STILL OUTSIDE?
This past Sunday at The Hill, we finished the story of the Prodigal Son, but this time, we didn’t focus on the one who ran away. We turned our attention to the one who stayed.
The older brother. The one most people overlook. But his part of the story is just as convicting, if not more.
The younger son left the house, wasted everything, and came home filthy, ashamed, and broken. And the Father ran to him. Embraced him. Restored him.
But the older son? He never left the property, but his heart was far. He was in the field when the party started. And when he heard what was happening, he refused to go in.
“Look, these many years I have served you...”
That one line revealed what had been growing in him for years.
He had reduced his relationship with his father to performance. He wasn’t living like a son, he was acting like a servant.
He was expecting something
he was unwilling to create.
He wanted a celebration but had never created joy. He wanted a reward but never engaged the relationship. He wanted a party for being faithful but resented the party that was thrown for grace.
And then it got worse. He said:
"This son of yours..." (v. 30)
He didn’t even call him my brother. He separated himself from grace.
From family. From restoration. Sound familiar?
Inheritance. Ownership.
Inheritance. Ownership.
We do this too.
When we compare our obedience to someone else’s comeback.
When we expect our faithfulness to be celebrated more than someone’s repentance.
When we let church hurt, comparison, bitterness, or pride keep us standing right outside of what God is doing.
The truth is, he didn’t realize everything the Father had was already his.
"Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours." (v. 31)
He had access. Inheritance. Ownership. But he surrounded himself with a servant mindset.
And that’s where many of us get stuck.
We start saying things like:
“Just here at this job again...”
“Just another day, another dollar.”
“Just surviving.”
We forget that we are sons and daughters of a King. We forget our assignment, our authority, our access. We live paycheck to paycheck spiritually while owning the entire estate.
And here’s the most haunting part:
The story ends without resolution.
We never find out if the older brother walked in or not. Because Jesus left it open for us.
Will we go in? Will we lay down our pride? Will we celebrate grace, even when it didn’t come our way?
Or will we stand just outside, arms crossed, heart closed, watching the party happen without us?