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It wasn't their first fight. Like most fathers and sons they had their disagreements. But this time, something was different. A line had been crossed that had never been crossed before. They sat there, staring at each other, both realizing they were in new territory, neither of them sure that they really wanted to be there.

No one remembers who broke the silence and spoke first, but it moved quickly from there. No one remembers just how long the fight continued. But everyone remembers that moment when it was clearly over. Words had been said that could not be unsaid. Those words were just hanging there over the kitchen table, and hanging there so loudly that it was clear that no further words would be heard. Instead of speaking, the son pushed his way back from the table, walked over to give his mother a kiss on the cheek, and walked out the kitchen door. He just walked out.

It was over. The fight. The relationship. Over.

Let me stop right here to explain why we are eavesdropping on this family tragedy. You may already recognize it as sounding a lot like the parable that Luke told about the son that ran away and came back later, and you are wondering what that story about the prodigal son has to do with today's reading from Romans. Well, it is not as far a stretch as you may think.

Paul is trying to help the Gentile and Jewish readers of this letter better understand the new relationship they now have with God. Instead of being treated like slaves, and being constantly punished for breaking endless rules and laws, Paul suggests that they are more like adopted children, or sons of God. He even uses the term, Abba, which in simple language means "daddy." God is that great, forgiving, loving, caring, daddy-like guiding figure that always has our well-being at heart. Paul was quite certain everyone would understand what he was getting at.

Unfortunately, not everyone gets it.

For too many, the word "father," or even "daddy," brings other images. They are images of disinterest, of absence, or just of confusion. For some, daddy is the one who was never satisfied, never affirming, and never touchable. Dad was always too busy, always distracted, and always disappointed. For some, father left emotional scars that are still felt years later. For too many, the scars are not emotional.

No, for some, Paul's comparing God to daddy was not a helpful thing. And that's why I wanted to help Paul along with this retelling of an old, familiar story, with a slightly new twist. You see, from my viewpoint, the story of the prodigal son isn't really about the son at all. It is an amazing story about what it means to be a father. I think it is the image of "daddy" that Paul had in mind when he wrote this letter to the Romans. Let's go back to the story and I'll show you what I mean.

Many years have passed since that night the son walked out of the kitchen. But rather than worry about what the son was up to, as the story usually talks about, let's keep our eyes on the father. That's the real story in this parable.

As soon as word got out the next morning, the entire village was up in arms. When he walked out on his father, the son not only insulted him, but the whole community. It was a horrendous act of defiance against all of their rules, and their authority. If he got away with such behavior, what would keep the other sons from doing exactly the same thing? It was the prime topic of conversation each morning at the coffee shops and the grain elevators. Obviously, the father had been too soft on the boy, and should never have let things get to this point. Whatever hog-filled, sloppy world the runaway lived in over the years, it was nothing compared to the world of criticism that his dad lived through staying at home.

And then came the day.

The cry first went up from the village gates. Someone had seen dust rising from the road, which meant that travelers were approaching. As the group got closer to town, some sharp-eyed fellow recognized one of the travelers as none other than the, now-famous, runaway son. Word spread like wildfire.

In most every house throughout town, fathers grabbed their young sons and said, "C'mon boy, now you're gonna see what happens to boys who don't behave," or "Grab the boy, Charlie, there's gonna be a whoppin' today!" It was the perfect ending to the perfectly bad situation, with the perfect lesson to be learned in the process, because they all knew exactly what was going to happen.

And the father knew as well. The law was quite clear on this kind of thing. He really had no choice in the matter. The older brother, the one who had stayed home and minded his p's and q's, also knew the law, and on his way out of the house grabbed the big bullwhip hanging by the door, clearly in his eagerness his father had forgotten it.

According to the law, if and when the runaway boy returned home he had to be punished for the insult to his father and the community. The appropriate punishment was a sound public whipping. Everyone knew that, including the boy who was now making his way through the village gate and toward his father now standing just inside. The older brother is just behind Dad. See him standing there holding the whip at the ready? The crowd is gathered. Young impressionable sons pushed to the front of the crowd so they learn their lesson well, and then it begins.

The father walks toward his son, with several years of pain all pent-up inside. He had endured years of shame and of ridicule, all brought on by this one boy, this son who had stormed out the door and changed the entire world forever. He raises his arm, to strike the first blow. And....

Silence.

The blow became a hug. The hug became an embrace. The embrace became almost what you would call a dance. Tears flowed like, well, like tears.

The crowd did what your typical shocked, disappointed, and embarrassed crowd would do. What kind of a lesson was this for their young and impressionable sons? There was grumbling and shouting. There was the shaking of heads and of fists. The anger of the crowd grew, as did the volume.

The father held his son close as he looked at the crowd. He had made his choice. He had just delivered a class on his theory of what it meant to be a father, a dad, and a daddy.

My friends, I believe this is what Paul had in mind as he wrote these few paragraphs to the Romans. When Paul said that we were now adopted as sons of God; this is the kind of father of which we are the sons. The choice between law and love is a simple one. Oh, but there is just one other little piece of the definition Paul knew. That comes at the end of our story.

As the noise and protest of the crowd grew, the dad and son began to move forward, planning to go back home and rebuild their lives. Nothing could stop them now. Except for that other brother; the older son. You remember him. He was the one holding the whip. He also knew the law, and the noise of the crowd was much louder in his ears than the beating of his heart for father and brother was in his chest. He stepped forward and delivered the lesson that the crowd had come to see, the lesson his father was apparently not man enough to deliver. The lesson was delivered to both wayward son and wayward father.

When the beatings and cheerings were over, silence once again thundered through the streets. The older son regained his breath and shook everyone's hands and got his back patted by the appreciative fathers in the crowd. But as the younger brother and dad slowly made it back to their feet and helped each other home, somehow the handshaking and back-patting seemed out of place. Everyone just kind of wandered quietly away, leaving the eldest son standing alone in the middle of the street. With his laws, and his whip.

This is Pentecost Sunday, the day Jesus appeared to his disciples after his crucifixion. Among everything else he said that day, and the disciples said afterward, nothing rings more loudly than the statement that Jesus' father is now our father. We are all adopted sons and daughters of the one Jesus called Abba; daddy. And judging from the story we've shared, we're in pretty good hands.