Luke 15:25-32
“Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. He replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.’ Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. But 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. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!’ Then the father said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But 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.’”
The story isn’t done yet, of course. Stories like this never are.
Such an outpouring of love once again unsettles things, disrupts the order, upsets the balance, and so stories of prodigal love never finish with a “happily ever after” because there is always someone who recognizes the basic unfairness of the plot line.
In this case, it’s the elder son. And before we think of coming down on him even for a minute for his hardheartedness, let’s first grant him his due and, truth be told, recognize him as one of our own. After all, everything he says is true. He has worked all these years. He didn’t run off and desert his father. He didn’t squander his father’s wealth. He has been dutiful and responsible and trustworthy, and so it has to burn to see the welcome and outpouring of love from his father for his spoiled and irresponsible younger brother. It just doesn’t seem fair. And that’s because it’s not!
But maybe there’s something else at stake here beyond fairness.
I mean, fairness is about equity, about keeping track of who’s getting what and making sure things are relatively even. Fairness, then, is about counting.
And there’s room for counting in our lives. Fairness, equity, justice – these all matter a great deal and I wouldn’t want to live in a world where there were not plenty of older brothers keeping track of such things.
But while fairness and counting are important, even tremendously important, they are not the only things that matter in this life. For there is also love. And love is something that cannot be counted.
Consider that anything you can quantify has a set limit. There is only so much. If I have a thousand dollars and give two hundred to one of my two children, then I have eight hundred – and only and exactly eight hundred – left to give my other child. And so when it comes to those things that can be counted, we talk about fairness, about the reason, all things being equal, I would probably instead give them five hundred dollars each.
But love doesn’t work like that. We don’t apportion our love. We don’t track it and measure it and parcel it out. The notion seems ludicrous. I can give all of my love to one of my children and – guess what? – still have all of my love left to give my other child. And that’s true whether I have two children or ten. There is never a limit. Indeed, love is one of those things that the more you give the more you seem to have – except that “more” doesn’t seem quite to cut it anymore, as that still tries to quantify something that is basically unquantifiable.
And so there are at least two dimensions to our lives. One we might call economic or legal, as it deals with all of those things – like money or food or even opportunity – that we can count, and in the economic dimension of our lives we should strive for fairness and, indeed, make laws that press us to be fair and just.
But there is another dimension that we might name relational, for it encompasses those things – like love, trust, regard, kindness and more – that we cannot count but that constitute our essential relationships with each other.
And here, I think, is where the elder brother goes awry. He confuses these two dimensions. He is focusing on the economic dimension while his father is stressing the relational. His father realizes this confusion, too, and so he leaves his party – which a host never does – both to assure his eldest son that he will be treated fairly with regard to the economic dimension of his life – “all that I have is yours” – and also to invite him to see the priority we give, must give, to the relational element – “this brother of yours was dead and has come to life.”
Does he get it? Is he won over both his father’s unbounded love? Does he continue to recognize the value of fairness but the supremacy of love? We do not know. The story closes without resolution. Perhaps to prompt the deeper question: do we?
Prayer: Dear God, encourage us to strive for justice and fairness in all of our economic and legal dealings in the world, and remind us of the primacy of love, for while faith, hope and love abide, the greatest of these is love. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
How do we receive and participate in that love? It is time spent with the one we love. There is a lot of distraction in this story by the stuff of life – money, food, material goods. But it is the lack of presence that the father mourns and the older son can’t recognize as the gift of love. When we spend time with God we receive his love. When we serve others we share His love and when we are served we are loved as part of His family.
Doug Adams, the theological professor who dealt with Biblical humor, noted how the older brother lied.
. . . 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.
And, . . . But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!’
Hey, nobody mentioned “prostitutes.” Can’t one squander money and live loosely without prostitutes.