I know that this is a strange way to address you... I know that most people would call you the "prodigal son" instead and that much attention is often given to you when our story is told and retold from pulpits, from stages, at camps and conferences, and who knows where else. I know that you're used to me not calling you "brother." But I thought this would be as good a time as any to write you a letter...to tell my side of the story.
I know what you're thinking, "here comes goody-two shoes, here comes the one who's always in the right, who always follows the rules..." I know that you're expecting me to hit you over the head again with a Bible...or just my own self-righteousness. You're expecting the same old condemnation you've received from me in years past.
Please let me say that I'm sorry. This is a chasm that I've helped to create. The fact that you can't even look me in the eyes when I talk to you...is partly my fault. Yeah, neither of us are perfect...but today, I'm just taking responsibility for what I've done, the walls I've built up that have led to this.
Where did all of this start? If I'm honest, I'll admit that I know. It started long before Dad - our dear, loving, good, good Father - came out and begged me to come into the house...and I refused to. It started before he and you were feasting on fattened calf and dancing and shouting and throwing a party. It started even before you were a small, faint figure, trudging up the road to our home. It started before Dad ran out to meet you and I was too busy working in the fields to even notice. It started before you demanded your inheritance and I vowed I would never forgive you for acting like Dad was as good as dead and all you wanted was his money. It started before waiting all those weeks, months, years...before you decided to return home, once and for all.
You see, Dad and I were both waiting...but it was two different kinds of waiting. I see that now. I can still picture him out front, on the porch, pacing, peering out, holding out hope that someday he could embrace you with all the love only a truly good father can...just like he did the day you returned home. Yes...I waited too. I waited for you to further disgrace the family honor. I waited for you to just make a greater fool of yourself. I waited for you to sink deeper still. I waited to never hear from you again...to maybe hear about you - that you'd gone off and done something more stupid and horrendous than before. And if ever I did imagine you returning home...I only waited for that day so that I could give you a piece of my mind...so I could pay you back for what you stole, which in my eyes was a lot more than your physical inheritance.
While Dad was paving the way for you to return, I was building walls of hatred, of bitterness. While he was growing in love and hope for you, I was growing in bitterness and self-importance. While he was graciously giving to both of us...I was storing up my "good works" as points that were supposed to earn his favor towards me and his disfavor towards you. I couldn't not love you, without not loving him. I see that too, now. I realize now that even as I was physically at home, my heart was far from Home.
I didn't recognize his love for me...so how could I recognize his love for you?
I see it so clearly now, what I failed to see then: I never was any better than you. He loved us both - he loves us both now - and we can never earn or lose his love.
So can we start over again? Could you celebrate the return of a brother, who was long lost and is now found, whose heart was dead and is now alive again? Could we rejoice in our Father's love together? Could we embrace each other like our Father embraced you that day, like He embraces us now, both of us forever safe and loved in His arms?
Will you forgive me?
Perhaps starting over sounds like this, us both saying to each other: "It is fitting for us to celebrate and be glad...for you, my brother, were dead and now you are alive again. You, my own brother, my own flesh and blood, were lost and now you are found."