3 minute read
Messages: Be Reconciled
In Luke 15, Jesus is telling stories. Two of his stories begin with the word, “Suppose. . . .” “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep. . . .” “Suppose a woman had 10 coins. . . .” He is asking them to imagine and draw a conclusion from this made-up scenario.
Then Jesus begins the third story with, “There was a man. . . .” This is different. He does not ask them to suppose anything or comment. I have heard that this story might have been a biographical sketch of a real person—a statement of fact. It is intriguing to think about.
Anyway, Jesus told stories. We know this. We read and discuss and preach them. We teach them to our children. You would be hard-pressed to find a church where Jesus’ stories are not retold frequently. Some people say Jesus told stories because he knew the common people would understand spiritual principles better through illustrations. That may have been his purpose, but we still do not get them. Theologians and scholars and people who know the original languages and cultures have been studying Jesus’ stories for centuries. And yet, there does not seem to be one definitive exegesis of any of them. What hope does the common person have to fully understand the depth and beauty and meaning of Jesus’ stories? Maybe the hope of understanding them is in identifying with them, feeling them, and experiencing them.
Acknowledging this, I throw myself into what may be the unknowable to grapple with a tiny aspect of that third story in Luke 15, the story that has come to be known as “The Prodigal Son.” I want to understand the part where the son had a moment of clarity. Jesus explained it like this: “He came to himself.”
This is a powerful choice of words that tells us the son regained the sense of who he was and where he belonged. At his lowest point, he had an epiphany. Brain chemicals God designed to be released by starvation and survival instincts caused him to remember his father’s house and his father’s ways. He recalled that his father’s lifestyle had structure and ethics and provision. These remembrances could be a hint that the son was near death.
So, he stood up, squared his shoulders the best he could, shook off the filth he was covered in, and started on a journey—uncertainty, his only companion.
And while he was still a long way from home, his father peered across the hazy landscape and saw a speck of him. No one else would have recognized him at that distance; none of those who had once known him had seen him in some time. But the father knew.
Compassion for his estranged son gripped him and he began running. He ran and ran until he reached him. The breathless father fell forward, embraced his son, and joyously kissed him. Jesus told this.
Where do you find yourself today? What kind of life have you settled for? God designed you to remember him. He designed you to remember—to not give up at your lowest moment. Shake off the shame. Move back home. The Father has been scanning the horizon. He will see you and run toward you.
