There was once a rich and kindly father who lived with his two sons in a great gothic mansion. They had resided there together for many years until, late one evening, in the very dead of night, the father mysteriously left.

Each son dealt with the horror of this loss in a different way. The eldest son ignored this situation entirely and continued with his chores religiously. Through toil and rationalisation he repressed the haunting knowledge that his father was gone, allowing it to fester silently in the depths of his being.

In contrast, the younger son was openly overcome with confusion and fear. In desperation he withdrew his inheritance and also left. He too suppressed the terror in his heart, but chose to forget using the amnesia offered by worldly pleasures, spending his money and being on worldly distractions. Yet the path he chose was a lonely one that lead only to destitution and poverty. It wasn’t long before he found himself without money or friends, working on a farm were he was forced to share the animal’s scrapes.

After many years of this pitiful existence he gathered resolution in his heart and set about the return journey to his fathers home. When he finally returned to the great mansion he found his elder brother still caring for the property, still toiling on the land and still suppressing the memory of their fathers midnight exodus.

The one who had never left, held resentment in his heart against the sibling who had squandered his inheritance only to return empty handed and broken hearted. However the young man paid no heed to this animosity, for his gaze was set upon a higher concern. Each day he would ready a calf for slaughter and lay out his father’s favourite cloak in preparation for a great feast. Once he had completed this daily ritual he would sit by the entrance of the mansion and await his father’s return.

He waits there still, to this very day, yearning for the homecoming of the prodigal father with longing and forgiveness overflowing his heart.