One of these things is not like the others.

This is an easy one, unlike many passages in Scripture.  One story.  Three main characters.  Two have something in common and one stands alone.  Two are somewhat similar and one marches to a different drummer.  Yes, one of these things is not like the other.

This type of “puzzle” (for lack of a better word) I’m alluding to is often used to help educate kids, used to help them develop their use of reason.  It involves a child looking at three pictures and trying to find the one that doesn’t fit or belong.  For example, the three pictures might be a banana, an orange, and a loaf of bread.  Or a lion, a tiger, and a bear.  Or a square, a rectangle, and a circle.  Which one is least like the others.  As you can imagine, seeing the three items side-by-side like that --- having a distinct visual representation of each item --- makes it a lot easier for the child to figure it out, rather than just reading the three words. One of these things is indeed not like the other --- and it’s right there for the child to see.

A dad.  A son.  And another son. We know the story.  It’s a very rich story, but not one that really seems to have perplexing and hidden meanings.  There is a kind of obviousness and clarity to most of what’s going on in the story. 

We have the younger son.  He seems to have an inflated sense of self, seems to think he can go it alone --- can make his way without any help. (Of course, asking for his share of the estate before his dad’s passing is certainly a form of help.)  And he seems to want to do whatever he wants to do --- that is, wants to be free from any responsibilities beyond himself.  After failing miserably, he has a kind of epiphany, and he returns home hoping he can undo what he did.  Sounds like someone I know.

And we have his older brother, the one who didn’t mess up, didn’t cause offense, didn’t neglect his duties.  And, well, he can’t bring himself to rejoice in his brother’s return, can’t bring himself to be glad for his brother, can’t be happy that his brother has not just been forgiven, but has been welcomed with open arms.  Sounds like someone I know.

And then we have the dad.  What a dad!  If he is harboring any sort of hard feelings toward either of his sons - he is certainly not showing it.  Those feelings are nowhere to be found.  Instead, he simply shows an outpouring of love.  Love for the son that returned.  And love for the son that remained.  And he seems so grateful.  Grateful that his family is once again whole.  Grateful that his younger son had a change of heart.  Grateful that his older son stayed by his side through it all.  Grateful that his prayers were answered.  Sounds like someone I used to wonder if I could ever be.

One of these things is certainly not like the others.  Two seem a little too caught up in themselves --- one through excessive pride, and one through the harboring of a grudge, a resentment, a hard heart, an unwillingness to be happy for the mercy shown to someone else. // But the one who stands alone in this story is the dad --- full of mercy and kindness and joy and gratitude.  Nothing he does or says points to a guy focused on himself.  And we admire him for it.

None of this should surprise you.  It’s right there in the story for all to see.  And it’s the perfect story for Lent, a perfect story for this time of reflection.  And that’s because all three of these characters reside (in one form or another) in each of us.  There’s the one who seems to be full of excessive pride.  There’s the one who is unwilling to forgive.  And then there’s the other one --- the one that seems to reveal the very best a person has to offer.

Yes, one of these things is not like the other --- but recognizing that person, the person God created us to be and calls us to be, is not as simple as the child’s game I just described.  The best in us and the worst in us are not as distinct, as visible, as clear as simple pictures lined up side-by-side. Rather, they are entangled, mixed together, superimposed on one another in such a way that the true picture of what’s going on in each of us can be blurry, opaque, out of focus.

And untangling them is essentially a kind of spiritual work, a holy process, one which involves a kind of deep, honest self-reflection that can provide us with a clear picture of where we are right now and where we want to go.  This type of contemplation and examination is one of the beautiful and necessary aspects of Lent.  And if we haven’t taken the time to do this spiritual work yet --- well, there’s only a few weeks left if we want this Easter to be the kind of Easter - God wants for each of us. 

An Easter in which we know ourselves better than we have before.  An Easter in which we feel truly free from everything holding us back and weighing us down --- that is, free from every failing, every stumble, every sin.  An Easter in which we are more committed to loving more and giving more and forgiving more.  An Easter in which we rise with Jesus to a new way of life, a life beyond our wildest imagination.

What part of you is the younger son?  What part of you is the older son?  And maybe most importantly --- which part of you is the dad?   Is he in there somewhere?  Can you feel him?  Can you see him? 

Do you want to be him?

After all, he’s the one not like the others --- and the one you were meant to be all along.