being like the sons or daughters when the real question is, "Are you interested in becoming like the father?" Do I want to be just the one who is forgiven or also the one who forgives? Just the one who is welcomed home, or also the one who welcomes? Just the one who receives compassion, or also the one who offers it? Just the one for whom the party is thrown, or also the one who throws the party?
This challenge to godly compassion is the greatest calling in our lives—to achieve the spiritual maturity to let others be their own persons before God. It calls us to give up what we clutch closest to our hearts, power and control. It calls us to stand in God's shoes and hold out God's arms, to hitch up our robes, jump off the porch and run down the street, throw dignity to the wind, and clasp God's lost children in our arms. Do you want to know who you are? Well, perhaps who you are isn't as important as who you are becoming.
Hymn: "May the Mind of Christ, My Savior" Wilkinson
God Prompts Us to Respond
Closing is structured as the congregation is accustomed.
Week Four: Come, Celebrate
God Gathers Us for Worship
Opening is structured as congregation is accustomed. Songs should be celebrative. Include the song "And Jesus Said," by Gloria Grindall and Joy Paterson (see here). Include prayers of the people in this section.
God Invites Us to a Party
Prayer for Illumination
Scripture: Luke 15:1–32
Sermon: "It's Party Time!"
It is by way of explaining his "partying" behavior that Jesus tells the wonderful stories of Luke 15, culminating in the parable of the prodigal son. There are two basic factors that tie all three of the stories of this chapter together: finding what is lost and then having a party when you find it.
"Celebrate with me," says the shepherd. "I have found my sheep that was lost. Let's party!"
"Celebrate with me," says the woman. "I have found the coin I lost. Let's party!"
"Celebrate with me," says the father. "This son of mine was lost and now is found. Let's party!"
God's desire to have a good party is an attribute of God we sometimes miss. We miss the spirit of wild joy that leaps in God's heart, the sheer exuberant gladness of the Creator and Redeemer of the universe. God wants us to know that at the end of the day, at the end of the journey from the far country, at the end of our struggle with resentment, there is a pure celebration of joy awaiting us, an eternal party of gladness and praise. No tickets needed. Everyone is invited.
There is an alternative to celebration. It is called cynicism, and as Christians we face the choice between cynicism and joy every day. Face it, we can stay cool while being cynical. We can be amusing.
It keeps the world at arms' length. As Henri Nouwen points out, "Cynics seek darkness wherever they go. They always point to approaching dangers, impure motives, and hidden schemes. They call trust naive, care romantic, and forgiveness sentimental. They sneer at enthusiasm, ridicule spiritual fervor, and despise charismatic behavior. They consider themselves realists who see reality as it truly is."
Cynicism is not spirituality. Granted, until we look hard at the mess in ourselves and in the world, our joy will be the superficial partying of the passengers on the Titanic. But a spirituality that looks at the world in the light of the kingdom experiences follows what the psalmist is talking about in Psalm 126: "Those who sow in tears will reap with shouts of joy." The end of the world is not doomsday but a party day.
God's party is no ordinary party. It is not made possible by our own wishful thinking, our own sheer determination to think positively, as if we could. It is made possible by Jesus Christ, who by his death and resurrection guarantees the blessed conclusion of human history. His death on the cross, by which he banished forever the power of sin and death and hell, is our ticket out of cynicism and into joy. Jesus is the occasion for joy.
If the kingdom of heaven is a party then the main event is the banquet of communion. For here we meet Jesus, broken as bread, poured out as wine. Come and celebrate, meet the Lamb who was slain, who turns the insipid water of our lives into wine, who transforms his own funeral into a banquet, who convinces us that life is better than death and that joy is the serious business of heaven. If you believe this, then say yes! and come with joy to meet your Lord.
Hymn: "I Come with Joy to Meet My Lord" (st. 1–4) Wren
We Accept God's Invitation to the Feast
Let us feast this glorious day on Christ the Bread of Heaven.
The word of Grace has purged away the old and evil leaven.
Christ alone our souls will feed.
Christ is our meat and drink indeed.
Faith lives upon no other!
Alleluia!
Hymn: "Lift Up Your Hearts unto the Lord" Early Christian liturgy
The Institution
Prayer of Consecration
The Invitation
The Communion
Offering of Thanksgiving
Closing Hymn: "I Come with Joy to Meet My Lord" (st. 5) Wren
Benediction
The Wayward, Wanton, and Wasteful Daughter
Characters: Younger Daughter, Elder Daughter, Mother, Bartender/Diner, Neighbors, Interrupter
Props: Textbooks, apron, bottles and glass, table settings, food scraps, bar stool, desk, knapsack, suitcase
Note: In week one, use the script as printed below. In week three, add the two shaded portions of script included at the end of the drama and indicated in the script.
◾
[Mother and two daughters go to the center platform, one on each side, mother's arms on their shoulders].
Narrator: There once was a woman who had two daughters. When the elder daughter turned eighteen, she went away to college, worked very hard, and did well in her studies.
[Older daughter breaks away and sits down at a school desk.]
Narrator: But when the younger daughter turned eighteen, she said to her mother,
[Younger daughter breaks away, confronts her mother.]
Younger Daughter: I don't want to go to college. I want to live on my own for a while away from this place. Let me have the money you would have spent on my education, and I'll leave. If you were to die right now, that money would come to me, and I could do whatever I want with it. Why can't I do what I want with it now?
Insert the following portion for week three version:
[Mother goes to get cash and, just as she reaches for it, is interrupted by someone from outside the drama who takes her aside.]
Interrupter: Hey, hey, hold everything. Mom, let me have a word with you a minute. I couldn't help overhearing what your daughter just said to you, and I have to say that it was the most ungrateful-little-wretch-like thing I've ever heard someone say to their mother. It's like she wishes you were dead! Now I'm not going to tell you what to do, but think about it. She's just going to blow it all. If you're going to give her anything, at least give her a guilt trip so she won't enjoy spending it, and she'll be properly sorry when she comes crawling back. Think about it!
[Mother goes back to youngest daughter, and the drama picks up again.]
Younger Daughter: I don't want to go to college. I want to live on my own for a while away from this place. Let me have the money you would have spent on my education and I'll leave. If you were to die right now, that money would come to me, and I could do whatever I want to with it. Why can't I do what I want to with it now?
Narrator: Her mother gave her the money, and the younger daughter moved to a faraway city.
[Mother hands over a wad of bills, and daughter walks away.]
Narrator: In that distant city, the younger daughter lived it up and had a wild time. She caroused and threw money away like it was water.
[Daughter goes to end of table, leans on it like a bar. Bartender walks up and pours her a drink. She throws a couple of bills at him].
Narrator: But after a time, the city was struck by a deep recession. Her money ran out. The younger daughter was forced to look for work, but the only job she could find was waiting tables in a little greasy-spoon restaurant. Things got so bad that she longed to eat the scraps of food that the diners left on their plates.
[Daughter messes up hair, takes apron from the bartender, goes to other end of table, which has place settings on it with dirty plates. She begins to clear the table, picking up a bread crust and looking at it longingly].
Narrator: Finally, one day, she came to her senses.
[Daughter wearily sets down plates, brushes back hair, and heaves a sigh].
Younger Daughter: Even the waitresses back in my hometown have it ten times better than I do here. Just think of how good I had it when I was at home. I know what I'll do. I'll go home and say, "Mother, I know I've offended you and disappointed you. I don't deserve to live with you as your daughter. Please let me come home. I'll get a job. I'll pay for my room and board, and you can treat me just as you would any other boarder."
[She takes off the apron and walks off the stage, then back on].
Narrator: So she set off and went back to her hometown. She didn't have any money for a cab, so she had to walk from the bus station.
[Daughter walks towards platform holding a single suitcase].
Narrator: The mother was sitting on the front porch. She looked up and saw her daughter walking at a distance. The mother jumped off the porch, ran down the street, and flung her arms around her daughter.
[Mother, seated on a chair, stands and looks, then runs across platform to daughter and hugs her.]
Insert the following portion for week three version:
Interrupter: Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Wait a minute. Sorry to spoil this Kodak moment and all, but, Mom, I need a word with you. You didn't listen to me last time, and that was your choice, but hear me out this time. Your daughter's come back, having blown it big time and feeling like dirt. That's okay. It's good for her. Children almost never say they're sorry, so enjoy it. Let her grovel a bit. Lay down some conditions for her return. Let her know she's on a short leash, and that if it ever happens again, there'll be no next time. But whatever you do, don't get too excited and don't do something rash like throwing a party for her.
[Interrupter leaves stage, mother returns to chair, and daughter once again approaches home.]
Narrator: The mother was sitting on the front porch. She looked up and saw her daughter walking at a distance. The mother jumped off the porch and ran down the street and flung her arms around her daughter. [Mother seated on a chair stands and looks, then runs across platform to daughter and hugs her.]
[Mother and two daughters go to the center platform, one on each side, mothers arms on their shoulders.]
Narrator: The daughter tried to push her away.
Younger Daughter: Mother, I've been so wrong. I don't deserve to be one of your daughters.
[Daughter pushes mother, but mother clings. When mother lets go, she turns to the congregation to invite them to the party.]
Narrator: But the mother held on, and when she finally let go, she yelled to the curious neighbors who had come out on their front porches to see what the commotion was.
Mother: Quick. Come over to our house tonight. Bring whatever you have in the house. We need to have a welcome home party. My daughter's come home.
[Mother and daughter head for table area.]
Narrator: About an hour later, when the older daughter was coming home from school, she saw all the lights on in her house. She heard the noise and laughter of a party.
[Older daughter comes toward platform, carrying books. Stops as if listening with puzzled look on face.]
Narrator: She called to one of the neighbors,
[Older daughter turns to congregation and asks:]
Older Daughter: What's going on?
Neighbor: Your sister's come home and your mom's throwing a party to welcome her.
[Daughter throws books on the ground.]
Narrator: Infuriated, the older daughter refused to go in the house. Finally her mother came out and pleaded with her to come inside.
[Mother comes outside and tries to put arm around older daughter. Daughter confronts mother.]
In her anger, the older daughter said to her mother,
Older Daughter: Look, for all these years, I've done everything you've asked of me. I've never given you trouble. I've always done what you thought was best. And yet you've never seen fit to throw any kind of celebration for even a few of my friends. Your other daughter is back after spending all your hard-earned money on drink and sex and carousing, and you throw a party for her and invite the whole world to come to it.
Mother: Daughter, you'll always be mine, and everything I have is yours. But we had to throw a party because this sister of yours was as good as dead, and now she's come back to life.
[Youngest daughter comes out and stands at arm's length. Mother grasps each by the shoulder. Trio stands there for moment, oldest daughter looking down, mother looking from one to the other, youngest looking at mother.]