The Elder Brother

2 Corinthians 7:2; Luke 15:11-32

The big question at the end of the Parable of the Lost Boys* is how we get the elder brother into house. The last part of this story reveals that the elder brother is every bit as lost as his younger sibling, albeit in a much more boring, ordinary way of being a “good boy.” But there is no question that he is lost. There is a celebration happening, and he is missing it. He is missing it because of a completely self-generated righteous indignation. He is outside because he exiled himself in his own pity party. He is left there, too. His gracious father leaves him there, since that is where he seems to want to be. 

So, how we do get him inside?

Our first response might be to assume this is a simple situation. We meet him with the truth—“You’re being silly! Get over it and get inside!” Remember, though, that dad tried that direct approach and got nowhere—“My son was dead to me, now he is alive, he is home, and I celebrate.” The unspoken question was, “So why aren’t you with us?” The elder brother remains in exile. He cannot get over himself. 

And that is what makes this situation so extremely difficult to manage and to find redemption. 

There is no righteousness like self-righteousness.

That might as well be the mantra for our time and place. It runs every state house, infects the Capitol in Washington, and certainly fires the engine of cable news. Because of its pandemic nature, it spills over and coats all of us. We find ourselves battling the voices telling us whom to like, whom to accept, and whom to follow. If we choose to practice even a modicum of openness to everyone, we risk being castigated, labeled, and exiled ourselves. 

The elder brother will tolerate no one storming his self-constructed, constricting fortress. He fancies himself secure in exile; absolutely correct, and absolutely sure of himself.

It never dawns on him that he is alone.

What good does the vitriol on TV gain us? It is not even interesting entertainment, truth be told. Seeing yet another politico loudly declaiming the denigration of all who oppose them has, frankly, gotten rather boring.

No one loves a blowhard.

We all seem to know that there is a lot more to life than isolation. As we encounter the elder brother alone on the lawn, what do we most likely feel? Pity, no? We can see so easily and so readily that he need not be out there. 

The more the bloviators bloviate the more we see that they have nothing to say, and that the resultant alienation, isolation, and lack of anything getting done is stupid. It need not be so. 

And we enter the sphere of grace.

God offers us a way that leads to hope, peace, and communion. God offers it in the image of the Waiting Father. The younger son knows it well once he comes home. He expected wrath, but got compassion. I am sure that father and son have some work to do, but the father’s welcome assures that it can be done, and done well. So God welcomes all the prodigals home, giving us space to find ourselves, admit ourselves to be prodigal, and to be grateful for grace that does not destroy us, but lays a foundation for something new, something other—redemption. But God equally welcomes the elder brother. He reminds him of that—“I have always been with you (and all that I have, too).” As with the younger boy, the father welcomes the elder brother with the same space to find himself. Leaving him on the lawn is actually an invitation to grace—let him be; let him think; and let him find what he needs to know. Everything is in place—he simply needs to see it for what it is.

So, God meets us everyday.

First, we need to realize that as much as we would like to identify with the younger brother—the miscreant who finds himself, his father, and lives happily ever after. He, despite his waywardness, actually seems like kind of a fun guy to have around. But not that elder brother—a bore, an airbag, a crusty malcontent. Who wants to be him? No one wants to be that old guy standing on the front stoop, yelling at kids trying to play, “Get off my lawn!” Yet, as Pogo found so long ago, “We have met the enemy, and he is us!” Most of us try to be nice people, to get along, and be decent human beings. But we soon discover that prodigals run all over nice people. They always get what they want; they always seem to have fun; they always are free as larks—and we find ourselves standing in our citadels of self-congratulation, all by ourselves, sure of our rightness, but with no joy, no peace, and a heaping helping of bitterness. We fall prey to the bloviators who tell us we are right to be bitter, that we have many people to be afraid of, all of whom are prodigals, different, beneath us, blah, blah, blah. Realize that only want your ratings—ratings=riches!

So, we move to the next step. Dad is waiting. He has a party going on where everybody is welcome. Everybody has joy. Everybody finds everybody else interesting, intriguing, and important in there. So, join the party! Look beyond the contrived differences—see instead the commonality of being children of God. See the power of God to love everybody equally. See that all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well in God’s embrace. 

Then take that back out into the world.

Turn off the bloviators. Take a break from politics—most of it is irrelevant to us at home, anyway. Choose to meet everyone else with the equanimity with which God met you. Before labeling them, see them as children of God. Then see what needs to be done or said in making the encounter full. Engage in the world. Leave the fortress. Find yourselves.

God waits for you.

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*The parable contained in Lk. 15:11-32 is misnamed. To call it “The Parable of the Prodigal Son” overemphasizes the younger brother in the story. As Jesus tells it, his focus is on both sons whom, ironically, the audience finds to be equally lost. The younger brother willfully loses himself in wanton rebellion against the familial constraints of being the younger brother in a Jewish household; but the elder brother finds himself just as lost emotionally and relationally through his own self-righteousness. Both boys experience the great consequence of sin—it is anything that divides us from each other and from God. So, I choose to refer to this story as “The Parable of the Lost Boys.”