Crystal Palace
In 1851 the world gathered in London for the Great Exhibition, an event to showcase the wonders of the British empire. Tropical scenes were recreated. Exotic animals were put on display. Treasures and artifacts from diverse cultures were showcased. And people from the vast reaches of the globe were brought to London and paraded before the public.
Almost as impressive as the exhibition was the facility built to house it. At the center of the city, in Hyde Park, architect Joseph Paxton designed a new kind of building. Something the world had never seen before; a 990,000-square-foot palace made entirely of cast-iron and glass which was dubbed, the Crystal Palace. The design was intended to symbolize the power of technology and the ability of the British mind but the dynamic of a giant glass structure housing the riches of the empire had a different effect upon the people. Instead of representing the triumph of Brittan, it became a symbol of modernity’s failure to provide everyone an equal opportunity. Literally, the poor would watch, from outside, the powerful enjoying the benefits of wealth.
Less Crystal, Just as Palace
The British may have been the first to build this crystal-clear of a metaphor but all throughout history the world has been split by insiders and outsiders. Keep digging in history and you’ll keep finding glaring metaphors and examples of the insider-outsider tension people lived with every day. And as you keep reading and searching you will eventually make your way to Jesus and the Parable of the Prodigal son from Luke 15.
Older Brothers
The parable of the Prodigal son has two narrative sides. The first is the more famous, where we read about the younger brother who curses his father, demands his inheritance, and leaves to a foreign land where he spends all his money, wakes up to the reality, and returns to his father who, open-armed, accepts him back as a son. It’s a beautiful story, especially because most of us see ourselves in the younger brother.
But it’s the second side of the narrative I want to pay attention too because we all become older brothers eventually. We discriminate, exclude, and draw lines around our homes, our faith, and our communities. We may not look like traditional older brothers, hating on the “prodigal,” but if we exclude and renarrate the story of the other than we are playing the role of older brother.
Older brothers are always challenged by the inclusivity of Jesus’ work. Everyone is invited to sit at the table without class and category which is great news if you don’t come with anything, but hard news if you come with a lot. This is why Jesus says it’s impossible for the rich to enter the kingdom of Heaven — we older brothers have a lot to lose.
Refusal to Enter
We’re introduced to the older brother during the celebration of the younger’s return, “Now his older son was in the field; as he came near the house, he heard music and dancing. So, he summoned one of the servants, questioning what these things meant. (Luke 15:25–28)” The older brother is returning from a dutiful day of working his father’s fields when he hears music and celebration. What does he do? He stops. Which is fascinating. Who hears music, dancing, and celebrating coming from their own home and stops? Who refuses to go to a party THEY are hosting? Who smells food and hears laughter coming from their own house and then creepily watches it from outside?
Cynics do.
Cynicism is different than skepticism. Cynicism is a negative posturing towards the world. It’s not intellectually honest, rebellious, or brave it is a refusal to see a good party. And at the end of the day, it’s a wall we build to protect ourselves from other people. We don’t acknowledge it a such because we disguise our cynicism, feigning wisdom to hide our cowardice. We hide our true intentions behind virtues. We call it wisdom, spirituality, ethics, justice but it’s all different means of self-preservation.
When the father sees his eldest son refusing to enter the party, he goes out to entreat with him and immediately the shell game is played out. The older brother says, “but this son of yours has devoured your property (Luke 15:30)” implying that his father’s injury and loss are the issue. The older brother hides his true desires behind the victim, but he doesn’t care about his father, he’s using the victim to achieve his own ends. That’s how older brothers work.
Why we do this? Because we see the other as a threat to our desire. The older brother lives out of shallow desires. In his imagination the world (his father’s estate) is limited, so he fights to horde and protect. He sees everyone as a threat, even his younger brother. The older brother might come off as wise because he’s saving and “faithfully stewarding” his resources but he’s simply hoarding, hiding, blaming, using, and excluding.
Yet, who is truly excluded by these actions? He is! Everyone else is at the party. He’s the one refusing to enter, refusing celebration, and thus hurting himself. That’s what older brothers do, they impose on themselves and others impossible laws that steal life, freedom, and joy. But it doesn’t have to be that way.
Super Ego
Cynicism and self-preservation are rooted in fear. Fear we won’t get what we want. Fear we will be left behind. Fear we will be ignored. Fear there are limits to resources, opportunities, and even to love. In older brothers’ fear engenders impossible standards and laws that are intended to help deal with fear but only exaggerate it. For example, in religious circles, fear can lead us to intense discipline. We try and obey all the religious laws, keep the commands, and fulfill the duties. But, the more we “obey” the less okay or safe we feel. Committing ourselves to laws and discipline out of fear, leads to more fear. The same is true in relationships. If I fear for love and approval, I will work hard to be the best, I’ll try and do all the right things, but I will never arrive. I’ll never feel like enough. There is no end to fear.
In fear we get trapped in a cycle that leads to resentment. Resentment towards a system that seems to have failed. Resentment towards people that refuse to give us what we deserve. Resentment towards a God that doesn’t reward us. And even resentment towards ourselves because of our inability to live up to our impossible standard. You would think that would be enough to reveal the truth and set us free, but it rarely does, instead, we become more fearful and impose higher standards on ourselves and on others. Maybe our younger brother can come home but where is the restitution? Does he look sorry? Has he submitted to the rules? Is it hard for him to get in? Does he feel guilty? Does he suffer as we do? That’s the real question because it’s not about what’s right, it’s about us.
Freud recognized that the impossible laws we impose on ourselves come from what he called the Super-Ego. The super-ego is the self-critical part of our consciousness that is formed throughout our lives. It comes from the experiences we have with parents, friends, and teachers. It’s shaped by what we see happening in the world and how we are treated. The super-ego doesn’t come from rational decisions, it’s absorbed by our participation in a world of commodification and false desires. Which is why we don’t lose the feeling when we leave religion. Religion helped shape it, but now it’s in us.
The apostle Paul, in his letter to the Roman church, walks through this dynamic. He doesn’t use Freudian language, but he talks about how there is a law, in us, that condemns us but that in God, “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death (Romans 8:1–2).”
Jesus doesn’t leave us with our trapped and fear addled imaginations, he sets us free from our own super-ego. Free from the impossible laws and standards we try and live by and free from the fear and resentment that imposes those impossible laws on others.
Tragedy and Response
In the parable, the father patiently listens to the tirade of the older brother. He listens as his oldest son lists off all of his accomplishments, ways he’s obeyed, and how he’s been let down and failed. He listens as his son hides and blames because of his own self-imposed laws. Listens as the older brother scapegoats the younger. And when his son finished, when he’s exhausted his excuses and his anger the father says simply, “Son… you are always with me, and everything I have is yours (Luke 15:31).” The tragedy and irony of older brothers are that the very things we horde and fight for, the very thing we’re afraid of not getting our hands-on, are the very thing that are already ours. The older brother is mad he never got a party to which the father says, “you could have.” The older brother is angry he never gathered around the table with his friends to which his father says, “why don’t you?” It was always, already ours.
The story of the older brother is tragic and ironic but it’s also a story of good news because in the midst of our hiding and blaming God speaks a word of grace. To our blind and violent tirades, God invites us to the table.
This parable doesn’t resolve the story of the Older Brother. We don’t know what he does with the father’s words. We don’t learn if he takes up his seat at the table or if he stays outside in the fields. Jesus ends his parable with a question mark and rolls the ball into our court. What do we do as older brothers? What do we do when our walls are torn down and we find ourselves face to face with the other? Do we hide behind cynicism? Do we fight and horde to protect what has always been free and abundant? Do we continue looking at the world through fear; self-preserving and excluding? Or will we respond to the father’s invitation and experience grace? Will we come to the table and know that it was all always, already ours?
