I was invited to a homeless party.

I have always been a good girl.

Dutiful. Obedient...Resentful.

"The obedient and dutiful life of which I am proud or for which I am praised feels, sometimes, like a burden that was laid on my shoulders and continues to oppress me, even when I have accepted it to such a degree that I cannot throw it off. I have no difficulty identifying with the elder son of the parable who complained: 'All these years I have slaved for you and never once disobeyed any orders of yours, yet you never offered me so much as a kid for me to celebrate with my friends.' In this complaint, obedience and duty have become a burden, and service has become slavery" (The Return of the Prodigal, p. 70).

I perform very well. In fact, that's another of Jesus' characters with whom I shouldn't identify but sadly do - the Pharisee who congratulates himself on being good while praying next to the publican who begs, "Father, have mercy on me, a sinner."

Part of the problem is that I'm deluding myself. The top two commandments, according to Jesus, are to love God with heart, mind and soul and to love your neighbor as yourself. My hierarchy of commandments, on the other hand, goes more like this: Don't murder. Don't steal. Don't do drugs. Don't get drunk. Don't sleep around. Don't dress inappropriately. Don't pierce weird parts of your body. Work really hard. Go to church. Help out with stuff. Don't swear. Don't laugh at inappropriate jokes. Don't get caught speeding. Keep a clean house. Mow your lawn.

The list goes on, and it can get burdensome but it always seems within my power. I am continually striving for a perfect record.

Whereas, loving God with everything in me? Totally beyond my power.

Forgetting myself, not measuring wrongs, giving the shirt off my back? Totally beyond my power.

If I measured myself on what Jesus said were the most important commandments, I would surely pray the prayer of the publican: "Have mercy on me, a sinner."

The other part of the problem is that "being good" makes me neither grateful nor happy. Measuring my goodness makes me feel entitled and jealous of what others receive. When I make "being good" my goal, I focus on myself. I lose sight of God and my brother both.

Which brings me back to the painting. I am the older brother. 

So how (and why) did Jesus invite me to the party?

In late 2007, I answered an ad for a writer at the Union Gospel Mission. During the interview process, Executive Director Phil Altmeyer asked me, "How did you develop a heart for the homeless?" I remember a moment of panic when I thought, I don't have a heart for the homeless. My answer, which I think is still true, was that I am a storyteller, and the story UGM needed to tell was the story of the individual who becomes homeless. I could tell that story.

I guess it worked because I got the job, but today, I see God bringing me here as his way of inviting me to the party.

In Jesus' parable, the father left the celebration to look for the older brother. He said, "My son, you are always with me, and everything I have is yours." 

Jesus sought me out in the same way and he brought me to a place where I see the gospel at work every day. I get to be part of feeding the hungry, handing out warm socks, and providing refuge. I rub elbows with people willing to admit their brokenness and fear and mistakes. I see people giving selflessly. And I see healing.

God knows - I mean, he really knows - that, left to my own devices, I would focus on being good. By bringing me here, he has shown me that it's not about that. It's really not.

"Looking deeply into myself and then around me at the lives of other people, I wonder which does more damage, lust or resentment? There is so much resentment among the 'just' and the 'righteous.' There is so much judgment, condemnation and prejudice among the 'saints.' There is so much frozen anger among the people who are so concerned about avoiding 'sin.' The lostness of the resentful 'saint' is so hard to reach precisely because it is so closely wedded to the desire to be good and virtuous" (Return of the Prodigal, p. 71).

I am called to be like the Father.

Whether you and I identify with the younger brother or the older brother, as believers, God clearly calls us to be like the Father.

"Perhaps the most radical statement Jesus ever made is: 'Be compassionate as your Father is compassionate.' God's compassion is described by Jesus not simply to show me how willing God is to feel for me, or to forgive me my sins and offer me new life and happiness, but to invite me to become like God to show the same compassion to others as he is showing to me" (Return of the Prodigal, p. 123).

Want to come to the party? Here's a good place to start...