Co-Winner in the best Sermon Contest

How many of you watch the Academy Awards? The coverage of the Oscars is a perennial ratings winner, and it's not hard to figure out why people tune in.

Hollywood is on display in all its glitz and excess. The parade of rich and famous emerging from limousines in outfits that are worth more than many of us will see in a year is a fantasy brought to life. We strain for a glimpse of our favorite personality as they wave to the crowd in the stands and grant interviews with hungry reporters. We wrack our brains trying to remember the names of all the actors and directors that file into the cavernous hall. And all of this before the show even begins.

Once inside the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, we are treated to lavish production numbers weaving orchestra, performers and dancers into a montage of sight and sound that dazzles and entertains. The host and presenters lead us through a maze of nominations and awards from every aspect of the motion picture industry.

While this is all very engaging, my favorite moments during the telecast are very fleeting and often overlooked. Let me describe them"”see if you can recall these images.

The presenter for the best actress in a leading role, for example, is at the podium. As he or she reads through the names of the nominated actresses, a series of small, live video feeds appear along the edges of your screen. Each window captures the image of one of the actresses. As the envelope is opened, you can see the anticipation and anxiety on each of the five nominees. Then, the moment of truth.

A number of years ago, the Academy opted to do away with the phrase "And the winner is . . ." It was replaced by "And the Oscar goes to . . ." A name is read. For a split second, you are able to watch the reactions of five people as they realize that, at least for one moment in time, there is one winner and four losers. And in that brief moment, if you watch closely, you see three things. Surprise is the first response. Win or lose, the announcement has shock value. That's why we are watching in the first place. We want to know who won. Whether we agree with the choice or not, the moment we learn the winner's name, we experience surprise.

Immediately following surprise is a mixture of satisfaction and disappointment. The winner leaps from her seat in jubilation and pride at the acclaim her work has received. The losers (or non-winners, for those who require PC terminology) experience that elevator-drop feeling in the pit of their stomachs and do some of the best acting of their careers in the two seconds that follow the announcement.

The third expression and underlying emotion is much more difficult to detect, and somewhat unsettling to identify. The Germans have a word for it. Schadenfreude. What is it? Walk by an elementary playground and listen to the children for a few minutes. Have you ever heard this? (Sung in a whiney voice) "Na-na-na-na-na-na." Fans of The Simpsons will recognize Nelson Munn as the poster boy for Schadenfreude: "Ha-ha!" (An imitation of Nelson's voice is essential)

Still not sure you're familiar with the concept? Schadenfreude is the perverse glee that you experience when someone else fails or experiences disappointment. It is not innocent or reflexive, like snickering at a banana peel-induced pratfall or an unintentional gaffe. No, schadenfreude is sinister and malevolent because it is nothing less than rejoicing in the misery of another.

And the amazing thing is that we experience this sinister joy in an indiscriminate manner. It doesn't matter who failed; friend or foe, rich or poor, stranger or family"”as long as it isn't me. Leave it to our Teutonic ancestors to come up with a word for this ghastly facet of our psyche.

I've noticed that my experience of schadenfreude is proportionate to feelings of envy I have toward another human being. Isn't it great when people who have it all fail and suffer? We revel in the wreckage!

Open the entertainment section of the newspaper or pick up a copy of People magazine. The headlines and features offer up a schadenfreude smorgasbord: "Teen Star Arrested in Drug Sting," "Corporate Executive Caught with Mistress," "Local Politician Charged With Insurance Fraud," "Clergy Absconds With Mission Offering." And we devour this information. We can't get enough. Why else is the media so fixated on this form of exploitation? The market is growing by leaps and bounds.

Christians don't like to talk about this sort of thing. It makes us uncomfortable to admit that we harbor such vile feelings. We bristle at the suggestion that there is a sick joy that bubbles within us when others stumble. We couch our satisfaction in condescending clichÃ©s: "They are reaping what they have sown." "Pride goes before a fall." And my personal favorite: "There but for the grace of God, go I." Translation: "Thank you, God, that I'm not them."

Schadenfreude is an expression of our vision of justice. It is the emotional complement to the rage we feel when another driver blows past us at ninety miles an hour on the turnpike. You find yourself praying for a policeman to be stationed around the bend with radar gun in hand. You want some justice! And when there are no flashing lights and sirens, you feel cheated. Someone got away with something, and it wasn't you!

Enter the elder brother in the story of the Prodigal Son. He had an idea of justice and, as far as he is concerned, all is well. The daily tour of his family's estate is conducted with an air of pride and a smirk planted firmly on his face. Gone is the younger brother, that impulsive and disrespectful idiot. "If there was any justice in God's good creation, he is either begging for food, toiling in anonymity, or wasting away in jail. In any event, he is, as far as the family is concerned, dead. What a loser."

"But wait, who's that coming down the lane? Could it be . . . no way! There goes Dad out to confront him. Oh, this is going to be sweet!" Schadenfreude.

But something unbelievable happens. The father welcomes him and escorts his younger son into the family home. His joy is evident as he wraps the boy in his own robe. The signet ring with the family seal is placed upon his hand. Shoes are brought for his blistered feet. And then, insult is added to injury. A huge party is thrown in honor of the wayward son. This is preposterous!

Is it any wonder the older brother refuses to join in the celebration? I wouldn't go in if you paid me. If my father is going to do away with all sense of decency and fair play, I'll have no part of it. Does the older brother ever relent and welcome his sibling? Is there peace in the household? The author does not reveal the rest of the story. This much is certain, however: the fate of the family rests in the hands and heart of the elder brother. It's his choice. Schadenfreude or fellowship? Pride or reconciliation? My vision of justice or the grace of a loving Father?

The Prodigal Son is one of the "hard" sayings of Jesus. It reminds me that my pride often distances me from God and from those around me. It startles me with a demonstration of grace and forgiveness that thwarts my concept of justice. It humbles me with the realization that I am no more worthy of God's exuberant welcome than those who have squandered His inheritance and run from His presence. We do not deserve a place in his household, either as heir or as servant. Like the Prodigal Son, we have treated God as though He were dead. But God is always waiting for us. Robe, ring, and sandals in hand, He scans the horizon hoping for a glimpse of our silhouette. There is no schadenfreude in the Lord, no childish retort to our plea for mercy. There is no haughty smirk, followed by the dreaded, "I told you so." The love of our Heavenly Father for you and me is so profound that it borders on worship. Apparently, God would give anything, including His Son, to bring us home and embrace us as His own. This kind of love is beyond our experience and understanding. Fortunately, our lack of comprehension doesn't make it any less real.