an open letter

Dear Dr. Keller,
Thank you so much for speaking at Christ Presbyterian last week.  I love that you still make time for the handful of churches that helped plant Redeemer 20 years ago. Thanks for traveling so far, and on such a brutal travel day, when Nashville received a whole 1/8″ of snow—almost enough to cover the grass. Sheer bravery, sir.

It seemed everyone was reading your latest book during Christmas, and I enjoyed the opportunity to hear your own summary of its message and the application to church life.  Your description of healing spiritual communities and our responsibility to them as family members should be required listening for every Christian, both leader and layman, and if you ever release it as an MP3 I’m forwarding the link to everyone I know.

But I’m not as eager to share the first half of your lecture, because it taps directly into the most personal spiritual questions I wrestle with. For those reading this blog who weren’t there and aren’t you (that would be just about everyone), the first half of Wednesday night’s talk revisited the parable of the prodigal son and showed how both the prodigal and his older brother are guilty of disobeying the Father—one through promiscuity and rebellion, the other through self-righteous moralism. They both want the Father’s gifts instead of relationship with the Father, and although the elder brother expresses that desire in more culturally and religiously acceptable ways—obedience, duty, judgmentalism—both are lost. Both want to be their own master and savior, and the only solution for them and for us all is Jesus and his willingness to bring each of us back to the family at his own expense.

As you spoke, I could almost see light bulbs snapping on above people’s heads. Most of us have heard this parable dozens of times and think we understand our role as the prodigal and God’s role as the Father rushing to extend grace. I’m sure your brilliant exposition of the story caused many in that audience to realize for the first time their identification with the older brother and their own tendency to choose rules instead of relationship.

But here’s the thing: I get than I’m an elder brother. Whether it’s this parable or the one in Matthew 20, I always identify with the long-suffering character who feels cheated. Like the prodigal’s brother or the early morning vineyard workers, I show up and do my job and fulfill expectations. I work hard and remain loyal and try to be obedient.  I do stuff I don’t want to do and give money I don’t want to give. I demonstrate character when it would be easier and more fun to throw a screaming fit. I try to take the high road although traffic is light.

However, I don’t feel cheated because the prodigals receive grace and blessing just like me. I feel cheated—no, I believe confused, frustrated, and furious would be more appropriate—because they often receive way more blessings, the blessings I want, the blessings I deserve not because I am a righteous person but because God promised them.

Both the elder brother and I may be too rules-focused, but neither one of us set up the rules—the Father did. He promises to fulfill our hearts if we delight in him (Psalm 37). He promises to make our paths straight if we acknowledge and follow him (Proverbs 3). My heart is less than fulfilled and my paths are more crooked than Bernie Madoff. So either He changed the game or He wants the rules to remain unclear—is it really that terrible to feel betrayed?

I’m continuing to obey despite my limited understanding. But I do wish the parable had a third sibling—the sister who doesn’t want to control the Father, she just wants to understand His actions once in a while……even if it’s as infrequent as Nashville getting a real snow.

Thanks for reading.

Jen