Blind to the Beauty

Once upon a time there was a park-keeper whose job was to pick up liter on the spiked pole. Surrounded by the glorious beauty of flowers and trees, with the sun sparkling through the leaves, he only had eyes for the garbage he had to collect and the damage it did. The park-keeper could only see the bad, and was blind to the beauty.

I can’t think of anything worse in life than being blind to the beauty that’s right in front of us. And no story depicts this more clearly than story of the older brother in the Prodigal Son.

The oldest son is still in the fields when his brother returns. He comes in at the end of the day and stumbles into the feasting and dancing! Frustrated that he can’t remember the cause of such celebration or that they would even wait on him, he grabs a servant and says, “What’s all this?” The servant replies, “Your brother – he’s come home!”

Filled with rage the oldest son refuses to come inside. Yet the father sees this tantrum through the Palestinian doors and goes out to meet him pleading him to reconsider. But the boy replies, “Listen, all these years I’ve worked and never disobeyed. Not once. But that son of yours squanders a third of our estate and you do this for him?

And the father replies, “My son, you are always with me, and all I have is yours. Isn’t it right to join in the celebration and be happy? This is your brother we’re talking about. He was dead but is alive again; he was lost and is now found!”

Then the story ends.

When we move into the life and psyche of the older son, did you feel his resentment? I mean what kind of brother is this? How self-righteous and pretentious do you have to be to not see that your younger brother coming home is a big deal? And I’m sure you know people like this.

The older brother is so concerned about why his own father would butcher his fattened calf . . . so concerned about the nature of the party . . . he won’t even go inside . . . he can’t even celebrate . . . I mean he’s been the one slaving in the fields . . . he’s been the one remaining dutiful and obedient. Where’s his party? Where’s his fattened calf? Where’s his reward? He’s blind to the beauty.

And don’t you know these people? These are the people who turn everything around back to them. They one-up every story. They misconstrue details to make them look better. And they only tell stories in which they’re the hero. Yet there’s always something wrong with these people. They’re like Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh. They complain. Nag. Bicker. And judge. Always self-loathing. Always jealous. And it’s as if every time you talk to them they are forming, in not-so-subtle ways, a bedrock of resentment. And laced in every word is the phrase, “I didn’t get what I was due.” These people can’t see the beauty right in front of them.

And you know these people. These are the ones who don’t really come to church. Who never join the celebration. Who always sit on the sidelines saying, “Woe is me.” I used to hate these people, until I realized that I’m one of them.

I bet you know exactly what I mean. We all live in a world of jealousy, resentment, and great deal of fear. We all try to mask it so the world can’t see, but in the darkest corners of our heart, it eats at our soul.

You know, maybe this older brother in the parable is hard to be around, but he’s pretty easy to identify with. He’s hurt. He’s in a dark place. He’s blind to the beauty right in front of him. And I’m pretty sure we are too.