A father had two sons. One wished his father dead and demanded his inheritance now. And his father gave it to him. Squandering his father’s money, the son found himself starving and, without friends or resources, he returned, tail between his legs, to seek his father’s forgiveness. The father welcomed him back as though he were a prince, clothing him with honour, laying before him the finest of feasts. The other brother, the good one who had never so much as asked his father for a birthday party, stood on the perimeter of the party, complaining that his father would show such kindness to his reprobate brother. Angered, he called his father out of the party, demanding an explanation. And the father replied. Qui Habitat Part 4 (Fourth Sunday of Lent) My son, all that I have is yours And yet you never asked for it. You laboured in the wilderness But did not eat my bread. My son, your brother that was lost, Is found; was dead, now lives. And so we go to celebrate Yet you watch from afar. Your strength saps in the summer heat; You waste your bones away. My son, come in and taste the feast! But still you wait outside. My son, all that I have is yours; My arms reach far and wide. I cast my bread for you to eat. My son, my son, I bleed.