I have been contemplating this story for much of the week in between studying and saying goodbye to friends leaving for spring. In the past I have always focused on the story of the son who left and returned, but this week I have realized how complex and rich the other characters of the story are, and I find myself resonating more with the dutiful/bitter brother who did what he was supposed to all along. These questions come to mind:
What is duty worth if it is full of have to's anger and bitterness? If it is a chasing after one's own merit then isn't it just as self seeking as the what the prodigal son did? What does God say when looking at someone ,who has let her sense of duty and right action, thwart her ability to celebrate with her brother who once was lost and now is found?
Who are you in the story?
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Friday, March 16, 2007
Friday: Q & A
what do we do with the prodigal son?
the prodigal father?
the brother who stayed home and did what he was told?
what do we make of the one who lavished upon himself?
the one who lavished upon his son?
the one who wished to have been lavished upon?
we come home.
we embrace.
and we hold tightly to the father who has been with us from the start and welcome our brothers home.
the prodigal father?
the brother who stayed home and did what he was told?
what do we make of the one who lavished upon himself?
the one who lavished upon his son?
the one who wished to have been lavished upon?
we come home.
we embrace.
and we hold tightly to the father who has been with us from the start and welcome our brothers home.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Thursday: Exams or Party?
I know a physics professor who refuses to have exams.
Instead of exam days, he has party days.
Students are not required to study for physics exams.
But they are invited to prepare for physics parties.
This changes the tone of the traditional exam day.
No longer is the day about demonstrating achievement.
Instead, it is about celebrating the discipline.
One of this weeks texts is from 2 Corinthians
5:17 So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!
When I read this verse, I might use it like an exam. I might use it as a question with which to examine my achievements; I might ask, am I acting like a new creation? Have I studied Christ enough to demonstrate this achievement?
But I am tired of exams. I want more parties.
I want to believe this verse, and I want to have a party that celebrates the discpline of learning what it means to be a new creation.
Instead of exam days, he has party days.
Students are not required to study for physics exams.
But they are invited to prepare for physics parties.
This changes the tone of the traditional exam day.
No longer is the day about demonstrating achievement.
Instead, it is about celebrating the discipline.
One of this weeks texts is from 2 Corinthians
5:17 So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!
When I read this verse, I might use it like an exam. I might use it as a question with which to examine my achievements; I might ask, am I acting like a new creation? Have I studied Christ enough to demonstrate this achievement?
But I am tired of exams. I want more parties.
I want to believe this verse, and I want to have a party that celebrates the discpline of learning what it means to be a new creation.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Wednesday: A Prodigal Tanka
reintroducing
itself to me today,
the warmth,
as I smile, welcoming him
as my prodigal son
.
.
"prodigal son"
Luke 15:11-32
J. Andrew Lockhart
J. Andrew Lockhart
Monday, March 12, 2007
Tuesday - The Duality of Prodigality.
Last Thursday as Ken, Kirsten, Ryan and I were standing in the rain talking about prodigality - Ken brought up the fact that he prefers to consider this story to be more about the prodigal father than the prodigal son. He immediately piqued my interest.
As I think about it now, I think the notion of prodigality applies to both parties involved (no pun intended). I am...really quite perplexed when I think about how prodigality spent in seemingly identical ways, albeit through completely contrary intents, manages to result in a feast. A lavish party for someone who for all logical reasons does not deserve it, given by someone who for all logical reasons need not do so. The son, as the general story goes, takes all he is given and squanders it in not-so-responsible ways. The father, as the general story goes, takes all he has and gives it away (again) as only a truly grateful person can. The older son seems to be the only person exercising any moderation at all. And he is the one who seems to get the short end of the stick in terms of offering whatever morals we're supposed to derive from this parable.
How is it that an all-out expenditure of the shit we own leaves one person wholly dejected and the other wholly rich?
This is where I would generally look to some theoretically brilliant philosopher for insight, but I got nothing.
I am reluctant, or maybe just unwilling, to chalk it up to a reconceptualization of "rich."
[So evidently, CTRL+S publishes your text as opposed to saving it. Riddle me that. Google should really change that shortcut. Or maybe I should stop using them. Regardless, my apologies to those who read this prematurely and felt that I just left my thoughts incomplete.]
I don't think it is enough to just say something along the lines of "well, the father is rich because he has his son back again" or "well, the son is poor because he was chasing after stuff that doesn't really amount to anything." Applying this parable to an explanation for why material gain is vanity is, in my opinion, too shallow. It misses the complex duality of this parable. Father and son both spent their stuff in equally prodigious ways. If the son is going to get docked for chasing after wind, the father too should lose points for throwing a lavish party. Any sort of explanation that appeals to personal intent seems to be found wanting because convincing yourself that you're spending for "good" does not actually exclude the fact that you are indeed spending.
But somehow, it really does work out to be that way. The son exercises prodigality and is unsatisfied. The father exercises prodigality and gains everything.
I don't get it.
Pax.
As I think about it now, I think the notion of prodigality applies to both parties involved (no pun intended). I am...really quite perplexed when I think about how prodigality spent in seemingly identical ways, albeit through completely contrary intents, manages to result in a feast. A lavish party for someone who for all logical reasons does not deserve it, given by someone who for all logical reasons need not do so. The son, as the general story goes, takes all he is given and squanders it in not-so-responsible ways. The father, as the general story goes, takes all he has and gives it away (again) as only a truly grateful person can. The older son seems to be the only person exercising any moderation at all. And he is the one who seems to get the short end of the stick in terms of offering whatever morals we're supposed to derive from this parable.
How is it that an all-out expenditure of the shit we own leaves one person wholly dejected and the other wholly rich?
This is where I would generally look to some theoretically brilliant philosopher for insight, but I got nothing.
I am reluctant, or maybe just unwilling, to chalk it up to a reconceptualization of "rich."
[So evidently, CTRL+S publishes your text as opposed to saving it. Riddle me that. Google should really change that shortcut. Or maybe I should stop using them. Regardless, my apologies to those who read this prematurely and felt that I just left my thoughts incomplete.]
I don't think it is enough to just say something along the lines of "well, the father is rich because he has his son back again" or "well, the son is poor because he was chasing after stuff that doesn't really amount to anything." Applying this parable to an explanation for why material gain is vanity is, in my opinion, too shallow. It misses the complex duality of this parable. Father and son both spent their stuff in equally prodigious ways. If the son is going to get docked for chasing after wind, the father too should lose points for throwing a lavish party. Any sort of explanation that appeals to personal intent seems to be found wanting because convincing yourself that you're spending for "good" does not actually exclude the fact that you are indeed spending.
But somehow, it really does work out to be that way. The son exercises prodigality and is unsatisfied. The father exercises prodigality and gains everything.
I don't get it.
Pax.
Monday...being late to the party
To begin a week about being at the party with an apology is a little strange, but that is what must happen. I hammered the end part of a project last night that was due today and then crashed. I just got the e-mail that I forgot to post. The reality is that I remembered, and then said I'd do it later after I finished my project, but then you know how it goes. I did then eventually forget, so I'm sorry to all of those who expected a post today and didn't get it until after work.
So some party this is turning out to be. Parties are tough for me personally. I do my best to find a nice quiet corner and just chill. I only had one birthday party growing up and it was a disaster. I find myself identifying with the one who the party is thrown for, but doesn't want it. All I want to do is whatever I need to in order to earn favor, or a paycheck, or whatever it is I need to earn. Even love. For me receiving love freely is very difficult, but when it is so lavish and celebratory. It is often oppresive to me. I don't want to be the center of attention. I don't want to be the guy with the drink who goes around and mingles with everyone. I don't want to dance. I don't want to see myself as the father sees me. I don't look at myself through God's lenses if you will.
What would it look if I did? What would it mean for you if you were able to see yourself as God sees you? Right now I see myself as a slacker who spent the day squandering time and am late in joining the 40 blog party. But, God says, "Hey you're here! Now let the party begin!" I'm not late, I'm just on time. This is too difficult for me. It's a party, and it scares me. That shouldn't be. I'll probably be ready to party by Wednesday night, when my midterm work is finished, but right now I just want the noise to stop and to go to bed and rest. It's been a long journey and I just want to sleep. But the party is for me and so I'm here. Let's eat, drink, and be merry! Let's dance!
So some party this is turning out to be. Parties are tough for me personally. I do my best to find a nice quiet corner and just chill. I only had one birthday party growing up and it was a disaster. I find myself identifying with the one who the party is thrown for, but doesn't want it. All I want to do is whatever I need to in order to earn favor, or a paycheck, or whatever it is I need to earn. Even love. For me receiving love freely is very difficult, but when it is so lavish and celebratory. It is often oppresive to me. I don't want to be the center of attention. I don't want to be the guy with the drink who goes around and mingles with everyone. I don't want to dance. I don't want to see myself as the father sees me. I don't look at myself through God's lenses if you will.
What would it look if I did? What would it mean for you if you were able to see yourself as God sees you? Right now I see myself as a slacker who spent the day squandering time and am late in joining the 40 blog party. But, God says, "Hey you're here! Now let the party begin!" I'm not late, I'm just on time. This is too difficult for me. It's a party, and it scares me. That shouldn't be. I'll probably be ready to party by Wednesday night, when my midterm work is finished, but right now I just want the noise to stop and to go to bed and rest. It's been a long journey and I just want to sleep. But the party is for me and so I'm here. Let's eat, drink, and be merry! Let's dance!
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Lent 4 - At the Party
Here's a link to this week's Gospel text:
http://divinity.library.vanderbilt.edu/lectionary/CLent/cLent4.htm
When my younger brother turned one, I was upset.
Let's be honest: you don't get more attention on any birthday your entire life than when you're one year old. Your party is a chance to showcase to the world the talents you've been practicing for 365 days.
Aaron, my brother, made me pretty jealous. I was four at the time, the tender age at which I realized that the world should revolve around, well, me. As family and friends began to arrive for Aaron's party, I quickly found myself wanting what he had: attention.
So, as any good four year old would do, I laid out my case. Well, to be more precise, I cried, and cried, and after the second spell of sobbing had ceased I explained that I wanted a party for me, too.
I wanted to feel special.
That's what we see in this Gospel text. Imagine yourself as a character from Christ's story. Your younger brother returns, and the whole time, while he's done just about everything wrong, you've been taking care of dad and helping out to run things back home. And then, when your screw-up brother returns, dad throws a gigantic party.
Or, maybe you're walking down a long, dirty road with only one hope, that you're father will let you be one of his hired crew. And then you find that, despite how irrational it is, you're welcomed back with an embrace that makes you believe that you're the most important person in the world.
So, where are we at the party? How do we respond to God's love?
http://divinity.library.vanderbilt.edu/lectionary/CLent/cLent4.htm
When my younger brother turned one, I was upset.
Let's be honest: you don't get more attention on any birthday your entire life than when you're one year old. Your party is a chance to showcase to the world the talents you've been practicing for 365 days.
Aaron, my brother, made me pretty jealous. I was four at the time, the tender age at which I realized that the world should revolve around, well, me. As family and friends began to arrive for Aaron's party, I quickly found myself wanting what he had: attention.
So, as any good four year old would do, I laid out my case. Well, to be more precise, I cried, and cried, and after the second spell of sobbing had ceased I explained that I wanted a party for me, too.
I wanted to feel special.
That's what we see in this Gospel text. Imagine yourself as a character from Christ's story. Your younger brother returns, and the whole time, while he's done just about everything wrong, you've been taking care of dad and helping out to run things back home. And then, when your screw-up brother returns, dad throws a gigantic party.
Or, maybe you're walking down a long, dirty road with only one hope, that you're father will let you be one of his hired crew. And then you find that, despite how irrational it is, you're welcomed back with an embrace that makes you believe that you're the most important person in the world.
So, where are we at the party? How do we respond to God's love?
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