Day 173: Luke 15:11–32

While the son was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion (v. 20).

At times I’ve descended from the place of appropriate repentance where I was sorry for my sins, to the place of inappropriate self-loathing where I was sorry Christ was “forced” (as if He could be) to save me. I’d find myself wishing I had been a nicer sinner. More pleasant to save.

Emotion washes over me today as I remember again: Christ came for sinners like me. He wanted to save me. He didn’t come for the pious and perfect. Our Savior came to seek and to save the lost. The hopeless. The foolish. The weak. The depraved. In His own words: “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance” (Luke 5:31–32).

I have no idea how many times I’ve read and even taught the story of the prodigal son, yet it still brings me to tears. I am such a product of this kind of father love. Perhaps you are too. I’ve watched God take a young woman I love very much and restore her to the right road after a prodigal detour. She has cried out to me, “When will all these painful repercussions end?”

I have answered her, “Not until the very idea of straying causes you such painful flashbacks that you’re hardly ever tempted to depart His will again.” God wants to whisper to our hearts, “Are you sure you want to go back there again?” and hear us say, “No way do I want that kind of pain!”

Luke 15:17 tells us that the son considered the abundance of his father’s hired hands and realized the insanity of starving to death. He waited to go home until his desperation exceeded his pride. That the prodigal planned what he would say hints at the difficulty of his return. I wonder if the son was pacing. And pacing. And pacing. He could see his home in the distance, but perhaps he could not bring himself to walk that last mile. He looked at his father’s vast estate and glanced down at his own poor estate. His clothes were worn and filthy. Dirt under every nail. His hair long and matted or shorn to the skin to defend against lice. All at once, he became aware of his own foul smell. He was destitute. Degraded.

But the prodigal’s father was looking for his son in the distance. I imagine that every day since his son’s departure, his father had studied the horizon in search of his son’s silhouette. Just as the starving son had longed for food, his father had yearned for him. His was a yearning so deep that no amount of work could assuage it. Family members could not replace it. No distraction could soothe it. Oh, friend, can you glimpse the heart of God? Do you realize that when you run from Him, He yearns for you every minute and cannot be distracted from His thoughts of you?

When God sees our poor estate and the ravaging effects of our foolish decisions, He doesn’t just sit back and say, “She got what she deserved.” He is filled with compassion and longs to bring us back home. Yes, we face consequences, but those consequences are a loving summons back to the Father.

In one of the most moving moments in all of Scripture, Luke 15:20 records that the father “ran” to his son. Scripture often employs anthropomorphisms—descriptions of God as if He had a human body. We sometimes read that God walked (in the midst of His people) or that He rode (on the clouds like chariots), but this is the only time in the entire Word of God when He is described as running.

What makes God run? A prodigal child turning his face toward home! How can we resist Him? How can we not reciprocate such lavish love?

When was the last time you saw an older man, the father of adult children, run? Would you picture it now? Can you feel his heart pounding in his chest? Can you hear him catching his breath? Nothing could keep him from his son.

When he reached the son, the son tried his best to give the speech he had planned, but to no avail. In all his talk of unworthiness, he didn’t realize he was unworthy even before he left. He was a son not because he earned the right to be, but because he was born of his father. He could exceed the realm of his father’s shield, but he could not exceed the reach of his father’s love. “Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found” (vv. 22–24). The father literally kissed the son’s past away.

Merciful Savior! Graceful God! You have kissed this prodigal’s past into forgetfulness! Though mockers may accuse me, though gossipers may make sport of me, though brothers may jealously despise me, I will celebrate! Let all hear music and dancing! For I once was dead and now I’m alive again. I once was lost and now I am found.