Luke 15: 11-24
What is the greatest story ever told? Should we search the writings of Ernest Hemmingway, or Edgar Allen Poe, Rudyard Kipling, or Jack London? The finest story ever told was written nearly two thousand years ago. It is the story of the prodigal son. Not counting the appendix dealing with his elder brother, the story is told in less than 350 words. Yet this story never grows old, never fails to charm, and never ceases to hammer home the greatness of our God.
Consider with me first something about this great chapter from the inspired writings of Luke. The entire chapter is about lost things. There is the lost sheep in verses 4-7 and there is the lost silver in verses 8-10 and the lost son in verses 11-32. In the account that Jesus gives of these "lost things" there is one commonality. That common thread is the seeking nature of our God. In fact the major theme is not the prodigal, but it is the marvelous Father of the prodigal son.
This parable is one of Jesus' deathless parables. Every one of His parables is a miracle in words. Every parable is an earthly story with a heavenly meaning; each is a matchless, priceless pearl of wisdom. The story of the prodigal son is essentially the story of a father's love.
Jesus came to teach us a new name for God. God had often revealed Himself in the Old Testament by means of His names. He is Elohim, Jehovah, Adonai, El Elyon, and El Shaddai. He was Jehovah Jireh, Jehovah Shalom, and Jehovah Nissi. He was the great I Am. He was the Creator, God Almighty, the Lord who provides, the Lord who is our peace, and the Lord who is our banner. The ages rolled by, and God lived up to the names by which he had progressively revealed Himself. Then Jesus came. He taught men a new name for God. He taught them that God is Father-and nowhere more so than in the story of the prodigal son. This story, together with the companion story of the older brother, is simply the story of God as Father. Jesus speaks of God the Father twelve times in twenty-two short verses. If we miss God the Father, we miss the whole point of the parable.
Yet this parable is not without its detractors. Some carping critics have found fault with this, the sweetest story ever told along two lines. They say first that there is no element of search in the parable. The father did not run after his wayward boy. He did not scour the brothels, the bars, and the bawdy houses of the far-off country. He did not search through the dives and dens of sin. He did not haunt the gambling joints, the pleasure palaces, the back alleys, and the slums of the far country in search of his son.
Critics say too that the parable has no element of sacrifice. God does not smile, nod, and lightly forgive. His holiness demands sacrifice. As we read in Hebrews 9:22, "Without shedding of blood is no remission."
As usual, the critics are wrong. There is an element of search. When the prodigal son was far, far away, not a day passed that the father's heart did not follow the son into the distant country. The father did not run after his son because that never does any good.
Every day the father searched the horizon for the first sign of the prodigal's return. Not a day passed when the father did not take up his watch on some vantage point and stare with tear-filled eyes down the dusty road that led away from home. We know that because when the prodigal decided to come home, "when he was yet a great way off, the father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him" (Luke 15:20). Oh yes, the element of search is there. It is not overly emphasized in this story because the search has already been fully treated in the companion story of the lost sheep.
The parable of the prodigal also contains an element of sacrifice. It is astonishing how critics could have missed the fact that the feast was founded on sacrifice. The father said, "Bring forth the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry" (Luke 15:23). Of course there is an element of sacrifice. Jesus would not overlook that.
The story of the prodigal son revolves around two focal points: the far horizons and the father's house.
I. THE FAR HORIZONS
How do we measure the distance to the far country? Do we measure it in terms of miles or in terms of morals? Or do we measure it in terms of both? In the end the prodigal discovered that the far country was distant from the father's house both in terms of miles and morals.
We could measure how far the prodigal traveled in terms of miles if we knew his starting point (Jerusalem or Capernaum or Nazareth) and where he ended up (Antioch or Corinth or Rome). It would be simply a matter of mathematics or geography.
Suppose the prodigal headed north to Caesarea from Jerusalem. That would be about sixty-five miles. If he then sailed to Myra on the seacoast of the Roman province of Lycia, that would be another five hundred miles. Suppose he changed ships there and headed on to Malta; that would be another nine hundred miles. If he went from there to Rome, landed where Paul had landed at Puteoli, and headed north up the Appian Way, that would be another five hundred miles or so. By that time he would have traveled some two thousand miles from home. In those days, given the terrible road conditions and the even worse sea conditions, that would have been a far country indeed.
It would be possible, then, to calculate how far the prodigal went if we measure the distance in terms of miles-no matter whether he headed north to Antioch, east to Babylon, west to Rome, or south to Egypt. We have no way; however, to measure how far he went in terms of morals.
When he came back from Corinth or Carthage, from Galatia or Gaul, the road had a beginning point and an ending point. But when the prodigal came back from his immoralities and indecencies, from his debaucheries and drunkenness, there is s sense in which part of him remained in the far country. There he left behind unhappy young women whom he had helped to ruin, and addicted young men whom he had helped to destroy with drugs and alcohol. In the far country remained men and women who were much the worse now than they had been before the prodigal had come their way.
In that far country, mothers wept because this young man had come their way with his good looks and daredevil ways, and his fine clothes and bulging wallet. These mothers cried their hearts out because he had swept their daughters off their feet, seduced them, and then laughingly gone on his way, leaving them forever soiled and shamed. In that far country fathers were bowed and bent because this young man had met their sons and taught them how to use drugs and debauch themselves.
So the prodigal had come back, but others had continued the wild ways in which he had encouraged them. How far was the far country in terms of morals? His sin was "a rebellion against the entire universe, an anarchy against society, an outrage on everything, a crime against everybody." His sin had contaminated the planet. Even the far country had become a worse place as a result of the prodigal's pleasures.
We can measure our waywardness if it is only to be measured in terms of miles, but we can never measure our waywardness in terms of example, influence, and cause and effect.
What the prodigal figured
We can picture this young man, who grew up in that good home, becoming increasingly impatient with his father's devotions, his father's duties, and his father's discipline. The father had lofty principles and high moral standards. He was kindly, but he was firm.
The prodigal decided at last that he had had enough. He was tired of family devotions, tired of the daily tedium of sitting through a reading of the Scriptures, and tired of listening to his father's pious prayers. He was tired of hearing his father say no whenever he wanted to go to this shady place or that questionable house. If I leave home, he thought, I will be free.
That is always the Devil's first lie. "Be free," he says. "Be yourself. Get out from under these restrictions and restraints. Do your own thing." The prodigal followed the devil's lead when he decided he had had enough of the rules that were part of living at home.
What the Prodigal Forgot
The prodigal forgot that the path of sin is expensive. He demanded his share of the family fortune and wasted no time in converting it into cash. Then he packed his bags, lined his purse, and went out-thoughtless young fool that he was-to live on his capital. Of course it soon ran out. Easy come, easy go. The money poured through his wasteful hands. Into taverns he went as the big shot calling for drinks all around. Into gambling joints he went crying, "Increase the stakes." Into fairgrounds he rushed announcing, "Come on fellows. Everything is on me." The far country was expensive. It took everything and gave nothing.
What the prodigal found
Fair-weather friends
In the far country the prodigal found fair-weather friends. "When he had spent allhe began to be in want" (Luke 15:14). His friends soon left him when he had no more money to throw around.
We can see the prodigal as he looks ruefully at his empty purse and searches his pockets for a forgotten dollar or two. We see him as he approaches a friend on the street before the news is out that his funds are all gone. "Say Marcus, could you loan me some money?"
"Sorry, old fellow. Wish I could, you know, but I am short myself. Why don't you get your old man to send you some more? See you around."
Far-reaching Famine
In the far country the prodigal also found far-reaching famine. It was the worst possible time to run out of funds because famine was on the way. Hard times were coming. Even those who might have been disposed to help him were too occupied with their own needs to care about him. "He began to be in want."
There are thirteen famines in the Bible and they are all significant. This one was providential both in its timing and in its terror. It was a "mighty famine," the Lord says (Luke 15:14), and it came just when the prodigal was most vulnerable. God sends circumstances like this into our lives to drive us to Himself. All too often we forget about Him when things are going well.
Earth's pleasures dried up for the prodigal. His resources failed. There was no more fun, no more food, and no more future. He had come to the end of the line. He had been having so much fun a few months earlier, but now he was stranded in a hostile environment. He had no resources left and no respect left. He had come to the end-but not quite the end. He had to sink lower before he would give in.
Jesus said that "he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine" (Luke 15:15). Remember now that this young man was a Jew. For Jew to have anything to do with swine was against the Mosaic Law, which classified hogs as unclean. No Jew was to contaminate himself with such creatures. Swine-herding was a dirty business in Israel. For this well-bred young Jew to sink so low as to take a job feeding swine was an indication of how low he had sunk and how desperate his need had become. For him to take a filthy job like that then would be like a man today making a living by peddling pornography.
He "joined himself," Jesus says, to the man who owned this unclean business. The word translated "joined himself" is interesting, for it means "he cleaved to" and comes from the word that means "to glue together." The prodigal found a man who had a job opening, even though it was a detestable kind of job, and he glued himself to this man. The prodigal stuck to him. Surely he could sink no lower.
But he did. "He would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat" (Luke 15:16). He sat there by the pig swill. He watched the animals rooting in the garbage. He sank so low that he began to devour the foul food that the pigs were eating. We can see him with a lean and hungry look, his rags and tatters reeking of the swine trough, and his face and hands grimy with filth. We can see him scrape out the bottom of the pig pail and stuff into his mouth the scraps that event he pigs had left behind. He not only engaged in a filthy business; he stuffed himself with the garbage that he handled. The prodigal had truly hit bottom. He had discovered that the devil is a cruel master and that the end of the road in this world is a cold place to be.
II. THE FATHER'S HOUSE
As long as the prodigal's money, his friends, and his good times lasted, he did not think at all. He was having too much fun. That is why God allowed him to become friendless and forsaken, homeless and hungry, beggared and abandoned. Now, in extreme need, he began to think.
His Decision
His Situation
"How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger!" (Luke 15:17). It was the first thought that the prodigal had had concerning his father since the seeds of rebellion took root in his soul. His father was good, generous and gracious. His father would not allow even one of his hired hands to starve to death on his doorstep. Yet here I am, he thought, miles from home, grubbing around in the garbage pails of sin, sitting with swine, trying to stave off my hunger pangs with slop from a pig pail. He began to feel sorry for himself. What am I doing here?
His Sin
"I will arise and go to my father, and will say to him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants" (Luke 15:18-19). That was a giant step forward. There can be no conversation without conviction. Not until the prodigal came to himself could he come to his father.
Not until we see our desperate need of a heavenly Father's love, compassion, and grace can we make the first move towards home. We must first confess that we are poor, lost sinners. It would have done no good for this young man to return home as rebellious and as riotous in soul as when he left.
We can see the prodigal as he went up to the big house on the hill. The swine were still rooting in the fields. The pig trough was almost empty of slop. Holding the pig pail, he banged on the farmhouse door. "Here, mister," he called, "here is your pig pail. I won't be needing it any longer. I'm going home."
We can see the farmer as he eyed the young man up and down. He looked at the prodigal's tattered finery, his emaciated form, his straggly beard, his unkempt hair, his filthy face, his dirty hands, and his bare, mud-covered feet. He held his nose at the stench of the pigsty that reeked through the ruins of the young man's robes. "You're going home? Looking like that? After what you've done to your father's fine name? If you were my son, I'd turn the dogs on you. That's what I would do."
"Mister," we can hear the prodigal reply, "I daresay you would. But you don't know my father."
His Discovery
The poor young fellow with a new look in his eyes strode out of the gate and headed along the highway for home. He had a long, long way to go. The outward trip had been easy; it had been all downhill, all fun and frolic. The way back was steep and hard.
His heart must have failed him at times. What if he were too late? What if he had sinned away the day of grace? What if his father, tired of the long wait, had barred and bolted the door?
On and on he went, footsore, weary, and hungry. One fixed hope guided him: his father would be gracious and forgiving. At last the prodigal topped the last rise. There is was on yonder hill-the family home. We suspect that at this point his feet must have faltered. He had caught the neighbors' scornful looks as he went past their doors, and he had heard the caustic comments. Moreover, he had caught a fresh look at himself in the reflecting waters of a pool.
We can see him sit down on a worn stump and put his head in his hands. We can hear him groan in the bitterness of his soul. Coming home had all sounded so easy in the far country, but now.He dare not go on.
Then he heard a call; the prodigal heard his name. He lifted up his head and saw an old man running toward him at top speed. It was his father! For "when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him" (Luke 15:20). Yes, his father kissed him. He kissed him despite the filth, the stench, the vermin, the disgrace, and the shame. He kissed him.
"Father," the prodigal said, "I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son" (Luke 15:21).
1. A Gracious Father
The father called for the best robe and a ring. He would not even hear the part about his son being made a hired servant. Likewise, our heavenly Father forgives us. He does not say, "Well, we'll see. We'll put you to work for a while. We'll need some good works out of you before we can receive you back into the family." Salvation is not of works. You do not work to be saved and you do not work to stay saved. We come just as we are, wearing all the rags and tatters of our lost estate, and he receives us just as we are. He clothes us and crowns us, gives us the robe and the ring, arraying us with his righteousness (the robe) and endowing us with sonship (the ring). He gives us a position in the family-a position of love and trust, of sonship and responsibility. We have a gracious Father.
2. A Glorious Feast
"My son is starving," said his dear father. "Where's the fatted calf?" What a feast there was-what music, what dancing! What a gathering there was in that home to welcome back the prodigal son.
That is just like God. First He saves us, and then He satisfies us. Probably the prodigal had not had such a feast since he left home. It was good, wholesome food. It was not the fine, fancy food on which he had squandered his wealth, nor rare exotic wines of distant lands. It was the good, plain, wholesome food of his father's house. Likewise, God will feed us. He will feed us on His Word and on all the good things that grace can provide.
3. A Great Forgiveness
"My son," said the father. ""This my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost and is found" (Luke 15:24). The son experienced full and free restoration to the family.
Dead, alive, lost, found-in those four words we have the whole story of redeeming, regenerating grace. God is willing to pick up poor, lost sinners who are dead in trespasses and sins, breathe into their souls eternal life. God will take rebels and reinstate them into His family. All we have to do is come-just as we are.