So Far Away

A Shared Fate, Part II:

“So Far Away”

Luke 15.11-32, Mark 10.17-21

You Lack One Thing

Among the throngs who followed on the heels of Jesus, those who gathered to ponder his observations on life and faith, could be counted many of the religious faithful of the day. There were Pharisees, of course, who heard much with which they could agree in the teachings of Jesus, yet who recoiled in horror to see Jesus associate openly and joyfully with the outcast and impure. There were Scribes who meditated on Torah day and night, carefully discerning its demands on their time and resources, and diligently striving to fulfill these demands.

There were the cultural elite, such as the rich young man whose story we shared moments ago, who were themselves faithful to the demands of the life of faith.  “All these things,” he responded to Jesus – all the requirements of Torah – “I have kept since my youth.”  Finally, although he lives his life in a story, the prodigal’s older brother could easily be cited here, for he represents a shining example of Jewish piety and morality at the time of Jesus.

Many of us might look with approval on the religious efforts of such men; especially on their zeal for moral purity. They were good men all, men of spirit who strove not only to be moral and upstanding, but as well to improve their community and preserve their faith for generations to come.

Many of us might look with approval on the religious efforts of such men, again, for they struggled to practice and preserve their faith under difficult circumstances. Exotic new religious ideas were arriving almost daily from the distant reaches of the Roman Empire, ideas that swirled seductively through the minds and spirits of their youth. And they lived, let’s not forget, under the tutelage of Rome; they practiced their Faith under Roman protection, but Rome’s protection was tenuous and fickle, and could be revoked on a whim.

Under such circumstances, we might conclude, they can be excused for drawing a narrow circle around their faith; pushing away those who lived on its margins and embarrassed or compromised their position with Rome: religious freethinkers, the racially mixed, the poor, the diseased, the morally compromised. Under such circumstances, they can be excused for detailing the requirements of the religious life; for creating a tangible rule, as it were, against which to measure the worthiness of anyone in the eyes of humankind and of God.

Many of us might look with approval on the religious efforts of such men, but Jesus looked on them and wept, for he seems to have measured by a different standard.  He did not look with pride on men of high moral achievement who stood tall in their communities; rather, he looked with pity on self-righteous men who drew narrow circles that excluded others from fellowship; indeed, excluded the majority of the people God wants to embrace: shepherds, or could that be migrant farm workers; lepers, or AIDS victims; women, treated as equals; and Samaritans, or religious minorities in our community, such as the Buddhists or Muslims. These men did not understand the truth behind a poetic verse that would be written only centuries later, a verse inspired by the life and teaching of Jesus,

“He drew a circle that shut me out – heretic, rebel, a thing to flout. But Love and I had the wit to win, and we drew a circle that took him in!” – Edwin Markham

Again, Jesus did not look with admiration on men who had made significant strides toward God; but on men whose religious efforts exiled them from God, men whose religious and moral smugness blinded them to the fact that the grace of God that alone brings reconciliation and healing is always and exclusively a gift. They were close, Jesus saw, ever so close to the Kingdom of God, yet so very far away. It’s ironic, is it not, that Jesus looked on faithful Jews who lived some six hundred years after the Babylonian captivity and saw exiles, estranged from God and from each other? It’s ironic that Jesus looked on individuals of high moral achievement and a long track record of religious involvement and could only say, “You lack one thing…”

The Older Brother

You lack one thing.  But what could be lacking in men of such strong moral fiber, such wisdom and religious accomplishment? Indeed, what could be lacking in the prodigal’s older brother who is so like such men and who, after years of obedience and faithful service, finds himself standing alone, angry and afraid; looking in on the celebration of grace?

Many have posed this question concerning the older brother in the parable of the prodigal son. Many, in fact, downright disagree with the way Jesus treats this young man in his parable. He seems so much the hero of the story until its very end.  He stays at home to care for his aging father and see to the interests of the family farm.  He never dreams of squandering hard-earned money on prostitutes and wild living.  He is loyal through thick and thin, a paragon of moral virtue, the son of which every mother dreams.

Is it any wonder that the older brother is absolutely livid when he comes home from yet another endless day working in the fields, only to learn that his father has welcomed his worthless brother home with open arms; that he has chosen to forget about the shame he has brought on the family name, the waste of their property, and the burden he left for his older brother? Is it any wonder that he confronts his father and demands in so many words, “Is this how all my efforts are rewarded?”

Whatever we may think about the virtue of the older brother or the validity of his complaint against his father, it remains that Jesus does not view him as the hero of this story. He seems, in fact, to look on him with the same loving concern bestowed on the rich young man in Mark 10 and respond to him with the same words, “You lack one thing.”

In the eyes of Jesus, the heroism of the older brother begins to unravel when he demands of his father that which his efforts deserve; for this attitude makes it clear that he expects his father’s love as a reward for his loyalty, obedience, and moral virtue. Indeed, this attitude reveals the one thing that he lacks, the one thing lacked by all those who measure their progress toward God in moral and religious terms.  He has not learned the simple yet definitive lesson of love; it can never be earned, it can never be demanded, but always and only received as a gift.

Please don’t miss the subtlety of Jesus’ point.  All the moral qualities exhibited by the older brother are admirable; they are a part of the spiritual journey on which we have embarked. Each of us, in fact, should strive toward them, for they can take us far in life. They can take us far in life and they are enough, Jesus says, if we want only to draw close to the kingdom, close to God’s presence. If, however, we want to taste the spiritual life of which Jesus spoke, life which is so much more than mere morality, and if we want to experience the healing and joy of God’s presence; then we must give up any pretense of working for, deserving, demanding or otherwise marking our progress toward God and receive God’s gracious presence as a gift.

In Need of Grace

Jesus’ parable, ironically, leaves the older brother standing alone, angry and afraid; looking in on the celebration of grace and trying to decide if he will, if he can, accept his father’s invitation. At the parable’s end he is close, ever so close to the Kingdom of God, yet so very far away. He is close to the difficult recognition that his loyalty and morality make him no more deserving than his irresponsible brother of his father’s love; and he is close to acknowledging that like his younger brother he, too, languishes in exile, and stands in need of his father’s grace. At the parable’s end he stands alone, contemplating perhaps the most significant decision of his life.

Our best efforts, like those of the prodigal’s older brother, can bring us close to the Kingdom, but no further. We can smell the fatted calf and hear the revelry, but we cannot enter the house and join the celebration; unless, of course, we give up pride in our own accomplishments and our attempts to measure our progress toward God, and receive the Kingdom as a gift. At the parable’s end we, too, stand like the older brother, contemplating perhaps the most significant decision of our lives.