The Lost Son

Teacher Sample Essay by Megan Piercey

    You’ve heard the story of my brother Chaniel.  He was the prodigal who threw away a lifetime of gifts to squander our father’s inheritance. In some cruel twist of fate, this lad feigned just enough repentance to be welcomed back into the arms of a father, who lavished him with love and forgiveness.  My name is Achim, and this is my story. May these letters bear witness to the fact that justice is meaningless and mercy is a mockery.  And if there’s indeed a God, let Him hear my case and carry out my vengeance. 

Dear Chaniel, 

The servants have just cleaned up the remnants of your welcome feast, and I am wrestling with specters and nightmares while you relish the untroubled sleep of an innocent child.  I often wonder if Fate enjoys crafting her cruel story - perverting justice, thwarting the worthy, and rewarding the scoundrels.  What have I ever done to deserve your treachery?  When we were boys, I was your loyal guardian.  I picked you up every time you fell. From the time you wobbled on baby feet into a snake’s hole to the time you stumbled straight toward the pit of Gehenna, I followed you. Though you are our father’s youngest son, you have been lavished with the favor of a firstborn.  Your charm, your music, your stories captivate everyone you’ve ever met. Especially my beautiful Ishma who has always admired you as if you were a rare and beautiful songbird.  I knew I could never give her color and music, but I convinced her that I could provide something more lasting and won her hand in marriage.  In your greed and restlessness, you bewitched our father, convincing him to give you half his wealth, so you could feed your ravenous appetites for lust and adventure.  You must have known that, by leaving just before my wedding feast, you would deprive me of the few scraps of happiness I had spent my whole life gathering.  Our father was so distressed by your departure that he called off our feast and couldn’t be troubled to give me even a goat to celebrate with my friends. Every sunrise and sunset he would quietly watch for you, tears flowing into his snowy beard.  Ishma, like a tender daughter, would hold his hand and keep vigil as he prayed for you.  As months passed, the cloud of gloom that rested over our family threatened to suffocate us, so I decided to find you and bring you home.  I planned to drag you from your den of iniquity and carry you home to our father.  Perhaps then his eyes would be opened and he would see you for the worthless fool that you are.  I told Father and Ishma that I had business to attend to in a faraway land and would return home before the next full moon.  Then I wandered through town after town, following scandalous accounts of your escapades.  I expected the worst, but nothing could have prepared me for how I found you.  My father’s beloved Chaniel, whose name means God’s grace, was lying in a pig sty, wreaking and fighting hogs for scraps to fill his belly.  When you recognized me, you were overcome with grief, convinced that God had turned his back on you and was repaying you for your transgression.  I assumed that you meant your sin against Father and your frivolity and waste.  What could be worse than disdaining home and family to squander money on your own pleasures? How I wish that had been all you needed to confess.  What you told me that night was more than I could believe.  After imagining the many ways I might kill you, I left you in your dung heap to rot.  I swore that you would never see my face again.

Dear Ishma, 

I hardly know what you will feel when you read this letter, my final words to you, the companion of my youth and my wife.  You have been a stranger to me since our wedding night.  I attributed your distance to your tender empathy and grief for our father.  You felt his loss of Chaniel so keenly that you would often weep with him.  I prayed that the passing of time and the demonstrations of my love for you would win back your affection.  Silent seasons passed, and it wasn’t until you held our newborn son that I noticed the first sparks of life returning to your spirit.  When you cooed over our baby, you smiled just as you always used to when we walked through the sheep fields with Chaniel.  The silky wool of baby lambs would fill you with glee, and it made my heart leap to see your joy. When I asked what we would name this strong, beautiful boy of ours, who burst into the world with such ferocity, you didn’t hesitate.  “His name is Ravid,” you said.  I teased you, asking if you’d really name our child after the necklace Chaniel had carved for you when we were children.  The one you had worn every day for 15 years.  Once I found you clutching the foolish trinket to your heart.  Your eyes brimmed over like troubled grey seas.  When I reached to comfort you, you shuddered, startled like a rabbit caught in a snare. At the time I couldn’t help but admire your loyalty to our brother’s memory.  You have always given away your heart with a childlike abandon that mystifies me.  When we were children, I could never reconcile your name, which means desolation, to the affection and delight you spread to those around you.  Names are a powerful force, and yours was indeed prophetic…  How I wish that had been our last night together.  You, me, and Ravid wrapped in a misty blanket of happiness. How I wish that the disgrace of our small family could have been swallowed in the sleep of death.  But morning came. I traveled to find Chaniel and bring him to his senses.  And I learned your dark secret.  How could I have been so blind?  How could I have trusted you, an adulteress who allowed herself to be seduced by my younger brother – a fool who would steal your honor and abandon you the very next day to our miserable marriage.  How can I ever look our young son in the eyes when I know that I will be met by the dark eyed gaze of Chaniel? 

Dear Father, 

This letter is the last and the most painful one I will ever write.  How can a son measure the agony of being forsaken by his father?  Was it in cruel irony that you chose my name, Achim – God will judge?  If there is a God, I have yet to see His justice.  Where is the scale that I might weigh in the balance the sum of my tireless service to you, compared to the dross of your favored son, Chaniel?  I have never left your side, never cheated, never wavered in my commitment to your increase.  How I wish I could have dragged your son back to you at the height of his folly and depths of his filth to expose him for the scoundrel his is.  Father, he has deceived you with his penitent tears.  How dare you forgive him when he knows exactly what he is doing?  I am left with three options.  The first is to take my own miserable life, to bring my case before Yahweh and let Him be my judge.  Or I could pack up what is rightfully mine - my wife, my son, and my inheritance - and steal away as a thief in the night like my brother did.  Would this bring you to tears?  Would you watch for me day after day, calling my name and drawing me home with your invisible cords of kindness?  Or would my name be whispered a few times and then forgotten in your joy over Chaniel’s return?  Father, all that I might have called my own has been lavished on him.  You have thrown your pearls to swine, and I am left with nothing but scraps.  So I will say goodbye.  To my family.  To my bride.  To my boy, Chaniel’s son.  Remind my Ravid that his name not only means chain, but also lost wanderer.  Perhaps he will be my namesake after all.