Creekside Church Sermon of October 29, 2000 "Behold Your God - Scene II: The Elder Brother" Luke 15:25-32	Rev. David Bibbee
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There was great cause for rejoicing the day the prodigal son returned from a distant country and a desperate condition, but not for everyone. A great party was thrown to which everyone was invited to express joy that the son who was feared dead was alive and home again, but not everyone came. It was time for a family reunion, but not everyone thought embracing was the right thing to do considering the grief the footloose son had caused the family. As moving as the reunion of the father and son is, the welcome does not mark a happy ending to the story. Even though the father embracing the son is central to the story, it is not the center of the picture. They are placed to the left. In the center is an empty space, and to the right stands the man who casts a dark cloud over a profound moment of God-like compassion and forgiveness. Meet the elder brother.

What you cannot see in the photocopy are the similarities between the elder son and his father. They both wear red cloaks. Both have beards. The light which illumines the father's face shines upon the son's face as well. There is apparently much they have in common. But their hearts are different. Notice how the father stoops over to hold his son. His elder stands straight and stiff as a board. The father's cloak is broad and looks as though it is about to cover his son. The elder's cloak hangs narrow and straight and clings to his body. The father's large hands are open, drawing his departed son to himself. But look at the brother's hands. They are folded and held tight to himself. The light of the father's face illumines both he and his fallen son. But with the exception of his face, the elder brother stands in the shadows.

Let's be clear about the elder brother. He was good. When he was young, his father proudly displayed a bumper sticker on the rump of his donkey that said, "My Son is Student of the Month at Jehovah Elementary School." He was an Eagle Scout. Never gave his parents a bit trouble. Never broke curfew. Dated only nice girls. Graduated near the top of his class. He worked hard. He paid his bills. He went to church every Sunday, and as you would expect, he tithed. The father's eldest was a good man.

A man walked into his doctor's office one day and said, "Doctor, I have an awful, chronic headache. Is there something you can give me for it?" "I think so, but first I want to check out a few things." The doctor said. He tested his reflexes, made him say, "Ahhh." Then the doctor said, "Tell me, do you drink a lot of alcohol?" The man was indignant. "I never touch the filthy stuff!" "Do you smoke?" "Smoking is disgusting. I have never so much as touched tobacco." "This is embarrassing to ask," said the doctor, "but you know how some men are... do you run around at night?" "Absolutely not! What do you take me for? I'm in bed every night by ten o'clock at the very latest." The doctor asked, "You say this pain in your head is a sharp, shooting pain?" "Yes, that's it," the man replied. "Well, I think I know what your problem is," the doctor said. "Your halo is on too tight!"

This reminds me of the elder son. He was good, but in the worst kind of way. In some respects he would be good to live like, but impossible to live with. The sin of his little brother was easy to see. He did it boldly for everyone to see. The elder brother's sin was much more difficult to detect because it was concealed under the cloud of honesty, decency, morality, and industriousness. He was the object of respect and admiration. He was the son every father wanted. You would not have known a dark side existed if it hadn't been for the outpouring of love of his father for his vagabond brother.

David Redding remembers a Sunday school teacher from his childhood. She was prim, proper, and icy. He recalls the day she told the class the parable of the pharisee and the tax collector, and in summing up the lesson, she fell into the Pharisee's trap. She said, "And thank God we're not like that Pharisee!" Redding then goes on to name the unique sin of religious people:

Pride is the dragon mother that feeds predominantly on the religious. A profession of faith is a dangerous thing. In some ways it is safer to be a sinning nobody. God himself prefers the curses of the profane to the prayers of the pious braggart. Even thanks can be seduced by pride as in Jesus' parable where the Pharisee prays, "Thank God I am not like other men..."

That prayer was no thanks really, for the Pharisee was taking credit instead of giving thanks. This is the trouble that dogs people mothers are so proud of. They think they're it. And that's what most of hell is made of-not just bad people, but people who think they're it.

The elder brother did all the right things, but when his lovesick father welcomed his brother who had done all the wrong things, anger, resentment, and jealousy boiled to the surface. The irony is that though he never left home, the obedient son was much further away from his father than his disobedient brother. I was struck by something Henri Nouwen said. "It is easier by far to return to God from the sin of lust than it is to return from the sin of jealousy and resentment." We are far more likely to come to ourselves when we give into our indulgences. A spouse having an affair doesn't require much soul searching to reach the conclusion that their action was wrong. Not so with resentment.

One reason is because envy and resentment are linked. Big brother may have been resentful because he was envious of all those things his brother had done that he had only thought about doing. "I am doing good, living right, being diligently decent, while my brother's out having fun." In verse 30 he accuses his brother of spending the father's money on prostitutes. There's no mention of prostitutes. Why would he think such a thing?

Another reason for resentment is the feeling that we haven't been treated fairly. "I have worked long and hard," our reasoning goes... "I have done much good for many people, while someone who hasn't done a fraction of what I have gets all the recognition." Believe it or not, pastors fall prey to this one. A classmate is called to fill one of those prestigious pulpits. "Joe Blow is going to the Brethren Heights Church? You've got to be kidding! I remember what he was like in college. I'm more qualified than he is. Why doesn't anyone notice me?"

When I was in high school I was in a rock band. We were well known. We had a following. There was a rival band in our high school. We were called "Heavy Labour." They were called, "The Peace Union." Stupid name. Those who were knowledgeable about music knew we were better musicians. Back in the late 60's and early 70's, battle of the bands competitions were a big deal. Both our bands entered. We went to different sectionals. We won our first two contests. They did too. They won their regional. We lost by a thin margin. The Peace Union in the state competition? What a joke! We drove down to the state contest. We mocked their talent and dismissed their program. "Mediocre at best," we said. They weren't in the same league as the other groups. The top three bands were announced. The winner would go to the nationals. The public address announcer named the second and first runners up. We knew the band from Columbus would win. "And the best band in the state of Ohio is... The Peace Union." The seven of us were in shock. Then came disgust, then came resentment and then jealousy. Everyone from our high school was happy for them... except for seven of us. We had been slighted. Envy and resentment ate us alive.

The elder brother headed home after work. In the distance he saw all the lights in the house on. He heard a band. He smelled barbecue. No one said anything to him about a party. He was mad even before he knew what was going on. "What's this?" he asked a servant. "Wonderful news! Your brother is home safe and sound. The party is for him." He was livid and refused to go in. Resentment can't enter the house when joy is there. Inside everyone was laughing, dancing, and embracing this brother, telling him how good it was to have him back. The father went out to bring his son in. "Come, my son... the party is just getting started. Your brother is wondering where you are."

The prodigal traveled many miles to come home to his father's love. But as Rembrandt shows, the elder son wouldn't walk three feet to embrace his brother and father. "All these years of doing what you've asked, and what do I get? This son of yours treats you like dirt, comes crawling home like a worm and you give him a party!" The father went out to welcome the prodigal and gave him the gifts reserved for a son. He goes out to his first born to give the same. He doesn't argue with or scold him. "Son, you are always with me. Everything I have is yours." The prodigal realized he needed his father, and the light from his father's love warmed and illumined him. The father's light is on the elder's face. He can come into the light, but will he? Will he let himself be found? Will he realize that he is as guilty as his brother of sin? Will he get off his self-righteous soapbox from which he looks down on his brother, and realize he is no better?

Jesus doesn't tell us. These questions are ours to answer. Remember that Jesus told this parable to the Pharisees who criticized him for welcoming sinners and eating with them. The parable was his answer to how God received sinners. They would have to choose how they would respond to God's love for sinners. Henri Nouwen says this parable confronts us with one of the hardest spiritual choices... "Do we or don't we trust God's all-forgiving love?" Do we really trust it for the sinners around us and the sinner within us? Do we want to be freed from judgment and resentment so that with the angels of heaven we might be able to rejoice when one sinner repents?

If you will look at the picture again you will see that Rembrandt joined two parables into one painting. See the man seated to the right of the elder brother? His right arm is across his chest. He is the tax collector who beats his chest and prays, "Lord, be merciful to me a sinner." He looks intently at the prodigal, pondering whether the welcome of the father for his son can be his welcome too. The elder son stands for the Pharisees. He reminds us that our profession of faith can be a dangerous thing. Jesus' most stinging words of judgment were not addressed to the tax collectors and prostitutes, but to religious people who work hard to do what is right, and pass judgment and condemnation upon those who don't. He grieved the lostness of those who good at being good, criticizing the splinters in other's eyes while ignoring the telephone poles in their own. We are the religious folks.

I confess I do not like this parable. Socrates was told by one of his students, "I hate you, for every time I am with you, you show me what I am." When I look to the elder brother, I see myself. I become angry when people don't live by their Christian commitments the way I live by mine. I know how hard it is to participate in another person's joy when I am jealous of them or feel angry because I feel I haven't gotten what I deserve. Even as I reach out to care for someone else, my thoughts turn to who will care for me. When I try most to be faithful to my call to ministry, it sometimes feels like a burden. All of this is intertwined inside of me and in you. We can't pull the weeds without pulling up good grain. No way and no how can I fix myself. I've tried and failed every time. I can't bring myself out of this darkness. I can only let myself be brought out. Remember Jesus' words to Nicodemus. "Don't be surprised when I say that you must be born from above." We cannot make it happen. We can only let it happen. What we can do is make a conscious, daily choice... to trust or not trust the power of God's all-forgiving love. Rembrandt presented this choice in his painting with light and dark.

The Rabbi asked his students, "How do you know when the night has ended and the light of dawn has come?" "When you look at a tree and can tell if it's an olive or fig," a student said. "No," was his reply. "It is when you look at an animal and can tell if it is a cow or horse," another said. "No," the Rabbi replied. "It is when you can look into the eyes of another man and see your brother. Until you can, it remains dark." And this is why the father comes out to each of us... to call us to the light of his forgiving love.

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