Many years ago, when I was managing a seminary art gallery, someone offered us a collection of artworks inspired by the story about two brothers who had very different ideas about what to do with their lives.* The collection was enormous and the gallery was tiny, so we were only able to show a relatively small selection of works that varied widely in size, medium, and style. Even so, every wall was densely covered with paintings, prints, drawings, collages, and other media, each inviting the viewer to contemplate a different moment or aspect of the story.
One artist focused on the younger brother carousing at a table filled with overflowing glasses and plates piled high with delicacies, while another drew attention to his later desperation as he competed with some pigs for a few scraps of food. Yet another artist depicted the moment when the grieving father watched longingly from the doorstep, hoping to catch a glimpse of the child who had left home; and another image of the father showed a wide, happy smile and arms outstretched in greeting. One image, recognizing that reckless behavior and parental concern know no gender, reimagined the parable into a tale of a wayward daughter hanging out with unsavory companions, and a loving mother, consumed with grief.
What was common to most of the artworks displayed in that exhibition, however, is that the dutiful, responsible sibling was virtually invisible. At most, this minor character was relegated to peeking out from behind a curtain, doggedly doing chores in a field on the other side of a distant fence, or in the background, sulkily refusing to come to the party. Since my life at that time was weighed down with responsibilities, I resented that both Jesus and the artists had ignored what seemed to me an important point of view. Like the older brother whom neither the father nor Jesus praises, I wanted recognition for doing what I thought I was supposed to do.
What I’m finally beginning to see, however, is that maybe I am not so responsible after all. If responsibility is really the ability to respond to whatever life offers, my dutiful joylessness is a prison that keeps me from responding to the gifts that are freely given to me in every moment. Like those Pharisees whose accusations led to Jesus telling this story in the first place, I am so sure that I am doing the right thing that I waste the gift of God’s unconditional love. When I am absolutely certain that I am acting responsibly, that very self-righteousness makes me unable to rejoice always, even while participating in the sorrows of the world.
–Deborah Sokolove, Seekers Church
Questions
- What would it take for you to respond fully to what is happening now?
- What role does resentment of others’ good fortune play in your own life?
- What keeps you from enjoying the gift of God’s unconditional love in every moment?
