Last Sunday, I was reading from Luke and delving into the story of the prodigal son. In the past, I have always kind of hated on the older son and painted him as the bad guy.
"Do we want to be like the older brother?" "NOOOO!" the kids would shout. Close book, end of story, here's your snack.
But last week as I read this part of the passage, a lump gathered in my throat for the first time:
"Now his older son was in the field, and as he came and drew near to the house, he heard music and dancing. And he called one of his servants and asked what these things meant. And he said, 'Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fattened calf, because he has received him back safe and sound.' But he was angry and refused to go in.
His father came out and entreated him, but he answered his father, 'Look, these many years I have served you, and I never disobeyed your command, yet you never gave me a young goat, that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fattened calf for him!"
And he said to him, "Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours..."
Not that I have ever wanted to kill a young goat and celebrate with my friends (some Domino's pizzas would suffice), but the older brother is starting to look a little more human to me at age 30.
I often have to run a spiritual diagnostics test when I'm sitting in various medical waiting rooms. A few days prior to this prodigal revelation, I inwardly judged a pregnant woman who was almost two hours late to her appointment and was arguing to reschedule. I listened as she said, "I can't come that day because someone has to drive me here because I don't have a car." As she walked away, she mumbled that she couldn't believe she drove all the way from two towns over to have missed her appointment.
Insert conviction.
I was "older brother"ing her. It's the same game I pull when I see someone whose career has taken off. When I see someone who has checked off more bucket list items than I have even written down.
The father's response at the end of that verse stuck out to me this time when I normally trail off to end the story so we can finish coloring the handout of the father hugging the younger son.
"Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours..."
The dad could have said a lot of things. He could have said, quit yo whining (that's the KJV version). He could have rattled off all the good things he had done for the older son that the young son missed out on. But he didn't.
He just said, "You are always with me."
To me, this spins his prior complaints into an advantage rather than something to gripe about:
Look how many years I served you. Yes, my child, and think about how this has been the compass of your life and given you direction while your brother spent years completely lost. Look how many years I never disobeyed your commands. Yes, my child, and think about how that obedience saved you from consequences that your brother will have to deal with for years to come.
I'm slowly learning that faithfulness isn't a scorecard like the older brother liked to think it was. How we like to think it works. We think if we wait our turn, if we do everything by the book, we should be able to have a Fast Pass to every Disney World ride we desire. But we never stop to realize the great privilege and blessing it is to reside in Disney World at all. (Only I could try to throw Mickey Mouse into a life analogy).
The father in the story ends by saying, "It was fitting to celebrate and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found."
I'm not saying you are always going to feel like celebrating. But never mistake your lack of a party as God's inattention. We have to realize that we're just part of the celebratory committee because we've been with him the whole time- and everything he offers that truly matters- is already ours.
