All of Us Prodigals

This Sunday at my church and in many churches we will hear read the story of the Prodigal Son.  That's the usual title that it goes by.  And many of us know the story: a man has two sons; one son, the younger, comes to him and asks for his inheritance early - that is, now, instead of when his father dies (in effect, he's telling his father, I wish you were dead!); the son then goes off into the world to take advantage of all that money can buy.  Long story short, the son looses his money, crawls back to the father begging forgiveness and a job on the farm.  The father, however, runs to greet him welcomes his son home with lavish love and restoration of his place in the family.

But that's not the end of the story... What about the older brother?  What about the son who stayed on the farm, working for his father (to earn his inheritance!)?  As the story goes, this son sees and hears of the party that is already underway welcoming his degenerate brother.  His indignation toward his father is understandable: "How dare you throw a party for that scum bag!  You never let me have a party with my friends!  Look at how he's treated you and squandered everything that you gave him!  He doesn't deserve your love or your gifts or anything at all!" Most of us who have heard this story before and know that this diatribe by the elder son is coming are ready for how the father responds.  And we shake our head at the older son and silently dismiss him as ignorant of what real love looks like.  The prodigal son has returned...all is well...let the party go on!

But many of us have heard this story too many times.  And we have been trained to fit it into neat little categories.  The father represents God, the younger son is me, and the older son is anyone who begrudges the love that God has for me.  Even though I don't deserve it.  Even though my brother is right in feeling dejected and left out when I happily receive the lavish gifts of my father who has foolishly welcomed me home.  On the surface, this scenario works.  As we sit in church and hear this story told and retold, we are glad to enjoy the party that is thrown on our behalf.  And we happily ignore the cries of injustice that we can't even hear for all of our revelry.  All is well.  Good sermon, pastor.

What if, however, we place ourselves in the role of the older son.  The truth is, that is where most of us spend our time - at least those of us who are more-or-less honest, law abiding, righteous members of this family called humanity.  Most people I know try and do the right thing and fulfill their duty to God and their fellow man (sorry for the exclusive language) hoping and expecting the reward to come - the inheritance of the father.  And many people I know get really upset when someone who hasn't "played by the rules" gets a "get out of jail free" card.

I suppose there are a few times in life when we can say we identify with the father.  If you've ever befriended an outcast and truly made them part of your family, or if you have lived through the painful work of restoring a marriage racked by infidelity, or if you have found the grace to love a child who has committed crimes and disgraced the family name, then you know the father's role in this story.

But I propose that we stop trying to decide which describes us: the father, the younger son, or the older son.  Because I think we all play all of these roles every day.  And we embody each of these characters simultaneously all the time.  We are sinners who have been welcomed home, and yet we begrudge the other who has received the same welcome.  But we also know the joy of extending true love and grace - foolish as it may be.  We are human.  This is how God made us.  And this is why God is happy that the whole family gathers together often under one big tent.

I am blessed to gather with the people of God - all of us, prodigals - as we hear this story one more time this Sunday.