The Homecoming

The younger son had taken his inheritance and gone into a far country and wasted it all in riotous living, and when a famine came he was reduced to feeding swine and longing to eat their husks, and no man gave to him. And there, in the pigsty of his ruin, he came to himself, and remembered his father’s house, where even the hired servants had bread enough and to spare. And he resolved to go back, not as a son, for he counted himself no longer worthy of that, but as a servant. He arose, the Lord says, and came to his father.

He came rehearsing a speech, and it was a humble one. 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. He had it ready, this confession and this modest request to be taken back on the lowest terms, as a hired hand rather than a son. And he set out on the long road home carrying it, not knowing what waited for him, half fearing, perhaps, that the door would be shut, expecting at best a grudging place among the servants.

THE FATHER WHO RUNS

But the father was watching the road. When he was yet a great way off, his father saw him. The father had been looking down that road, day after day, watching for the son who had wounded him, and he saw him while he was still far off, a small figure at the edge of sight, and knew him at once. He had not given up on him, had not written him off, had not turned his face away, but had kept watching the road for the return of the boy who had broken his heart. This is the God against whom we sin, watching the road for our return, not waiting stiffly to be appeased, but longing for us to come.

And when he saw him, he had compassion, and ran. He ran. The father, an old man of dignity, gathered up his robes and ran down the road toward the ragged, stinking, ruined son, and fell on his neck, and kissed him, before the boy could say a word. There is nothing stiff or grudging here, no waiting for the son to grovel his way back into favor, no cold demand for penance first. There is only the undignified haste of love, the father running, the arms thrown around the filthy neck, the kiss of welcome given before the confession is even spoken. This is how God receives the returning sinner, not with cold arms crossed, but running.

THE SPEECH CUT SHORT

The son began his rehearsed speech. Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son. He got that far. But he never reached the last part, the request to be made a hired servant, for the father cut him off with commands to the servants. Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet; and bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry. The father would not hear the request to be a servant. Grace overwhelmed the bargain. The son came hoping for a servant’s place and was given a son’s welcome, and the modest speech was drowned in the father’s joy.

See the tokens of the welcome, for every one of them says son, not servant. The best robe, thrown over the rags, the robe of honor and of a restored standing. The ring on the hand, the sign of sonship and authority, the family signet. The shoes on the feet, for servants went barefoot and sons were shod. And the fatted calf, kept for the greatest celebrations, killed now for the returning boy. Grace does not do the minimum. It does not take the sinner back grudgingly on probation, but robes him, rings him, shoes him, and kills the fatted calf, restoring him fully as a son. This my son was dead, the father says, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.

ONE STEP FROM THE FAR COUNTRY

And mark where the whole homecoming began. He arose, and came. It began with a single decision in the pigsty, to arise and go home. He did not first make himself worthy, did not clean himself up or earn his way back or become a better man before he came; he arose in his rags and filth and came just as he was, and the father did all the rest. This is the great encouragement to every soul in its own far country, however far it has wandered and however deep its ruin, that the homecoming begins with one step, the arising and the coming, and the Father meets the rest.

For we imagine we must make ourselves presentable before we dare return, must clean off the filth of the far country and rehearse a worthy enough repentance, and so we stay away, ashamed, rehearsing our unworthiness at a distance. But the son did not clean himself up; he arose and came in his ruin, and was met and robed and welcomed. Do not stay in the far country polishing your confession. Arise, and come, as you are, and let the running Father clothe you. The one step of return toward a watching Father is all that is asked; he supplies the robe and the ring and the feast.

THE ELDER BROTHER

There is a second son in the parable, and we must not pass him by, for he is a warning to the dutiful. While the feast went on for the returned prodigal, the elder brother, who had stayed home and served faithfully, came in from the field and heard the music, and was angry, and would not go in. He had never left the house, and yet his heart was in a far country of its own, a country of resentment and cold duty, and the father had to come out and plead with him too. There are two ways to be far from the father, the way of the younger son through open rebellion, and the way of the elder through a dutiful heart that never knew the father’s love.

Hear his complaint, for it is the very voice of the servant-spirit that has never become the son-spirit. These many years do I serve thee, he said, neither transgressed I at any time thy commandment, and yet thou never gavest me a kid, that I might make merry with my friends. He speaks of serving as a slave serves, of his own unbroken record of obedience, of wages he feels he has earned and been denied. He had lived in his father’s house for years as a hired servant in his own heart, never as a son, keeping the commandments but strangers to the love, and now the grace shown to his brother enraged him, for grace always offends the servant-spirit that thinks in terms of wages earned.

This is the peril of the faithful and the dutiful, the peril of the one who has stayed home and kept the rules, that he may become a Pharisee in his own heart, resenting the mercy shown to sinners, unable to rejoice at a homecoming because he has never understood the father’s heart. The elder brother’s sin is uglier in some ways than the younger’s, for the younger knew he had sinned and came home broken, while the elder stood outside in his self-righteousness, refusing the feast, despising both the brother and the grace. Many who have never left the house are farther from the father’s heart than the prodigal in the pigsty.

And yet the father came out to the elder son as tenderly as he had run to the younger. Son, he said, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine. It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad, for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again. The father pleads with the resentful son to come in, to stop being a servant and be a son, to enter into the joy of the homecoming. And the parable ends without telling us whether he went in, for the question hangs over every dutiful heart. Will you come in to the feast of grace, and rejoice at the mercy shown to sinners? Or will you stand outside in your own righteousness, offended that the father runs to the undeserving?

So whatever far country you are in, however far you have wandered and however great your ruin, arise, and come. Do not stay away rehearsing your unworthiness, as though you must earn your way back before you dare return. The Father is watching the road for you, and when you are yet a great way off he will see you, and have compassion, and run, and fall on your neck, and cut short your careful speech of unworthiness with the best robe and the ring and the fatted calf. He will not take you back as a servant. He will restore you as a son. 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.