I am the prodigal son . . . but what's up with his brother?

The parable of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11-32) has bugged me for days.

Days.

It was referenced in several parts of my Boundaries book, and several days ago I ran across another reference to this same parable in Richard Rohr's book Breathing Underwater. It was at this point that I decided to take a closer look at the story to see what underlying messages God had for me. Obviously it was something I needed to dig into, or He wouldn't keep guiding me back to it . . . so I stewed. Something was there, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I'm horrid at symbolism, and this was God's test to me to see if I could get it.

See, most of the parable made sense to me on the surface. A man's son is ready to go out and be his own man, so he asks his dad to give him his inheritance, and he leaves. Adios. He blows the entire thing, ends up working for a pig farmer and envying the food even the pigs were eating, and he decides that living with Dad was a better idea. So he puts his tail between his legs and heads for home.

Now, I don't know what this man was thinking, but I know what I'd be thinking - the last thing I wanted to do last October was to go back to living with my parents. I can remember in my thirties thinking that if I ever got to a point where I had no where to go I would never go back to my parents'. But when my life took a nose-dive last year I realized that they would love me. No. Matter. What. And that's where I headed. I can still remember pulling into their driveway with my car loaded to the top, knowing that if they said no I was going to have to find somewhere else to sleep that night. I felt truly homeless. Their unconditional love felt so amazing, I would have done anything for them that night. I just needed to be home. This is how I imagine the son in this story was feeling.

My parents did not, however, celebrate. They did not kill their fatted calf and have a party like his father did. They did feed me, and they did give me a bed in their storage room. And a few times during that four month period my mom even mentioned how nice it was to have me home. But I knew I couldn't stay forever. I needed to get back on my feet. The parable doesn't go that far.

I relate this parable to myself, not only spiritually, but physically. Bear with me for a minute. At age eighteen I made a conscious decision to leave the church. Before that time I believed that I had a relationship with the Lord - although an immature one. I loved Jesus.

He gave me something when I was thirteen, and I've only ever told one person this. I loved, more than anything, to sing. I wanted to sing for a living. Sing for God. Sing. Sing. Sing. The summer before my fourteenth birthday, at  summer camp, I was attending evening church service in my pink gingham skirt, white blouse, and beige sandals (yes, I even remember what I wore that night). During the altar call I can remember kneeling in the presence of God, tears streaming down my face, warrior-hands on my back. I don't even remember why they had called people up that night, but I do remember one thing. After the prayer, while the warriors moved on to another teenager in tears, I started to sing. Singing was not unusual for me  on any level, mind you, but this time I swear my vocal cords were touched by the Holy Spirit. They changed. In that instant I knew I would sing for God.

And I did. I sang my heart out for four years after that. I sang any chance I got. I sang classical music for school, Christian music for church, and whatever I wanted at home. I sang at work (my coworkers at McDonald's just expected it after a while). I just sang. God had blessed me with that talent, and I used it to honor Him.

At eighteen I took my gift and went elsewhere, and although I tried to sing like I had sung then, it just wasn't happening. In hindsight I see exactly how and why it happened, but then I thought it was just me changing. Maybe it was, but I know that if I had continued to use my voice to honor God, he would have blessed me beyond what I could have dreamed. I don't regret it. But I now understand it. I failed Him.

Fast forward to age forty-two. I have returned - the prodigal son (daughter, if you will) - talent all dried up, hungry and thirsty for life again. God saw me coming, and he celebrated! He celebrated! He killed his fatted calf and fed me until I couldn't eat any more. He has given me back my voice (I'm keeping it to myself for now) and even my words (I'm writing again as you can see!). But this time I will use my talents to honor Him.

The parable doesn't stop here, though. It goes on. The story continues with the older son - the one who stayed home and worked for his father. Who served him. He was angry.

‘Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. 30 But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!’ Luke 15:29-30

He obviously hadn't read Boundaries.

His father looked right at him.

 “‘My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. 32 But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’” Luke 15:31-32

Some of you may stop there and say, "Awww, that's nice. Shame on the older son for his jealousy."

Or you may be on his side and say, "Wait a minute! That older son served his dad! Why hasn't his dad celebrated this? What is HIS reward for being faithful?"

Read it again. Read verse 31 again! It's right there.  "You are always with me, and everything I have is YOURS." The older son had everything he could have ever needed and wanted, and he took it all for granted. If he had wanted a fatted calf and a party, it sounds like Daddy would have obliged. He loved His sons! Just like our Father loves us. He looked right over that crazy fact because he didn't understand the lesson in what was happening, much like many of us cannot fathom what we could possibly be learning during times of adversity. 

But wait, there's more. His father rejoiced. He rejoiced not because his son returned, but because his son "WAS DEAD and is alive again". He "WAS LOST and is found". Richard Rohr agrees when he says I think that your heart needs to be broken, and broken open, at least once to have a heart at all or to have a heart for others. His father was celebrating his renewal and his growth! Not his return to the home.

Talk about unlocking a story with a punch! Jesus's messages were many in this short story:

1. Use your God-given talents to serve Him.
2. The Lord will always welcome you back with open arms and celebrate your wisdom gained by suffering.
3. If you are serving Jesus, remember that all that He has is yours. Rejoice in the abundance that you've been given! Do not take what you have in Him for granted.
4. Suffering provides opportunity to grow. 
5. Rejoice with your brothers and sisters who are learning through their death and renewals.

Namaste