The Father's Love: Luke 15. 11-32.

In this story of the "Prodigal Son", who did you identify with? For some of us, it's the father, dumped on, taken for granted, abandoned, grieving, shouted at.  For some of us, it's big brother, feeling ill done by, critical, envious.  "Why does God allow things to happen? Why do other people get all the breaks? Why should I bail out people who get themselves in a mess?"  For some of us, it's the younger brother.  Looking for a good time; getting in a mess, scared and daunted at the possibility of getting it all sorted out.

He wouldn't be the first, nor the last young person to decide he wanted to be free from the restrictions and narrowness and sheer boredom of life at home, joining the family business, working for a lifetime, then retiring and passing things over to the next generation.  There was a big world out there and this young man wanted to get out and enjoy it.  So he asked his Dad for his share in the inheritance.  By any standards, that is pretty crass. It's as good as saying to his father, "Dad, why don't you just drop dead in a corner somewhere!" Sure, it sounds pretty reasonable at one level: "it's mine anyway; you've got all this money and I have none, and there is a big world out there. Some of us just aren't wired for a stay-at-home, respectable life."  But it was an immense and hurtful insult to his Dad, to all the family had worked for over the years - and indeed to the driving force and spiritual heart of the nation in which he lived.  The land was a sacred trust; it historically had been allocated to the family and wasn't supposed to pass out of the family. In fact it really belonged to God.  It was wrong at almost every level. And what did Dad do?  Did he stop him? No. Did he lecture him? No. He gave him what he had asked for and let him go.

It didn't take long for all the money to be spent. A party lifestyle is an expensive business. As long as he had money, he had friends to help him spend it. As soon as the money was gone, so were the friends!  He hit rock bottom. You won't find a pork pie at a bar-mitzvah: pigs are unclean animals to Jews as to Muslims.  You couldn't get much lower than slopping stuff out for pigs.  So there he is, until, starving, humiliated, embarrassed and scared, he worked out a little plan. "I'll go home and ask dad for a job.  Just mucking out for the minimum wage, but Dad's always been a good employer; I'll get a piece at lunch time... but I better work out what I'm gong to say."

Meanwhile, Dad is grieving.  He knows how long the money is likely to last. He figures that the younger son must be having a hard time by now. How he wishes he could just see him, hug him, look after him... Dad takes to spending every spare minute at the farm gate, looking down towards the main road.  Praying, hoping, watching, until one day he sees a stooped, ragged, broken figure walking hesitantly up the lane.  Dad recognised his son. And Dad ran. Now, in the Middle East 2000 years ago, mature men didn't run.  They walked at a dignified pace.  Running was for the teenagers, or slaves. If you wanted something urgently, you sent one of your lads, or you sent a slave.  You didn't run.  But this Dad ran.  He welcomed his lost son home, not as a slave but as a son; he honoured him and celebrated with him

I want to tell you that God is like that.  Despite the insults, the squandering of resources, the self-indulgences, the embarrassment and shame, God still loves you. He's out. Looking for you.  The first sign you show of coming to him, he comes running to meet you, to welcome you.  You have a loving heavenly Father who grieves over your mistakes, who cares for you, who seeks you and saves you.

That's what Jesus is all about:  Jesus told this story, along with two other shorter ones, in response to people moaning about the company he was keeping: "he hangs out with all the wrong kind of people..." He came and the mingled among the outcasts and the broken, walked alongside them in his life and his death, so that the outcasts and the broken could walk alongside him as sons and daughters of a heavenly Father. Dealing  with another rogue, Jesus says he came to seek and to save the lost. (Lk 19.10)

The whole of the Christian faith is about this Father's love.  It's not about being respectable, well-dressed, well-spoken, well-educated, well-behaved.  It's about coming to your heavenly Father and saying "I've messed up; I'm ashamed and embarrassed by some of the stuff in my life; will you have me back?"  And God says, "Yes! Welcome home! You're my son, my daughter; you belong; you're forgiven; I want to take care of you; let's party!"

But the big brother missed the party - or nearly did.  Busy on the farm, he came home for his tea, to be greeted with the sound of a party; to ask one of the labourers what was going on, and to be told, "Your wee brother has come home." And he ended up in a sulk... All of those negative feelings, jealousy, resentment, criticism, lashed out not just at his brother but also at his father for throwing this party.  Big brother was lost too: alienated from his father. But Dad had slipped out of the party, and was walking towards him, welcoming him in, too.

Maybe some of us are there. We've lived a respectable life. We're hard working and responsible. We feel God kind of owes us. Maybe we look down on people who have problems in their lives; maybe we get resentful and jealous and angry when we have struggles in our lives.  You know what? Father is out looking for you too.

Whoever you identify with in this story, I want to tell you that you have a Heavenly Father who is just like the father in this story.  This is the character of God himself.  Nothing needs to separate you from his love.  Not rebellion, nor guilt or shame, nor resentment or jealousy.  There is joy in heaven over one sinner who repents, who comes back. Come home. Turn around. Come into the party. This is always your heavenly Father's heart for you. To look for you, to welcome you. To forgive you, to clean you up. To restore you. To nurture you. To make you like himself.  

Many years ago when my youngest son was about six, we were out for a walk, climbing our local hill.  Now this hill had a number of places where the path was very muddy and slippery. Peter fell in the mud. I suspect that - encouraged by his brothers - he rolled in it. He came back to us covered from head to foot, looking a bit ridiculous. But he put his middy wee paw in mine and walked with me down that hill, as though he was six feet tall. Did I mind? No. That's your heavenly Father's love. He wants you to take his hand and walk with him, whatever mess you're in.

© Gilmour Lilly August 2012