"The Prodigal's Brother"

The Prodigal Son by He Qi

Sunday, March 10, 2013

Luke 15:1-3, 11B-32

¹Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. ²And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, "This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them."

³So he told them this parable:

11b"There was a man who had two sons. ¹²The younger of them said to his father, 'Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.' So he divided his property between them. ¹³A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. ¹⁴When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. ¹⁵So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. ¹⁶He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. ¹⁷But when he came to himself he said, 'How many of my father's hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! ¹⁸I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; ¹⁹I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands."'

²⁰So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. ²¹Then the son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.' ²²But the father said to his slaves, 'Quickly, bring out a robe-the best one-and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. ²³And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; ²⁴for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!' And they began to celebrate.

²⁵"Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. ²⁶He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. ²⁷He replied, 'Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.' ²⁸Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. ²⁹But he answered his father, 'Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. ³⁰But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!' ³¹Then the father said to him, 'Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. ³²But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.'"

Sermon: “The Prodigal’s Brother”

Do you know my Dad never even threw me a birthday party?  I never got so much as a measly goat to share with my friends.  But my brother, oh he got it all.  You know all about him, everyone does: the golden, shiny, “Prodigal son.”  No one even bothers to remember me: they never did.  I guess, “The Bitter, Hard-Working Son” just doesn’t have the same ring to it.

We were total opposites, my brother and I.  He was reckless, impulsive, immature. I was responsible, deep-thinking and moral.  While I was working hard in my father’s fields, he ran off to hang out with prostitutes.  Okay, I embellished that part a bit…but still, he took the inheritance my father worked hard to earn for him and spend it all in the Vegas of our time on wild parties and worthless entertainment.  He clearly didn’t value our family, or care that he was my brother.  He just left.  He did always care about his own happiness above everyone else’s, that prodigal brother of mine.

I still remember the day he came home.  I had spent another back-breaking day working in the fields, doing my work and the work my lazy brother had left for me.  I was filthy and exhausted.  I heard music and saw a bit of light at the end of the darkness of manual labor: maybe someone important was visiting!  Maybe I’d get to let loose and enjoy some fun for once.  I could already taste the grilled meat and sweet wine…I was in real need of a party.  But then a slave of my Dad’s told me that my brother was back and that all of this extravagance was for him!  There are no words for just how furious I was in that moment (but I did utter a few four-letter ones). 

Though I was tired and desperate for something to drink, I sat down right there in the field.  I would not go into that party – it was against all I stood for.  I would not add my blessing to my brother’s recklessness by eating his fatted calf and drinking his wine.  I would rather stay thirsty.  After a while, my Dad came to find me.  I’m surprised he even noticed I was missing when my glowing brother was there. 

But he came out and had the audacity to ask me why I wasn’t going to the party.  He even begged me to come inside.  Oh, y’all, that’s when I really let him have it!  I shouted at him – my Father – something I had never done. 

I knew I sounded like a three-year old but I didn’t care.

“This is SO unfair!” I yelled.  “I never ever left you – I’ve been here, working like a slave for you each and every day and I never get so much as a little barbecue for my friends.  My so-called brother abandons us all and you act like it didn’t even hurt you.  I saw how you and Mom cried all of those nights, sick with worry for him.  I saw how you would wince anytime someone mentioned his name, because you missed him so much.  Does none of that matter?  He just shows up, looking filthy and smelling like a pig, and you run to meet him…you put your best robe on him and kill that calf we’ve been saving for a really special occasion?  And you expect me to be happy about it?!?  It’s not fair.  He doesn’t deserve all this.  Actually, come to think of it, I deserve all this.”

My Dad didn’t yell back, which surprised me.  He just looked at me, and after an uncomfortable silence, said, “Son, you’re right.  You are always with me, always helping me without ever complaining.  But you have to understand: your brother was dead.  He had no family, no home, no food.  But he came home: he’s alive again.  And we’re alive, too, because the part of us that was missing for all those terrible nights is back.  I can’t help but celebrate.  It doesn’t mean I love you less than him.  It means I have both of my boys back.  So please, come, celebrate with us.  I know how much you’ve missed your brother.”

Your story ends there.  You never find out whether I went into the party or not, whether I welcomed my brother home or not.  Part of me really wants to be able to fill in the missing details by telling you that we all lived happily ever after. 

But that would be a lie.  I did not go into that party.  I did not welcome my brother, because my understanding of what was right and what was wrong wouldn’t let me.  I did not hug the one who I’d gone fishing with as a boy, the one I’d taught to climb a tree, who followed me like a shadow everywhere I went, because my anger wouldn’t let me.  And so, just as I’d lost him before, I lost my brother all over again.  I never forgave him. 

Soon after that, I took my own inheritance (using it wisely, of course) and moved away.  Sure, I saw my brother at family reunions and Passover celebrations, but I never spoke to him more than the small talk of strangers. 

Years and years later, reflecting on this story of mine that you know so well, and yet do not know at all, I still miss my brother.  I wish we could go back to the days when he would follow me and I would look out for him.  I wish I had just swallowed my pride and gone into that party.  I wish I could have shown him the grace my Father so extravagantly showed him. 

These events are all in the past for me: it is too late to change them.

But it is not too late for you.  If you have held onto anger and bitterness because you know you’re right and someone else is wrong, let it go.  If you have excluded people from your life or church because you think you deserve to be there and they do not, let it go.  If you have drank envy instead of celebration wine and eaten self-righteousness instead of the fatted calf of grace, let it go. 

Get up, leave your past behind, and run to meet your brother and sister who has been lost, but now is found. 

If you do, you’ll discover that we are all of us lost in one way or another.  My brother was lost because he was desperate for meaning and never saw that it was in front of him all along.  I was lost because I let pride dictate my actions more than love.  At least my little brother admitted it at the time; I’ve only just been able to admit it now.

We’re all lost.  But when we share our lostness together, when we recognize that in God we are brothers and sisters and that is the only truth that matters, we will find that we are also all in the process of being found again.  I know now what my anger wouldn’t let me know then: that my brother and I never stopped being brothers, though he ran away and came home again, and though I ran away and never really did. 

God made us brothers, just like God makes each of us in this broken, unfair human family brothers and sisters.  Whatever your pain or regret, whatever the hurt you have caused or have suffered yourself, whatever ways you think you’re right or know you’re wrong, don’t let that get in the way of welcoming the prodigal home.  Risk being foolishly, extravagantly forgiving and run, don’t walk, to meet them.  It is what my Dad did.  It is what God would do.  It is what I wish I had done.  Amen.