Envy

 Friends, we’re now in week 3 of this Lenten sermon series I put together about none other than the seven deadly sins! An intimidating premise, for sure, but I hope we find some light here together. The ancient Church taught that all sin flows out of these seven errors of judgment. First piece of Good News? We’re all in this together. These ways of wrong thinking are universal. Second piece of Good News? If we all err together, then we can all help one another make better choices.

The third of the seven deadly sins that we’re looking at together is envy.

The Oxford dictionary defines “envy” as “a feeling of discontented or resentful longing aroused by someone else’s possessions, qualities, or luck.” The Catechism of the Catholic Church employs the Latin word “invidia” to describe envy, and adds that not only is envy a longing for what someone else has, but, worse, a feeling that if you can’t have what they have, then you’d like to take theirs away so they won’t have it either. Yikes. On one hand, these sound like the feelings my kids have when they start fighting over toys. But on the other hand, we need to keep in mind that the feelings that we would call “childish” are more like the feelings that are on the ground floor of the house. Where little kids are green with envy over each other’s toys, us grownups are envious of each other’s money, looks, health, careers, and relationships. A word of clarity while we talk about this: the sin isn’t the feeling. Feelings aren’t sins. That feeling of envy is trying to tell you something. The sin comes about in what we decide to do about that feeling.

We see all the sides of envy play out in the Gospel passage I picked for today, Jesus’ parable from Luke about the Prodigal Son. A parable is a teaching moment, it’s a story Jesus made up, but that feels like it could totally have happened to real people. In this case, Jesus cooks up a story about two big ways that people have gotten into fights in every era of human history: sibling rivalry, and money. 

There once was a very, very rich dude. Batman rich. He had two sons, and his two sons were practically tropes, straight out of that old Goofus and Gallant cartoon strip. “Gallant”, the older son, is the one pulling all the weight of keeping the family farm going. He is loyal, hard working, organized, devoted, and he loves his dad very much. “Goofus”, the younger son, has reached adulthood after years of doing as little as he could get away with around the house. The younger son decides he hasn’t had enough fun yet, and, as the son of a rich daddy, that shouldn’t be the case. So he confronts his dad for lots of money. And not in a “Hey, pops, can you spot me some green” kind of way. But rather in the manner of “Hey, you know how your will says I get 10 million dollars when you die? Can I just have that now instead?” And if it’s not extremely obvious, asking your very much alive Dad to give you the money you’re supposed to inherit when he dies is as offensive as it sounds. But Goofus is envious. He not only longs for his dad’s money, and the opportunities that money provides, but that envy has grown legs. Now the younger son feels straight up entitled to that money. This is the darkest corner of envy, where it bleeds into greed, and where you’ll treat your family like they’re dead to you just so you can have their stuff. He envies his dad’s money so much that he is willing to destroy his whole family just to get it.

And yet, the dad obliges in this story. He liquidates assets so Goofus can have his $10 million right now, and the younger son takes off down the road with no intention of ever coming back. And then he goes off to the big city–the Las Vegas of First Century Palestine–and makes sure to commit all seven deadly sins multiple times daily. That inheritance money that he fleeced from his dad could, and should, have set the younger son up for life. If he had used it wisely, he could have lived off of it forever, never needing to work, and never needing to worry about the cost of living again. He owed that to his family after committing such a brazen act. But instead, Goofus squanders that huge inheritance very quickly. He allowed his feelings of envy to take over his whole life, and all of his decisions. His envy eroded into entitlement, and he felt entitled to whatever money could buy him–caviar and champagne at every meal, lavish parties every night, the prettiest clothes, the sickest bachelor pad, and the company of the most eligible bachelorettes in the neighborhood.

After a few months of chasing his envy, Goofus is bankrupt, both financially and morally. He’s followed his envy right into the darkest corner of the earth. That entitlement has backfired the worst way possible, and now, forget the Penthouse, Goofus can’t even afford a decent house. He acted like a pig, now he eats and sleeps with them. He longed for all the wrong things. He was so obsessed with what he thought he didn’t have that he ran away from the fortunes he’d had all his life: a family that loved him, and a home that would always be there.

This is the turning point of the story, and an uncomfortable point for us reading it. Because we don’t want to relate to the younger son. And we don’t want to affirm that he’s finally doing the right thing. But he is. Aquinas taught that seven remedies help us fix what we break in those seven deadly sins. They help us find ourselves, find the people who love us, and find God again, no matter how badly we mess up. And the remedy for envy is gratitude. When we wreck ourselves with our thoughts about what we should have, giving thanks for what we’re lucky enough to have already heals us. 

At this point in the story, the younger son realizes he had a very charmed life, and all he had to do was stay. He worries that what he did to his dad was so offensive that he can never fix it, but makes a plan to go home, apologize for everything, and beg his dad to let him come home as a servant. He realizes he’s lucky that he has even that as a safety net. Gratitude is a major perspective shift.

Now, here’s the thing: I really don’t like the younger son in this story. It’s on me, I’m judging the character, but man oh man do I judge him. It gets under my skin every time I read this that he thinks he can just waltz back home after being That Guy. And the reason I think that way is because my personal temperament is much more like that of the older son, Gallant. Sure, it’s very Good News that if you hit rock bottom partying that God still loves you, and will help you fix your life. But some of us never partied. Some of us never went through a “heavy metal band member in a luxury hotel” phase. Some of us did the work. Some of us stayed. Some of us tried as hard as we could to be responsible.

That’s why Jesus made sure to put the older brother in this story. Because otherwise, this story puts off people like me. And otherwise, people like me don’t get to see that we get just as envious as everyone else. We need to see our own envy in the mirror.

Goofus, the younger party animal son, comes home, rehearsing his apology speech the whole way. And before he can get any of it out, his dad says “you had me at hello.” His dad, a grown, wealthy man with a reputation, hikes up his tunic and runs down the street to hug his son like a little kid jumping in muddy puddles. And he announces–it’s party time. Put some nice drip on my boy. Grade A beef for dinner. Hire the DJ, the place is gonna be jumpin’.

And Gallant, the older son, the son who I relate to way more, maybe the son you see yourself in, sulks off. He’s deep in his own envy space. He longs for the celebration and love his brother Goofus is getting right now. He thinks that praise should be his. And if he isn’t getting it, he doesn’t think Goofus should be getting it, either. Afterall, did his dad ever throw him a party to thank him for staying home and taking care of the farm all these years? Why does his brother get rewarded for messing up?

Do we ever feel that way? Do we get envious of mercy? Because that’s what is happening here. Mercy. What Goofus deserved was a lifetime of sleeping in a pig pen. He deserved harsh consequences, based solely on his behavior. But his dad spared him of punishment because he decided love was a lot more important. The dad is the only person in this story who avoided the path of envy, and stayed grateful–grateful, when Goofus demanded that money, that at least he had it to give; grateful, when Goofus was out partying, that he was having a good time; and grateful, when Goofus came home, that he got to see him again, because he never thought he would. Nothing matters to this dad but his gratitude. He shows us the way back.

And he shows as much mercy to Gallant as to Goofus. He’s grateful, when Gallant is sulking and refusing to join the party, that Gallant trusts him enough to talk to him. He’s grateful for a moment with his son. He hears where Gallant is coming from–does he get a party for not screwing up? And the dad explains–Goofus partied himself to death. He was dead. He was gone. The party isn’t a reward for his behavior. The party is a celebration of gratitude that he’s alive. Gallant should be there, too, giving thanks for life. Giving thanks for family. Giving thanks for the gift of time. The only reason he isn’t getting a party right this second is because he chose to be envious. Envy is a thief. Gratitude is the giver.

Choosing envy is choosing death. When we lean the other way, into gratitude, we choose life, for ourselves and others. We stop asking what’s right, what’s fair, what’s deserved, and we stop feeling entitled and resentful. Instead, we acknowledge that we’re entitled to nothing, and yet, God gives. We should give, too, without ever stopping to question who is worthy. And, where envy takes us to the bad, destructive, Las Vegas kind of party, gratitude throws the life-giving, dad kind of party. One that brings us closer together, and affirms and celebrates life.

May it be so.

Amen.