His father never wrote the checks – that was his job, at least unofficially. Always his dad’s right hand, the Good Loyal Older Son prided himself on preparing the orders, hiring the workers, maintaining the equipment, organizing the annual company picnic. He was indispensible.

But today Dad was asking for the checkbook. That could only mean something was up with his brother: The Wildchild, his Messy Younger Brother. He was more than startled. His heart descended to his stomach and he sat glued to his desk, shocked by his brother’s gall.

The paterfamilias had been all grief for months – or had it been years? – every day seemed so long it might have been years. One son stole his own inheritance and ran away; another had distanced himself and become brittle and short-tempered. His usually eager face had gone all grey.

The more time I have spent studying the three stories of this passage, the more I’ve felt for the older son. I see that his story ends sadly, maybe even badly – but wouldn’t any of us be disappointed, wouldn’t we feel shorted, by a parent who gave freely to a sibling but seemed to disregard the kid who stayed home, who faithfully forfeited other pleasures, external pursuits, fame, independence?

The stories in Luke are clearly set up to get hearers to take sides. We are forced to like one or the other son better, to identify with one of the boys but not both. That seems to be exactly what Jesus is after.

The folks at the table had to choose. There was no both-ways with Jesus. His choice of tablemates ensured that everyone who saw would know Jesus hung out with sinners. Which did not fit the pre-assigned plot points. One of my favourite teachers used to quote the Pharisees saying, “This can’t be the Messiah—He’s going around lunching with everybody!”

The grumbling begins just across the room from the table where he’s dining with the bad people. Jesus is gross. He’s eating with baddies.  These are dirty,  the people your mother warned you about; but there’s Jesus, chatting and noshing away as though it’s all just another day of ministry.

The people who had it together thought Jesus would – should – want to hang out with them. Who would’ve aimed for the dregs? – Tax collectors, prostitutes, drug dealers… These were not a rabbi’s crowd. Pass the olive oil.  More bread?

In his gospel Luke notes the grumbling and jumps right to Jesus’ dstories:

“Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them.”
“Or suppose a woman has ten silver coins and loses one.”
And finally,
“There was a man who had two sons…”

We were in Madison, Wisconsin the first time we rehearsed this piece. One of the team pointed out it’s more like a one-act play than a sketch. As we worked back and forth between the script and the scripture it became progressively clearer why Luke treats the story as a particularly significant, central parable within his gospel.

You could even say that this parable is the bigger piece, the longer play, within the whole of his story. Luke clearly thinks this parable explains and ties together a great deal of the whole.

I think about those two sons often, with the stage picture in my mind’s eye:  Each of them wanting to go in to dinner but unable to get up, paralyzed by fear or shame or anger…  One of the things I love most about the gospel is this tension between who we are and who were designed to become, and the amazing way the tension gets worked out.