When we are infants we flail and move, but without destination. Our bodies communicate the desire to be touched, to be loved, to have our presence taken care of by someone able-bodied and heartwarming. We are completely incapable of survival and confidence nor the ability to cope and adjust to the anguish we feel in our bodies and psyches. We have a frightening need for the ones to whom we belong to assure us and graciously accept responsibility to coddle our pain. There is so much forgotten tenderness in the life of a child turned adult. When we grow and become increasingly absorbed in the voices of the world, the voices of the home are drowned out. Our adolescence carries us into an age of exploration and devotion of our worth to the ifs of worldly gain. I and a lovely friend of mine are reading through Henri J.M. Nouwen's, "The Return of the Prodigal Son" and he writes so justifiably:
"The world says: 'Yes, I love you IF you are good-looking, intelligent, and wealthy. I love you IF you have a good education, a good job, and good connections. I love you IF you produce much, sell much, and buy much.' There are endless 'ifs' hidden in the world's love... It is a world that fosters addictions because what it offers cannot satisfy the deepest craving of my heart" (Nouwen, 42).And this truth carries with us important questions. One being: what brought us to such bondage? I don't mean to ask this in a theological or philosophical sense that could serve as a means to intellectualize the answer; I mean to ask this in a very personal way. Initially, I tended to rationalize my answers for this question rather then to intimately and honestly examine how my growth was fostered through the relationships, parenting, circumstances, and happenings of my childhood. Throughout the course of our upbringing the voices from our homes mostly celebrated and adored our presence or disinherited and resented it in subtle or dramatic tones. At some point, there becomes a paradoxical reality in which what we felt we received or needed in the home conflicted with what was truly communicated in the home or from the world outside of it. How often as a child did I insist for permission to watch TV and fixate my mind towards the messages of other homes and other worlds and other cultures (including western media) that could invade the messages that my mother and father wanted to get across!? How often have we experienced competition and the need to build defense systems academically, socially, religiously!? The belief for a lot of traditional families is that at home we are brought to our deepest sense of belonging, love, and affirmation and from it sprouts self-confidence to encounter the outer voices of 'ifs'. Even relatively, healthy people who experience an adequate dose of benediction in their households may recognize a nourishment unsatisfied by the nuclear family; their fellow human beings who might be good, praiseworthy, loving, and self-sacrificing, but limited... but human.
Rembrandt's painting, 'The Return of the Prodigal Son' is inspired by the Parable of the Lost Son (Lk. 15:11-32) and it's inspiration dribbles unremittingly into the quandaries of the spiritual life. As a curiously driven adolescent, my wayward heart ventured into distant country through minor, but certain moral escapades entangled into a thicket of power, self-worship, and instant gratification; absolute zero humility meshed with a lustful hunger to possess what I could get from family, friends, and strangers. From a childhood that made me feel like I was a 'nothing' comes with it the inner struggle of an over-exuberant drive to prove I am without-a-doubt someone incomparably above all other 'somethings'. When I give in to this way, I take up arms, and I give presence to distant country, far off from the voice of our Heavenly Father.
"Consider, brothers, how you were called; not many of you are wise by human standards, not many influential, not many from noble families. No, God chose those who by human standards are fools to shame the wise; He chose those who by human standards are weak to shame the strong, those who by human standards are common and contemptible -- indeed those who count for nothing -- to reduce to nothing all those that do count for something, so that no human being might feel boastful before God. It is by him that you exist in Christ Jesus, who for us was made wisdom from God, and saving justice and holiness and redemption. As scripture says: 'If anyone wants to boast, let him boast of the Lord'" (1 Corinthians 1:26-31, NJB).I agree with Jean Vanier, founder of L'Arche, when he speaks of how people with a disability have a special vocation in the world [1 Corinthians 1:27-29) for each day I live within a world bonded to the marginalized, I realize, as my teachers, those whom I assist in life call me to become more selfless, more giving, more loving, more gentle, more forgiving, more patient, and more beautified in my heart rather then my image. Those who are oppressed and forgotten are the ones who mirror a cry for us to reach deep within our own humanity and discover that which is the Spirit of God, dwelling within, calling us to be vulnerable, meek, and malleable so our hands and feet and mouths may bear His Grace and Love and Life at the tips of it. We are called to be with the lowliest and blessed, not the popular and empty.
"We need to hear that gentle, inner voice of God who tells us: 'You do not need to pretend. You do not need to hide your weakness. You can be yourself. I didn't call you to l'Arche or to another form of community first of all to help others or to prove that you were generous or efficient. I called you because you are poor, just like the ones you came to serve, and because the Kingdom of God is promised to the poor.'"(Befriending the Stranger, Jean Vanier, 17)God desires for us to claim our identity, our preciousness like that of the relationship of a dependent infant with their daddy, Abba, and to become faithful in that cherished reality as His beloved son or daughter in whom His favor rests (Song of Solomon 7:10; Matthew 3:17). Indeed, I AM a forgiven sinner saved once and wholly by the gracious act of the willingly crucified Son of God, Jesus Christ. I began my walk with Jesus when I ran back home and into His arms from the sheer jubilation of this truth. This jubilation can carry us a long way, but over time there might become a hidden transition from one attitude to another. The journey of the Prodigal Son is not the only call to homecoming in Rembrandt's painting and, frankly, it is a rather comfortable and redeeming role compared to the eldest brother. The Prodigal's strife is a "classical human failure with a straightforward resolution. Quite easy to understand and sympathize with" (Nouwen, 71).
The eldest son in the painting stands upright and self-righteously, taller then that of his father! His eyes look disapprovingly on the embrace of his father and younger brother and his mouth is pursed shut. He remains at a distance with no foreshadowing display of receiving his brother similarly to his father. He has disowned his brother for his irresponsibility and his father for his foolishness and favoritism. He is lost in jealousy and resentment, standing with clasped hands. What was going on here?
"As the eldest son in my own family, I know well what it feels like to have to be a model son. I often wonder if it is not especially the elder sons who want to live up to the expectations of their parents and be considered obedient and dutiful. They often want to please. They often fear being a disappointment to their parents. But they often also experience, quite early in life, a certain envy toward their younger brothers and sisters, who seem to be less concerned about pleasing and much freer in 'doing their own thing.'" (Nouwen, 71)
"He was obedient, dutiful, law-abiding, and hardworking. People respected him, admired him, praised him, and likely considered him a model son. Outwardly, the elder son was faultless. But when confronted by his father's joy at the return of his younger brother, a dark power erupts in him and boils to the surface. Suddenly, there becomes glaringly visible a resentful, proud, unkind, selfish person, one that had remained deeply hidden, even though it had been growing stronger and more powerful over the years" (Nouwen, 71).In the vagabondage of our spiritual lives, we can commit to being home, a disciple, a lover of God and His children, but must be weary of a heart meandering about, watching over the horizon because it is discontented with home, and someday standing with clasped hands over the things and people that God delights in. The challenge that unfolds before me is now less like that of the Prodigal Son's, faroff-ness returning home and to an embrace, and more like that of the eldest brother, one of resentment and entitlement needing to be let go; needing to choose gratitude and trust over rivalry and praise. The eldest sibling within us needs to embrace the notion that he or she is not less loved, favored, or adored by their Abba, but it takes a steady diet of humble-pie to liberate this bondage. When the eldest son within me becomes unrestrained, complains louder, and fumes over not being given the rightful due for my labor or others being praised for less toil than I believe I suffered, I must clang a resounding cymbal that blares:
'I am no better (or worse) then the other,
I am no less a sinner (or saint) then the other,
I am given no more (or less) then the other,
and I am no more righteous.
I am beloved and I choose to abandon this burden and celebrate!'
Nouwen suggests that Rembrandt depicts the setting of the house and the fields from the Parable in the darkness and light of the painting. There is a smudge of light permeating from the face of the eldest son, but he stands in darkness. His clasped hands are so closely pressed to his underbelly; he seems motionless yet anxious to escape. The father's light brushes up against him, but I get the sense that it is fading; waning away back to the fields. The eldest was done with his day of labor, returning home for some R&R and a meal, probably selfishly proud of his body of work, but he heard music and dancing and became suspicious of all things! After cross-examining a servant, he refuses to go in next!
"Now the elder son was out in the fields, and on his way back, as he drew near the house, he could hear music and dancing. Calling one of the servants he asked what it was all about. The servant told him, "Your brother has come, and your father has killed the calf we had been fattening because he has got him back safe and sound." He was angry then and refused to go in, and his father came out and began to urge him to come in;but he retorted to his father, "All these years I have slaved for you and never once disobeyed any orders of yours, yet you never offered me so much as a kid for me to celebrate with my friends. But, for this son of yours, when he comes back after swallowing up your property -- he and his loose women -- you kill the calf we had been fattening" (Luke 15:25-30).Being born again, we still need to grow up. Often, my self-righteous, angry, resentful, and prideful behavior is symbolic of a deep-seeded notion that God has overlooked, unappreciated, and sideswiped the favor He may once have held in me. This emotional storm puts us in paralysis. It's a vicious cycle that leaves us nowhere; crawling in an exercise wheel for mouses. We get so internally clouded that we fail to receive our brothers, sisters, and even our Heavenly Father as family. The fog gets so thick we no longer notice that Abba came out to us as well and said in the most loving way:
"The father said, 'My son, you are with me always and all I have is yours. But it was only right we should celebrate and rejoice, because your brother here was dead and has come to life; he was lost and is found" (Luke 15:31-32).Feeling most like the eldest son nowadays, the choice has been offered and the invitation read. Do I stay in the field, as the sun falls, and insist on my resentment for not feeling beloved in the heart of God? Do I reject He whom bled through forsakenness on a cross so that I might collapse into the embrace of our Heavenly Daddy? As enticing as it sounds to stand cold, alone, and forgotten in the fields at night, I'd rather eat, dance, sing, and laugh in the warmth and light of the party. I'd rather sink my exhausted face into the lining of the Shepherds robe, bow my forehead into His Heavenly kiss, and allow the tenderness and uprightness of His touch carry the burden of all the self-righteousness, self-hatred, and resentment that has made each step in life feel o so heavy. I must remain in Him by holding closer to my heart the truth that I am His Beloved then the lie that I am not; that I am only half-loved or that He has grown tired of my shenanigans. In every way, He loves us.
Every
way.
"While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was moved with pity. He ran to the boy, clasped him in his arms and kissed him" (Luke 15: 20).
"My son, you are with me always and all I have is yours" (Luke 15: 31).
