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What if the wrong son ran away?

The Reverend Canon Elizabeth Knowlton
Fourth Sunday of Lent 2007
Cathedral of St. Philip 7:45, 9:00, and 4pm

It will probably come as no surprise to you that I really love to read.  It is often one of the first things I do after a nap when I am on retreat.  My vision of heaven is having all the time to read the books I never got around to finishing in this life.  If I really enjoy a book, I often think about how much I’d like a chance to meet the author.  My assumption is that if someone has written something I like, to meet them in person could only be an opportunity to expand that regard.

A few years ago I had a chance to go to a retreat led by a woman who had written a book I had really enjoyed.  Not only had I read it, my women’s bible study in Marietta had studied it as a group.  I was genuinely looking forward to spending time with this author and seeing what else she might have to offer me.  When I got the pamphlet in the mail announcing she was leading the retreat, I took it as a sign that I needed to go.  I packed up all my comfy clothes, journals, and retreat necessities and hopped into my car with anticipation.

I entered the conference room and prepared myself for a transformative experience.  There was only one problem as I got further into the retreat.  I simply couldn’t stand the woman.  I didn’t like her manner, I didn’t like her illustrations, and I found myself incredibly annoyed almost every time she opened her mouth.  I didn’t like the way she’d set up the room, and I basically sat there as an ungrateful critic for much of the group time.  I won’t bore you with the details, but I was not a happy camper.

It culminated when she gave her talk on prayer practice.  She really got my goat when she said, “if you’re not praying an hour a day, it’s because you’ve decided not to do it.”  Well, what did she know about my life, my job, may family obligations?  She sure had a lot of nerve.  The more I stewed about it, the less I was able to receive.  As much as I kept up a veneer of politeness, I was extremely disappointed.

Until we got to one of the last sessions.  She had us each take a chestnut to carry with us for part of the retreat.  She said, “go off with this chestnut for an hour and reflect on it as a symbol for your desire and God’s desire for you.”  As I spent time with the notion of my desire, clarity was not too far behind.

In retrospect, my annoyance is rather boring in its explanations.  You’ve probably guessed that it didn’t have anything to do with her retreat leadership skills.  No, I was consumed with anger and criticism, because I was unhappy that I wasn’t leading the retreat.  Not, that I needed to lead that one of course.  But, I really was longing for a job that allowed me to have more time to devote to creating similar programming.  There was frankly nothing wrong with how she had done anything, but it wasn’t how I would have done it.  So, I was dissatisfied.

Luckily, with enough distance, I realized that my anger, jealousy, and internal criticism was actually an important signal.  Shortly after that retreat I was able to name my real desire to come to a position that allowed me more time for prayer and retreat ministry. So, here I am. 

But it is still more than a little personally disappointing to me that rather than identifying my own desire, my first response was to be petty, angry, and self-righteous.

Not unlike the older brother in this story of the prodigal son.  This is such a well known and beloved story I wonder if we really hear it differently from year to year.  We probably all have the character that we are most drawn to notice.  Perhaps it is the father who is longing for relationship with both of his sons. Maybe it is the younger son who want everything too quickly and demands an early inheritance.  Or perhaps it is the begrudging yet well beloved older son.

No surprisingly, I quickly resonate with the elder son.  Yes, I’m the oldest child in my family, and by most accounts I’m pretty well behaved and aware of my obligations.  I can’t really fathom running off to sow my wild oats. I might fantasize about rebellion, but the worst thing I remember doing from high school was driving a group of teenagers on a church youth group scavenger hunt when my parents were out of town.  I was only supposed to use the car to get to work. And if you want to really know how pathetic my rebellious streak is, I wrecked the car and had to call my parent in Chicago to confess my transgression.  I didn’t even get punished because my guilt was so evident, my parents just didn’t have the heart to mete out additional pain.

So I connect with the good behavior of the elder son.  Poor guy.  He clearly is getting the short end of the stick.  He is completely in his rights to wonder about the treatment his little brother is getting.  And who can blame him for challenging the father who is so quick to hand out extravagant grace?  Sure, Jesus may be making it pretty clear that the elder son is most similar to the griping Pharisees and scribes who resent Jesus consorting with the outcast....but don’t they get a bad rap?  I mean, don’t we encourage our children to follow the rules and to be model citizens? 

But as I reflected on this text, I realized that it quite similar to another gospel text.  That of Mary and Martha.  Often when we read that, we think we have to choose.....Am I a Martha or a Mary?  Am I a “doer” or someone who is comfortable with “being?” But isn’t that a gross over simplification? We might have a natural tendency, but we can’t really be fully one or the other.  We have elements of both.  None of us are completely the worker bee, slaving away in the kitchen.  None of us are completely the contemplative quiet Mary sitting at the master’s feet.

I think we can look at this parable in the same way. The minute I think I am trapped in the role of the eldest son, I am cut off from the party.  I can only be mad that my younger brother has gone out and done what I “could never have done.”  I can let my bitterness and resentment overtake me so that I am not in relationship with my father, even though I never left home.

Perhaps, I should have been the one to run away.  Perhaps the wrong brother ran away.  Because if there was anyone in the story who needed to escape the trappings of home, it is probably the elder son.  He is just as far away as the younger brother who leaves physically, but he doesn’t know it.  By denying that he even wants to run away from his “slavery” he just become more enslaved. He is not receiving grace and relationship, but is caught in a web of his own expectations and disappointments.  He is stuck with wrath and anger, instead of grace, love and compassion.

But again to think we are one or the other is to miss the point.  Aren’t we really both? Aren’t there times when we squander the resources and opportunities that we are given?  Are we not left without anything but the possibility of grace from the forgiving father?  We’ve reached the end of the road and grace enters in like a welcome rain in the desert.  But there are the other times, when we have “done everything right” yet find ourselves bitterly resentful of those who seem to get away with anything and everything. 

This may actually be the more difficult reconciliation.  The younger brother has already hit rock bottom and is in a place to receive whatever the Father will give.  When it is grace, the joy and relief is all the more powerful in its surprise.  But the embittered older son is more cut off.  And it may be this type of reconciliation we need on a more regular basis.  He is standing outside the party with arms crossed assured of his own righteousness.  He hasn’t been broken down by circumstances and can’t even hear his father when he comes out to assure him of their connection.

Those are the times that we really don’t even know what we’ve lost.  Our material possessions are still intact. We’re seeing the people who are closest to us every day. But is any of it getting through?  Are we aware the gifts of the moment, or do we find ourselves snapping with impatience over every little slight.  Do we start to experience impediments everywhere we turn?  Do we think we’re the least appreciated person in the room?  When we find ourselves sapped, unappreciated, and bitter we may even start to fantasize about running away from it all.  Images of beaches and rest without responsibility may start to waft over our consciousness. 

Maybe we need to just run away. 

So what does that brother do?  We don’t know.  We know what the offer is.  My fantasy is that the brother decides to run away himself.  To explore the real desire he has to be just like that younger brother and squander away with abandon.  I don’t imagine he’ll stay away very long.  But if he frees himself from the sense of being trapped in obligation, he might be free to come back anew.  At least some space may give him the clarity about just how cut off he really is.  The desires of his heart may greet him with stark clarity if he takes the time to let his anger subside.  He will then have the opportunity for a renewed relationship with his brother and his father. 

And I expect if the first party has ended, the generous father will just strike up the band and kill another fatted calf.  Because his generosity and desire for relationship with both sides of his child would not allow another response. 

Amen

Comments? Contact Beth Knowlton at: BKnowlton@stphilipscathedral.org

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