It’s the one story that gets me over and over again.
There was a young man, probably in his early/mid twenties, who had had enough. Like many young adults of his time, he was loose, carefree, and really didn’t do a lot of thinking about what mattered most in life. He lived for the moment… no matter how it would affect life later. He didn’t care.
His relationship with his family wasn’t great; they were clearly unenamored with his happy-go-lucky living and his unwillingness to help around the home. His father was deeply concerned. His mother spent days on her knees praying. And his older brother was disgusted; it wasn’t fair that his sibling refused to participate in any household responsibilities.
Let’s be honest; the young man cared only for himself, rarely thinking of others. He only did what he wanted to do. He was hurtful, and he was rude.
Living for the moment, he became increasingly demanding. So much so that he went to his father, insisting on his inheritance now. He wanted the money to sustain his lifestyle. His father, loving his kid unconditionally even though his kid couldn’t see it, obliged. He gave him in dollars half the value of the property their family owned.
Ungrateful as the young man was, he took the money and ran… off to the big city, still no care in the world.
There the son did all he wanted. He ate, drank and partied with the best of them. He could care less about cost; if he wanted it, he bought it. For years he engaged in a reckless way of living — living for the moment, blowing all his money, working never, and committed to no one or nothing long term. Note that the recklessness was less about his actual activity than his care and gratitude for others. It was minimal and inconsistent at best.
All was wonderful and fine in the young man’s mind. That is, until the money was gone.
There was no one to help out, no one to grant a favor. The young man treated most all relationships terribly.
And so regrettably, with nothing on his resume to qualify him for something more, he got a job picking up the city’s trash — up early in the morning, ’til late at night, manual labor, cleaning up everyone else’s garbage. It was ugly and hard. He made little and ate little; he was miserable for months.
He didn’t know what to do. The only person he thought may love him still was his father. He always said he did. He always said he would. The young man had treated him terribly; more than anything, he had simply ignored him. He expressed no care, no gratitude; he lived his life in a way that never acknowledged a dad who loved him so.
And thus the young man scraped up his last bits of money, bought a bus ticket, and made the long, pensive journey home.
It’s sobering to imagine all that happened next. The boy dejectedly saunters up the long drive — totally opposite the hop, skip and a jump he left with years before — still unsure of what he’s going to say… Will they forgive me? I didn’t know what I didn’t know...
And in the picture that causes me most pause, we’re told that while he was still a long way off, his father sees him. His father sees him because he was outside, waiting, believing one day his son would return. And he doesn’t just stay on the front porch, crafting a well-deserved rebuke; he runs. He runs to his son.
Midway down the drive, they embrace. They cry. The tears just fall. The son attempts to get some words out… “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I treated you so badly. I didn’t acknowledge you — wasn’t grateful for you.” To which the father simply says, “It’s ok. You are home! Let’s celebrate. Time for a feast… my kid is home!”
On Easter especially, I think of this story. It reminds me of how God craves a relationship with each of us. But we aren’t robots; he allows us to choose him. The reality is we are always welcome home, no matter who we are, what we’ve done or what’s been done to us. That’s the message of Easter. There is no situation too far gone, no heart too broken, and no story too messy that God can’t redeem. That’s the hope we carry today.
Happy Easter, friends.
Blessings to you always…
AR