The runaway son
Readings: Luke 15. 11-31
Our Gospel reading today is probably one of the most famous stories Jesus ever told, up there with the lost sheep, which actually comes just before it in this chapter. And you can tell Jesus’ mastery as a storyteller because not only is it memorable, but wrapped up in it is the Gospel. It’s a story of rebellion and rejection, of repentance, and of the Father who sweeps up again in love and welcome.
As the story begins we find two sons who have everything the Father has given them, they share it all with him. But what we find as the story goes on is that neither of them are happy, neither act like sons. The youngest fails to act like a son in that he comes to his Father one day and asks for his inheritance now. I don’t want to wait, I don’t want to have to share it with you now, I want it for myself. It’s pretty harsh, but it’s deeper than that, underneath it all is this: I wish you were dead already. You only get the inheritance when the person dies after all, but more than that as soon as he gets the inheritance he leaves, cuts off all communication. It’s a tragedy of an opening isn’t it. This wonderful life, he has all he needs, he has a family, he has all this safety and security and he throws it all away. Why? Because he’s convinced he’ll be happier elsewhere.
And actually at its root this is the story of all of us, of every human who ever lived. We decide that we’d be happier doing things our way. We’ve been created by God for relationship with him and one another, we’ve been gifted this wonderful universe and everything in it to enjoy with God, but actually we’d rather have the stuff without God. We want the inheritance, we’re not so interested in the Father. It’s true in the big picture way, the reality for us as humans, the reality of how we were before we put our faith in Jesus. Wanting the gifts but rejecting the giver. But it’s also true in the smaller ways too. How often do we focus more attention on the gift than the giver, the inheritance that we want rather than the Father who lovingly gives it to us?
And so off this son goes, off to enjoy his inheritance. And we’re told that he spends it all on wild living. Nothing is off limits for him, every appetite, every pleasure he seeks it out. The only detail we’re given is from the older son later in the story, that he’s spent it on prostitutes, but that’s likely only the most scandalous part. He has all this inheritance and now he’s going to use it to feed his own desires, feed his appetites whatever they may be.
And it can the same for us, more concerned with what we want to do than what God calls us to do. More concerned with feeding our own appetites than living in obedience to the one who knows how best to live. And you may object that that’s not us, but are we sure? We might not be heading out drinking ourselves into a stupor every night or jumping into bed with anyone that takes our fancy. But how often do we turn on the TV when we should really be opening our Bible having not touched it for a week? Doomscroll on our social media of choice instead of praying? Seeking out controversy or scandal to revel in it, or get cross about it, because deep down we love the outrage, rather than working for peace? Having a lie in on a Sunday rather than coming to worship the God who has given us everything? Do our appetites, whatever they may be, do they rule over us? Directing our habits and actions? Or do we rule over them?
Let’s take a different tack. Do we view our finances as ours or as God’s? Do we approach them as ‘here’s the stuff I’m going to spend on myself and what I want to do, and whatever is left over I’ll use some of it how God calls me to, giving to charity, supporting the work of the church, supporting people in need’. It’s often how we approach things, but again it’s our appetites first and God second, because actually it should be the other way around. Not what of my money am I going to give to God, but what of God’s money am I going to spend on myself? Do we view all our stuff as our things which we’ve earned and gained for our own enjoyment or as the resources from which we can bless others? Do our appetites rule us, or we them?
Because here’s the thing, this younger son in the parable, he feeds every appetite and suddenly it’s all gone, the road runs out. And as his resources come to an end all those other things go with them. He had everything money could buy and yet in the end, when the money runs out, it’s all gone. Because none of it really satisfies, none of it was filling the void he felt, none of it was bringing true happiness. Was it bringing him joy and fulfilment? He may have felt it at the time but now he realises it was hollow. He thought he was in a land of plenty, but now it’s in famine, it all came up short.
The prophet Jeremiah speaking to God’s people in the Old Testament gives this message from God ‘My people have committed two sins: They have forsaken me, the spring of living water, and have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot hold water’.
We’ve left the Father, the one who is the source of all good things, the spring of living water, and we’ve hewn out of the rock cisterns to gather water, great vats of water. We’ve worked for all sorts of things we think will bring life, will satisfy us, and they promise much, not just a spring that we need to stay near, but a great cistern filled with water. But they leak, as fast as we try to fill them the water flows away. These cisterns they promise much, abundant water, but fail to deliver. Whether it’s money or sex or fame or experiences or travel or family or popularity or education. None of these things are bad in the right context, but whilst they promise life and fulfilment, the water just runs away. It all comes up short, we reach the end of the road, famine comes, our resources run out, and we start to wonder, is this it.
So what does this younger son do? Having tried again to make things work, taking a job no Jewish boy would ever want to do, he realises he’s getting nowhere. And he starts to get homesick, well, perhaps he does. To start with perhaps it’s a bit calculating, he realises that he’s slaving away and getting nowhere, and yet the servants in his Father’s house are better off than him. So he decides to return home, to offer himself as a servant. He knows he’s gone too far, burned every bridge, no longer a son, but perhaps he’ll be taken back as a servant.
And so he starts heading home, and perhaps as he’s walking he’s rehearsing his speech, practicing what he’s going to say. But as he gets close what happens? The Father comes running. And that tells us two things. Firstly that even though this son had been gone a long time, the Father is still waiting for him to come home, still looking out at the road to the house, longing for his return. And secondly that the Father isn’t going to risk his son getting cold feet as he gets closer, isn’t going to risk him leaving before he’s arrived. He sees him coming and goes running to meet him, to sweep him up in his arms.
And out comes the speech, and the Father completely ignores it. He’s too busy celebrating. Which is a bit mad in some ways isn’t it. Here’s this good for nothing son who not only has wished you were dead, has not only spent all your money, but has now only come home because its all run out. But he doesn’t care, his son is home.
And there’s more going on here too, something which we might overlook in the West, but which in the Middle East, where this story takes place, they spot, perhaps a challenge to us not just to read in our own context, but with the global church. This son has brought great shame upon his father. Because at the point he demanded his inheritance, the father should have kicked him out, disciplined him. This son has insulted him deeply by wishing him dead and justice must be done to maintain the social order. And yet that Father let him go with his inheritance. How much more now, upon his return should the Father do the same, reject him, discipline him, cast him aside as his son had done to him. In welcoming this rebellious son back into the fold, he’s taking the appalling shame that should be upon his son upon himself, in the eyes of the community this Father is a weak and dishonourable man, and yet he’s bearing it, bearing it for his son.
This is the reality for us, whether for the first time as we come to God in repentance and faith, or for the millionth time in our Christian walk as the cistern we’ve been digging comes up dry and we turn from our sin. As we start to trudge back to our heavenly Father, filled with regret, hoping he might perhaps take us back, rehearsing our speech, the Father is already running. Running to sweep us back up, to welcome us and restore us. He’ll take all the shame upon himself. Through the cross of Jesus all our sins are paid for, he’s taken all our shame, all our guilt, all the punishment we deserve, he’s taken it all. And instead we’re swept up into the abundant love of the Father.
And we’re welcomed back as sons, as daughters. We’re not servants, as the older brother seems to assume. He talks of how hard he works for his Father, how he’s never been rewarded. He’s acting like a servant not a son, all the Father has is his. And the same is true for the younger, welcomed back as son not servant, all that is the Father’s is his again.
The wonder of the Gospel, of a God who bears our shame, welcomes us back, brings us into his family even as we still stink of our sin. Which brings us to the question. Because when we find ourselves like that younger son, resources expended, famine come, the road has run out, that’s God calling us home. Will we do as that younger son does and turn around, repent and start off back to the Father? Or will we stay with the pigs and try again to find something else which will satisfy? We can all too easily do the latter, but should we turn and start back for home, start on our way back to our heavenly Father, we’ll see him running, hurtling down the road towards us to sweep us up, welcome us home, and start the celebrations.
Amen.