“When (the Prodigal Son) came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired servants.’ So he got up and went to his father.
“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.” (Luke 15:17-20)
The Lost/Prodigal Son.
The parable could just as easily be named for either of the other two characters in it: The Selfish/Envious Brother or The Loving Father.
But in its relationship to the two parables that Jesus told just before it (The Lost Sheep and The Lost Coin—Luke 15:1-10), The Lost Son makes the most sense. It is about what is lost and then found.
But this third parable in Luke 15 is different from the first two. Some key points of distinction set this one apart from the others.
It must be noted that this is a parable, and as such, it cannot and should not be pushed as a model for things that it is not intended to model.
However, of all the parables that Jesus told, this one may have the most dynamic and multi-faceted lessons that we are supposed to learn.
Take a few minutes and read all of Luke 15:1-32. Note the similarities between the three parables of lost things. Also, notice the differences.
Primary among the differences is the agency of the lost son. The lost son is the one who is responsible for his own lostness. In both his journey away from his family and his contrite return, we can see ourselves and our own condition.
Early in the parable, the son thinks not only that he knows what he wants but that he knows what is best. His disregard and disrespect for his father, his lack of a sense of responsibility to his family, and his overwhelming desire to pursue his own passions and pleasures reveal (much like mirrors placed in front of our own souls) that the prodigal’s only concern was himself.
The lost son is the one who is responsible for his own lostness. In both his journey away from his family and his contrite return, we can see ourselves and our own condition.
The man chases his pleasures. At all costs, he pursues his passions, which lead him to a far country—a country away from family, friends, and all the familiar things that bring comfort and security.
Pressed into hard times, he does the unthinkable, both socially and surely from his own deluded perspective.
When the son left home and family, with pockets full of what should have been enough to wisely live on for a long time, there could have been no visions of lack. Scarcity was a bit of dust blown away by the wind.
Later, however, rather than being the center of attention, he found himself on the outside looking longingly in on safety and security. He was desperate, and he did a desperate thing.
He found work, slopping around among the unclean and forbidden. His stomach as empty as the pursuit of pleasure had likely left his soul. The thrills of friends and festivities present only in taunting memory, doing nothing to satisfy the ache in his belly. His emptiness of stomach was probably matched by that of his soul as he was tempted to throw one handful of feed to the swine and shove the next into his own mouth.
A hand clutching rotting food and a stomach hungry enough to tell his brain the aroma was enticing was the reality that finally brought him to his senses.
He made a plan to return home.
And he was welcomed with open arms by an ecstatic and relieved father.
As we read the story of the prodigal son, we are confronted with an image of our own lostness. A man, consumed by his own desire for a life of his own making, sets off to find a life of his own making. A loving father who will not force his son to abide by the rules that are best for him.
Yet the life the man found was empty, and he longed to be back in his father’s home. So he repented. He turned from his own way and headed home.
This is what it means to come to God.
When we, too, see the emptiness of our own situation, when we realize that we are so starving that the garbage around us becomes appealing, when we understand that in our Father’s house is an invitation to safety, security, and wholeness—that is when we too repent. We turn from our own lives and seek the Father.
And God, when we are still a long way off, rushes to greet us and welcome us home. He embraces us with a love that we do not deserve, a love that we have abused and mistreated. He removes the smelly remnants of our life among the swine and calls us His son, celebrating over our safe return.
If you haven’t yet come to your senses, if you have not realized the futility of your pursuit of your own pleasures—what will it take?
What will it take for you to turn and head to God’s home and let Him hold you in His warm embrace?
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