SOME years ago a colporteur might have been seen wending his way through the forest to the door of a country cottage in France. Arrived, he greeted the woman within and offered a New Testament for sale.
Jeanne hesitated. Would the priest approve? that was the question. Still she wistfully eyed the neat little volume. “Do not be troubled, madame,” urged the colporteur. The priest would sin against God if he prevented you from reading of the love of the good Christ.”
At last she produced 30 centimes, and taking the Book, said: “I cannot refuse, monsieur, but may I be pardoned if it is a sin.”
Presently in came Jacques, the charcoal burner, her husband. After his tea Jeanne, rather timidly, produced her Book for his inspection. As she rather feared, he was tired and cross, and upbraided her for spending his money in this fashion.
“But,” said she, “the money is not all yours, Jacques. I brought my dowry when we married. The half franc was mine as much as yours.”
“Give me the Book,” shouted Jacques, in a temper. He snatched it from her hands. “The money was half yours and half mine, you say. Very well, the Book is the same. Voila!” He opened the Book roughly, tore it in two pieces, dropping one into his blouse and throwing the other to Jeanne.
Several days later Jacques sat in the forest by his charcoal fires. He felt lonely. Suddenly he remembered the torn Book. He would investigate it. His rough fingers had divided it in Luke’s gospel. He began at the very beginning, and read, “And will say unto him, Father I have sinned against heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son.”
Spell-bound he read to the end of the story, and then a dozen questions presented themselves. What had he done — the poor lost son? Why was he exiled? Where had he been? What induced him to return? The questions haunted him. “I wish I had the beginning of the story,” he sighed. At first his pride prevented him asking Jeanne for her part of the Book.
Meanwhile, Jeanne lived her monotonous clays, and used her leisure moments poring over her part and spelling out its contents. She began to delight in it, but when she reached the end her interest was doubly quickened. That younger son — his waywardness, his journey, his sin, his misery, the wonderful change in his thoughts. “I perish with hunger. I will arise and go to my father―.”
There the story stopped. But what happened? Did the father welcome him? Her tender heart longed for a satisfactory answer. She even cried over the story, but she could not screw up her courage to consult Jacques. The days passed. On one, however, the rain poured down with special vigor, and Jacques came home feeling specially weary. He ate his soup and bread for supper, as usual, and at last he blurted out: “Jeanne, you remember the Book I tore in two?” “Oh, yes,” said she, half fearing.
“My part had in it a wonderful story, but only the end of it. I cannot rest until I know the beginning of it. Bring me your piece.”
“Oh, Jacques! How wonderful!”
“Why?”
“The same story is ever in my mind, only I lack the ending. Did the father receive that willful son?”
“He did. But what was it that separated them?”
She brought her piece and knelt by his chair.
Together they read the whole of the beautiful parable, and the Spirit of God Who had been working in both their hearts caused its hidden meaning to dawn on them. That was the first of many Bible readings by the firelight after the soup and bread were eaten, and both have, yielded hearts and lives to the Lord Jesus Christ.
To them the parable of the prodigal son was an absolute novelty; to you, it is probably quite familiar, but has it ever raised in your mind the questions that it did in theirs?
What had he done? was the question raised by the remarkable ending of the story. Let the answer be given in the prodigal’s own words: “I have sinned”: and at once we have a confession which common honesty should put on all our lips. We have sinned, possibly in different ways, but we all have sinned. The application is perfect. The cap fits each of us. And when the sinner, weary, disillusioned, and sad, returns homeward to seek the father, another burning question is raised. Did the father receive that willful son? Why, yes, indeed he did. “When he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.” Much more he did, but for details you must turn to Luke 15 and read for yourself. Again let us assure you the application is perfect. If you but turn to God, confessing yourself a sinner and approaching Him through the Lord Jesus Christ, pleading the merits of His atoning sacrifice, you will get just such a gracious reception as is described. You will be forgiven and enfolded in the embrace of God’s love. But it cannot be described on paper; you must just turn to God and experience it for yourself.
F. B. H.