Luke 15:1-32

The parable we just read is commonly called “The Parable of the Prodigal Son”. That’s not very good name for it, or at least it’s not very accurate. The definition of “prodigal” is: “recklessly extravagant.” Now, yes, that fits the younger son and what he did, but the story is about a lot more than that. There’s another reckless extravagance at work here. The real prodigal in this parable is not the younger son.
And that makes sense — because what Jesus wanted to illustrate for the Pharisees and teachers of the law was not what sinners are like, but what God is like.
Not that the Pharisees and teachers of the law were asking what God was like, of course — they assumed they knew everything already. But their attitude toward Jesus — and especially toward the “sinners” he welcomed and ate with — showed that their understanding of God was woefully inadequate. They really didn’t know God at all, and their relationship with him was broken, although they thought they were his favorites.
And so Jesus, demonstrating the grace that this parable illustrates, lovingly and patiently answers the question they didn’t know enough to ask: What is God like?
I think Jesus’ audience understood as well as you and I do that the father in this parable represents God. He’s the first person we meet, and the first thing we learn about him is that he has two sons. And then the younger of the two tells his father to “drop dead.”
Well, basically, that’s what his request means — he’s saying that he can’t wait any longer for his inheritance, and so he wants it now. He’s saying, “Dad, sorry, you’re of no value to me alive — I’d rather you were dead, so I can get what’s coming to me. Since you haven’t done me the favor of dying yet, just go ahead and give it to me now and it’ll be all the same to me.”
Now think about that for a minute. What’s the real problem? As awful and greedy and selfish and hurtful as that younger son is being with those words, they aren’t the real or basic problem — they’re just symptoms of it. He wouldn’t be able to even consider saying such a thing to his father if there weren’t something more, something worse going on here. It’s not just that he doesn’t love his dad anymore — it’s that he has completely rejected him and wants nothing to do with him. The heart-wrenching problem here is that the father’s relationship with his younger son is completely broken.
Can you imagine treating your own father or mother this way? I hope not! But that, in essence, is what we say and do to our heavenly Father anytime we choose to go our own way instead of his — anytime we choose any sin — anytime we squander our money, squander our time, our opportunities, squander love. You see, the broken laws and commands are secondary — they’re symptoms of the bigger problem: our rejection of God. Sin is rooted in our desire to do our own thing and be our own person — we don’t want God interfering, and so we tell him we want nothing to do with him. We’ll get by just fine if he’ll just leave us alone.
That’s what Adam and Eve did, isn’t it? They took the fruit from the tree that God had told them not to take fruit from. The sin didn’t begin with eating the fruit; the sin was in their unbelief, their decision to follow their own will and desire instead of their Creator’s — it was their rejection of God.
And the amazing and reckless thing about it all is that God allowed and allows it, just as the father in the parable gives in and lets his son have what he’s asked for. The son may never return when he goes, but the father sees no point in refusing him or stopping him, because he is already lost to him. The relationship has been broken, and keeping him at home wouldn’t bring back the lost love and respect.
And although it’s not so obvious or easily seen, the older son is no better than the younger. His relationship with the father is just as broken. He doesn’t love or respect his father either. He makes his father come to him and plead, and then he refuses to go in. In Middle Eastern society, this would be unheard of — the father going to the son and pleading. The older brother is only concerned with his own position and power — he views his relationship with his father as one of obedience and reward instead of love and respect. And so he also is lost to his father.
Now the older brother was a picture of the self-righteous Pharisees and teachers of the law. Jesus was telling them that they were far from being God’s number one sons, as they thought they were — instead, they were as lost as the tax collectors, “sinners”, and Gentiles — because they knew nothing of God’s extravagant love, God’s prodigious love, and they had rejected him as their father. And the older son is us, too, anytime we slip into thinking God owes us something for … being here for him every Sunday, or for all the things we do for him; or anytime we believe that we’ve got it in good with him because our family isn’t as messed up as someone else’s, or because we’re just plain better than other people. All that, too, is rejection of God.
And so what does this parable tell us first about what God is like? It tells us he’s a rejected God. Through the centuries, from the Garden until today, we reject God. The Lord is a rejected God.
The younger son “came to himself,” and decided to return home, to apologize to his father, and to ask to be treated as one of the hired hands. “But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion’ he ran…” A man like this, a land-owner, a wealthy man, would not be seen running in public. It would have been seen as disgraceful.
But the father didn’t care what anyone else thought. He didn’t care about protecting his pride or his position. He only cared about one thing — getting his son back. And so he ran. He ran to welcome and embrace his lost son, and he ran to cover his half-starved, unwashed, bum of a son with kisses. Because he loved him, and nothing else mattered. The son that had been dead to him was alive again — the one who was lost had been found.
To the Pharisees and teachers of the Law who assumed that God only stayed close to them because of their own efforts, this picture of how God treats sinners would have been shocking. We sometimes forget how radical this parable is. Jesus was revealing something important about what God is like: our God is a running God.
That’s another way of saying that God loves us with a recklessly extravagant love.
All because our God is a running God. He runs to us to welcome us home, because there’s nothing we can do to make ourselves worthy to be called his sons and daughters — he has to do it, and he has done it. He ran to us, gave us faith, saved us, and washed us clean, though we deserved none of it. That is radical — to know that our salvation is not dependent at all upon us or our own works or choices — but that’s the Lord’s amazing grace. Our God is a running God.
But it doesn’t end there. The Lord’s lavish love for us is also pictured with his treatment of his lost son. Notice how the son never has a chance to make his offer to be one of the hired men — it would be pointless anyway, because the father was determined to have him back as a son. The broken relationship was repaired, and his status in the family, the house, and the village was restored. No price to pay, no conditions to meet, nothing held back — because the father loved his son.
The message there is that our many sins and frequent rebellions are forgiven. We don’t have to remain outside the family or house of God until we’ve made up for them. God has restored us — we are perfect, holy, and righteous in his sight for Christ’s sake. Which means that we can say goodbye to all our squandering sins of greed and impatience, of lust and selfish ambition — whatever it is that we have chosen to do that God has said not to do. We don’t have to sin anymore, and we don’t want to, because we’re back home again with our Father, and he loves us.
That’s what our Lord is like. He is a restoring God.
There’s a lot more in this parable — enough to fill a month of Sundays. But there’s one more thing that we see about God here. And we see it, somewhat ironically, in what’s missing.
Take a look at the end of our parable of the prodigal. Do you see what’s not there?
What’s not there is a conclusion. There’s no ending. We don’t see what the older brother does or says after his father pleads with him to come in and join the celebration over his brother’s return. Which means that the father is waiting. Waiting. Just as he eagerly ran to meet the son who had gone away and been lost, he patiently waits for the son who had stayed put and been lost. He waits for his son, and you know he will wait as long as he can, because he loves him.
And so we see also that our Lord is also a waiting God. He’s patient with us — with all people — because he loves us.
And what is he waiting for? He’s waiting for those who have rejected him and his love to come in — to repent. He’s waiting for them to love him — to stop keeping him at a distance, and stop pretending that obedience is a substitute for faith and respect.
And for those who already belong to him, God waits and wants us to be like him. Which means God’s also waiting for us to love our sisters and brothers as he loves them, and to rejoice with him when they are restored to him and to the family of God — no matter what they’ve done or left undone, no matter their background, race, income, personality, intelligence, education, or appearance. We love as God loves, because he loved us first.
To Jesus’ enemies, that idea was radical. To Jesus’ friends, like us, it’s life-changing. But God’s love is like that. It’s reckless. It’s extravagant. It’s prodigal.
And so we have to celebrate and be glad, because you and I, and our brothers and sisters, were dead and are alive again. We were lost and now we are found. We have a prodigal Father, and we are his beloved children. Rejoice! Amen.