No review tonight; I’m reading a book that’s taking me a while, but is very well worth the time. I’m looking forward to reviewing it, probably tomorrow.

My summer cold persists in my head. It’s not as bad as it was at its peak, but this sucker has settled in for the duration. Today I actually dug out the old leftover Covid test I still had laying around. Negative. This means little, of course, as the virus has probably mutated, and the test kit has probably passed its expiration date. Nevertheless, I choose to believe it. As far as I know, that plague passed over my house like the Angel of Death over the homes of the Israelites in Exodus.

So here I sit. Of what shall I write? One racks the brain and furrows the brow (or wrinkles a stamp and thoughtfully licks the brow, like the absent-minded character in one of Ogden Nash’s poems). What do I have an opinion on, which I can inflict on my readers?

How about something inspirational? The Parable of the Prodigal Son. Luke 15: 11-32.

I think that, even in our time, a lot of Americans are somewhat familiar with the story. A younger son persuades his father to give him the wealth he would have inherited right now, then grabs the proceeds and runs to a far country, where he lives large until the money runs out. He is then reduced to working as a swineherd (a particularly shameful job for a Jew), and finally reaches the point where he’s sufficiently broken to go home and beg forgiveness, offering to become a hired servant. His father receives him with joy, orders a feast prepared, and returns him to his former status as a son of the house.

That’s the story most people know. And it’s perfectly good as such. It’s often cited by evangelists, which is appropriate.

But a lot of people aren’t aware of the rest of the story – the behavior of the Older Brother. When I look at the context, I note that Jesus tells this parable directly to the Scribes and Pharisees, in response to their criticism of his socializing with disreputable social elements.
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