The Prodigal by Brennan Manning

Author:Brennan Manning [Manning, Brennan; Greg Garrett]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780310339021
Publisher: Zondervan
Published: 2013-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

12.

I hate this new year,” Jack said once they had landed safely in Austin and were taxiing to the gate. Tom had been sleeping—had slept even through the bump of their landing—and for a moment Jack was filled with the fear that his dad might not wake up. But he opened a bleary eye now, and Jack could see how tired he was, how the trip had drained what little strength he had. “I want another one.”

“What’s that?” he said. “Hate what?”

“I thought this New Year’s Day would be the start of something big,” Jack said. “Not the beginning of the end.”

“Now, now,” Tom said, raising a hand and sounding like the old man he actually was. “We don’t know what will be. And Tracy said that Alison could come.”

“I know,” Jack said as they pulled to the gate and people got to their feet. “I know.”

The flight home had been a long one, not helped by the flight attendant who recognized Jack—and seemed a little put out that the people’s pastor insisted on a Jack and Coke. Or that his elderly father was paying for it.

When they landed, Jack turned on his phone—force of habit, he knew perfectly well he’d have no messages—and his message light beeped.

“What the—” he began. He checked the first number. Seattle.

Danny.

He should have waited until they were off the plane, at least listened to the message first.

But he couldn’t.

“Hey,” he said as soon as Danny picked up. “What’s wrong?”

“Did you find them?” Danny asked.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “We talked to them today.”

“How did it go?”

Jack looked around, gauged the attention level of his father, the proximity of his neighbors. “It could have been—better. But great to see Alison.” He checked his watch. It was late here, not quite as late in Seattle, but still later than he ever stayed in the office. “Are you still at work?”

“I have to preach this weekend,” Danny said. “It’s—what is it called?—Epiphany. The wise men.” He paused—Jack guessed he was drinking from his ever-present cup of coffee. “The elders voted to start following the liturgical calendar this year. I’ve never preached this before. I don’t even know what it means.”

“Epiphany,” Jack said, thinking and watching people a couple of rows up step into the aisle. “Well. That’s Greek. It means ‘showing forth.’ When we see things revealed as they truly are.” He’d learned that in a literature course on James Joyce, not in a class on the Bible or preaching or Greek, none of which he had ever taken anyway. “The wise men are seeing the thing they sought, after their long journey. That’ll preach.”

“I just don’t know how you did this week after week,” he said. “Everybody wants it to be so good. They want to laugh and cry and who knows what all. You spoiled things for me.”

Jack looked out at the runway, into the dark, dark Texas night.

You spoiled things.

“Are you okay? What’s going on?” Jack asked.

Silence. Taking a drink of coffee. But the pause went on too long.

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