Three Sons

I am a middle child.

I was well into my teens, I guess, when I learned that this is supposed to be a challenging position, that I am supposed to feel like a second class citizen, underloved, undernoticed, and undercelebrated.

On the contrary, I have generally found it to be quite a comfortable spot in the lineup. While the older child is trying everything first and enthusiastically accepting responsibilities (i.e., work), and the youngest is still requiring attention and assistance… the middle child can quite comfortably lay back and watch it all. Or step back and escape it all. I recall long treks in the woods with my dog (while my older sister was likely energetically cleaning the house) and happy hours circling the lawn on the riding mower (while she learned to cook and bake and sew). No mistake, I would be very reluctant to give up middlehood.

Maybe that’s why I envision another character in the Parable of the Prodigal Son. I know the father had only two sons, but in trying to identify with either of them I find that I am somewhere in the middle – and I think a lot of Christians today are with me on this.

We shrink from the elder brother. We respect our Father too much to protest the celebration of any prodigal’s return. We might shrug and mutter a bit – but not to the Father. We wouldn’t want to make a scene or throw cold water on His joy. So we don’t stay out on the porch or begrudge our transformed brother a fatted calf and a few hours of dancing.

But neither do we always rush to hug him and offer him a place beside us at the dinner table and take him to town to proclaim his return. We play the middle child, present in body but not in heart and soul. While we’re genuinely relieved that the Father’s long days of anguish are over, we’re content to step back to watch the festivities. Keep our reservations to ourselves. Maybe make an early exit to take care of duties, or just hide in the hay and contemplate the day’s events.

Middlehood. It might work if the Father didn’t know our hearts, but He does. In His family, there’s no escape. No carefree hours spent circling the issue while neglecting what He wants most of all – a heart like His, eyes that see every brother for what they are – prodigals every one, and ourselves first of all. Lips that welcome the wanderer home, arms that offer a grace-filled embrace, and feet that dance with the angels in heaven.

Now there’s a challenging position... but there’s no more comfortable spot in the lineup!