Jesus told the following parable to a group of people who had lost their way.  It was more of an indictment than anything else.

Following is a paraphrase of the story, taken directly from a collection of ancient Greek manuscripts used in the creation of our modern Bibles.

This flies in the face of how we typically think about the favor of God. You might feel like you know this story, but I’m going to throw a wrench in how it typically gets retold:

Once there was a very rich man who had two sons. One a winner, the other a loser.  The good son always did what he was told, worked hard on the family farm, and was a big contributor to the success of his father’s operation.

The other son was a somewhat lazy ne’er-do-well who couldn’t seem to get his act together.

The loser son went to his father, announced that he would be leaving, and asked for his inheritance. Back then, this was tantamount to wishing your father dead – a very shameful act in the minds of Jesus’ audience.

The father complied and the son went and sold the bounty all throughout the town, further spreading his father’s shame, turning his inheritance into cash. Then went to a “far off place.”

In 1st century Jewish parlance, he went to live with pagans, losers, trash.  He blew the money in some unsavory activities, got hungry, touched pigs, and resorted to eating garbage.

Again, to Jesus’ audience, the loser son is committing a litany of grievous sin.

After some time, he came to his senses. “I’m living in hell,” he thought to himself. “I can go home and at least be treated like a slave. My father’s servants are living better than I am.”

It’s here that we need to be careful how we translate this story, because this next part is important, and rarely gets coverage in our Sunday morning sermons.

The, loser son, being a loser, crafted a speech that he would deliver to his father.  In the Greek it’s apparent that he’s making up an apology, but not sorry or “repentant” for his stupidity.

There is no mention of sorrow, or humility.

The picture being painted is of someone who’s committed the most grievous infractions a person from that culture could think of – dishonoring parents, sinful living, rubbing elbows with pagans, and manipulation.

“Kill him” is what Jesus’ audience, including his disciples, would be thinking.

His dad, who’s been waiting for him to come home, sees him on the horizon, runs to him and does something akin to tackling him. The son attempts to give his speech, word for word as he’s rehearsed it, but the father cuts him off.

He places a ring on his son’s finger and immediately restores his status, privileges, and rights to inheritance – transforming him instantly from loser to winner.

I’ll reiterate that the son showed no sign of sorrow or repentance.

Dad then throws an enormous party and kills the calf that’s only reserved for uber-special occasions.

The other son, the “good” son, understandably, is angry and stands outside, refusing to go in.

The father begs him to join the party.

“My [loser] son has returned,” the father begs, “Aren’t you happy too?”  But the “good” son sees people as most of us do.  Winners should be celebrated – exalted.  You should never throw a party for losers.

Dad returns to the party alone leaving the “good” son to stand outside and pout.  The end.

The Favor of God

Jesus tells this story in part to illustrate that God’s view of people is upside-down.  The losers are winners and vice versa.  If He’s right it suggests that our view of most things is upside-down, especially our understanding of how to go to heaven.

Maybe that’s why he so often calls for humility. Getting down on your knees is the highest you can get in an upside-down world.

This parable is one of three (read the whole thing here) that Jesus tells to an audience of “Good People” who are grumbling about the horde of losers that are following Him.

The first parable talks about someone who loses their property then gets real happy when they find it.  The second talks about a poor person who loses their money then gets real happy when they find it.  The third is a story of a man who loses a son then throws an outrageous party when he finds him.

Everyone in Jesus’ audience can track with the first two, few can deal with the third.

Funny that the only loser in this story is the one that didn’t want to go to the party.

If this doesn’t mess with your understanding about how to go to heaven, who has God’s favor, and how we should feel about other people’s sin, I can’t help you.

This of course flies in the face of our religious caste system that honors the faithful and marginalizes the “losers” – folks from the gay community, married people who couldn’t make things work, people who don’t vote God’s way, etc. We’re invited to re-think who’s “in” and who’s “out,” and reject our religious systems that seek to strip the under-performers of their value.

We’re also invited to overhaul our understanding of how God looks at us when we screw up, and what’s required to get Him to like us again.

Turns out the whole thing is up to Him, not us, or our behavior, or religious performance. And that should surprise no one.

 

I learned so much from watching my father’s parents grow old together, then say goodbye.

Mary and Lloyd (Frenchie) seemed to live as distant roommates – married strangers.  Looking back on their life, I don’t remember them displaying any physical signs that they loved each other – i’m not saying they didn’t, it was just hard to tell from my perspective.   By the time I was a teenager, they had separate rooms in their tiny Biloxi, Mississippi home.

When I was in grad school we got the news that my grandmother had contracted a type of cancer that would take her life in short order.   She was in her late 70’s at the time and very quickly began to show physical signs that things weren’t going well.

This had a strange affect on my Grandfather. All of a sudden he began to care for her, to attend to her, to pay attention in a way that I had never seen. He was now her caretaker, her caregiver, her best friend.  We all took notice – it was a different dance for him, something we weren’t expecting.

In what seemed like such a short time, Grandma was admitted into the hospital and quickly slipped into a coma.  The doctors told us she wouldn’t be waking up.  I wasn’t there for this closing scene – my parents related it to me – but we were all dumb-struck.

Grandpa shuffled into her room, stood at the foot of her bed, grabbed her feet and said, looked at her sleeping eyes and said, “60 years was not enough.”  I always imagined that he saw her as she was when they first met, only more beautiful.  I was reminded of their seemingly un-physical relationship – I had never seen them touch each other.  But Grandpa became a different man in the last days of his marriage.  He was falling in love with her and mourning the “empty” spaces of their life together.

I’m not sure what drove my grandparents apart.  I heard there was quite a bit of unresolved “stuff” in their marriage – things that they just couldn’t seem to shake – pretty common in a marriage.  But however impossible those things might have been to overcome, they were quickly and thoroughly annihilated when Grandma got sick.  Her impending death would be the end of the distance between them.

While I was deeply touched by the reconciliation that my grandparents were able to experience, I was also floored at how deeply bitterness had affected their life – so deeply that the only thing able to shake it off of them was the loss they suffered.  I thought about the bitterness I’ve held to in my life – all the relationships I’ve abandoned – the life that I’ve missed.

Years later, I’ve done some unpacking about my failed relationships and the bitterness that destroyed them.  Bitterness doesn’t kill love, it only covers it, so deeply sometimes that we become convinced that the love is gone, the friendship dead.

I have a friend who recently kicked her husband out of the house, then divorced him, then moved on to find something better.  Her husband had grown distant and despondent towards her, something that broke her heart over and over again.  The bitterness between them, unchecked for 15 years or so, grew like a thick blanket, leaving her disconnected from the love she still has for him – completely convinced that she’s “over” him.

Building a Strong Marriage

It would be great if it worked like that – if we could just wash our hands of the love that we’ve built (discovered?) and “move on.”  But it doesn’t , and if we ever run into something painful, heartbreaking, or difficult, for some reason we’ll be able to see through the bitterness we’ve so foolishly allowed to build up – then wail silently as we mourn what could have been.  We’ll see the love that’s still somehow burning and feel like complete idiots that we were so deeply duped.

I’m now at a place where I take greater care with my relationships (I’m at least better than I was 10 years ago).  When conflict comes, especially when I get my feelings hurt (something I hate admitting but also something that happens so much), I try real hard to silence the pride and voice what’s going on.  On a good day I’m willing to take the risk that I’ll get laughed at, further hurt, or worse sit and listen to the other person offer an heartfelt apology then talk about me behind my back.  There have been times when my friend and I have come to a deeper place through the conflict.  Those times, and the resulting depth of relationship, are truly worth the risk.

My efforts in relationships are less contingent on the other person’s behavior than they used to be.  They’re more contingent on the fact that I love and value these people, and that I love and value myself.

My wife is masterful at the art of building a strong marriage – allowing me to voice my hurt and air my grievances.  I’m careful to qualify that the hurt I feel in my marriage is more based on hurts that I suffered long ago before we met.

But, thanx mainly to her mature understanding of things, we’ve been able to keep our blanket of bitterness ever so thin – at least thin enough to offer some evidence that there’s something under there – never so thick that we become ignorant of how we really feel about each other.

Relationships are designed to get better, not worse.  I can always blame the other person when things are going bad, but relationships that you have to fight for are the best ones, the most valuable ones.  I have a responsibility to do my part – to take risks, confront, apologize, pursue, pray, suffer on some occasions – so that I might enjoy the one thing in life that has no boundaries.

There are tight restrictions in this universe on how famous you can be, how much money you can have, material possessions, influence, etc.  There are no boundaries whatsoever on how many friends you can have (if you’re not picky about what they look like, who they are, etc.).  It’s as if something set the cosmos in a way that all but forces us to understand that great friendships are truly the greatest things.

The most wonderful times of my life have all revolved around great friends.  When I’m on my death-bed I won’t be comforted by my accomplishments, my wealth, my influence, definitely not my fast fleeting looks.  I’ll remember Chris and Brad and Paul and Josh.  Elaine, my kids, my Brother, my Parents – all people who I went deep with, and all people who gave life to my world like nothing else.

 

From almost the beginning I’ve experienced multiple scenarios, interactions, relationships, events that, in my inability to understand what was really happening, left me with an urgent sense of “there must be something wrong with me.”

It was really bad in junior high.  There were several bullies who made it their job to harass, threaten, and most of the time embarrass me in front of everyone.  I didn’t know how to deal with it.  I usually acted like it was funny, then spent my time outside of school with an aching fear – worrying about who would pick on me the next day. But I always found a way to blow it off, to distract myself, to act like it wasn’t a big deal.

I remember having a crush on Rhonda C. in the 7th grade.  She was really popular and always nice to me, so I asked her to go steady.  She said she would consider it so I thought there was a chance.  Her best friend Margie came up to me a day later, grabbed my shoulders and pronounced, “Rhonda says yes!  She wants to go steady with you!”  Wow!  I had no idea what to do.  My plan was to avoid her until I could figure out what to say to my very first girlfriend ever (not counting Kelly M. in the 1st grade, but she didn’t know she was my girlfriend).

The next day Rhonda approached me just outside the lunchroom and very compassionately revealed the truth –  “Margie thought it would be funny, but it was really mean and I’m sorry she did that.  So, as far as I’m concerned we’re going steady.”  I finally mustered the words I had been looking for.  I gently punched her on the arm and said “All-right!”  She broke up with me a few days later, and I “moved on” like I did with everything else.

When a 7th grader asks the question “why would people treat me this way?” the only thing he can come up with is “it must be me.”

I felt it at school, around my family, and with some of my friends.  While I had no idea this was all taking place inside, my soul did.  Without knowing it I began to label people – those who where above me – the cool, pretty, smart folk, and those below – the lower caste, the truly rejectable – the higher you were on the ladder the more value you had as a person.

I spent so much of my time in social situations trying to figure out where I stood on the cool continuum and what I needed to do to make people like me.  It was horribly lonely.

Shortly after high school I decided I had had enough.  I set out to change everything and nevermore be that kid that everyone picked on.  I started working out, changed my style, changed my “crowd” and began to attempt to climb the ladder of coolness.

It was tough going.  I’ve never taken social cues well and have always struggled with being awkward.  But I did manage to at least emerge from the ooze of total dorkness, at least as outward appearances go.

So my odyssey began, and I’m just now realizing the toll it’s taken.  Instead of allowing people to heap shame on me, I would heap it on them, especially on people who reminded me of me, which ironically made my shame worse.  To this day if anyone says or does anything that makes me feel bad about myself I get really angry – most of the time I’ll retaliate, usually in ways that won’t bring more shame upon me.

Next year I’ll be fifty.

I’m finally coming to grips with the fact that those hurts from the past are alive and well.  I may have found some creative ways to bury it all, but I still live day-to-day with that ache in my gut – that fear that forces me to hide, worrying what will happen if people see the real me.

I’m wondering how to get rid of my shame, and realizing that this will be a long journey.

But I’ve also come to realize that there are so. many. other. people. who live this way.   As children it’s difficult to know how to navigate the painful moments so it makes sense to do nothing, and feel nothing, as these events solidify themselves within, and permanently become part of our “now.”

I know married folk who fight like cats and dogs, never realizing that what they’re really fighting about happened so long ago, before they met each other.  I know successful business people who work their fingers to the bone – living from accomplishment to accomplishment – anything to avoid the shame that’s eating them inside.  So many people are angry, not because something made them mad, but because they’ve been hurt (anger is always a symptom of hurt).  It’s truly an epidemic.

I’m not sure how to get rid of it and I know it’s not a simple deal.  But here’s a short list of the things that, when I’m able to talk myself into doing them, have had a nasty affect on my shame:

1. Don’t put shame on anyone else.  Don’t judge people, talk about them behind their back, publicly highlight their stupidity, laugh at them, etc.  Putting shame on other people only makes mine stronger.
2. When I hear that voice “there’s something wrong with you,” I try to speak truth as a response.  “We all deal with shame.” “We all have things about us that are broken.”  “There are plenty of things that aren’t wrong with me.”
3. When I worry about what others are thinking/saying: “Other people’s opinions really don’t matter – my life has never been threatened or significantly impacted by the way someone else thinks about me.” “People don’t gossip because of what’s true, but because they’re hurting inside and it’s a wonderful way to feel better.”
4. Spend as much time as I can with healthy people who are either dealing actively with their shame, or have been freed from it.
5. Discuss my most painful moments with people who care about me.  Talking about this stuff is the beginning of freedom.
6. Drink wine

Sorry for the forthcoming juvenile observation, but it’s one of the most powerful things I can say about shame.  If you’re wondering how to get rid of shame, the first step is to call it what it is, and admit that you have.

Next, and much more difficult is to refuse to play its game. Ultimately, It’s a lot like that cat turd your kid finds in the playground sandbox.  Don’t pick it up, don’t play with it, certainly don’t throw it at anyone.

If you get any on you – wash, rinse, repeat, till it’s gone – if you don’t know how to do that, get some help.  The farther you can get away from it the better you (and the people around you) will be.