Today I would like to take a look at the parable of the prodigal son. I know that this is a very familiar parable, but I hope that you’ll stick around. I absolutely love how I’ll hear a sermon on a familiar topic, but the speaker will say something a bit differently and I’ll have a new lightbulb illuminate in my brain.
If you’ve been around the church for any length of time, or even if you’re fairly new to walking in relationship with God, the parable of the prodigal son is a classic. There’s scandal in the way the son left and squandered his inheritance, there’s heartbreak in where it lands him (with the pigs), there’s a glimmer of hope in the possibility of asking his father for employment, and there’s unmatched beauty in the restoration.
I heard a pastor recently make a statement about how uncomfortable things can be what helps us get moving in the right direction. I absolutely agree with that concept – and I think the prodigal son would, too. Discomfort is often what propels people into action because they don’t want to remain where they are. But the pastor actually stated that God makes us uncomfortable in order to get us moving in the right direction. For me, that holds a much different meaning.
When I was a single mom, I went multiple rounds with the dreaded dating scene. It wasn’t pretty. I was searching for someone to complete me (I’m really not a huge fan of the movie, Jerry Maguire). Needless to say, I had come to the end of myself. A long-time on-again off-again relationship had finally died because, like the prodigal son, I had come to my senses. I knew that I wanted a relationship with a future that had God in it.
If you’re reading this and didn’t know me back then, here’s a bit of background. I had walked away from the church. I hadn’t darkened a church doorway for more than seven years (except when visiting my grandparents), and I had lived the lifestyle like that of the prodigal son – I just didn’t have the money he’d had. While I was away from the church, I had a child with a man who hadn’t been completely divorced, and the long-time on-again off-again relationship (not my daughter’s father) had stated that they never wanted to get married… but we could live together.
Y’all, I came to my senses.
I was uncomfortable alone, raising a daughter as a single mom, but imagining a future without the possibility of God being in it made it hard to breathe. It was at that point that I knew the on-again off-again had to fully die so that I could latch on to life. After scrounging up $21.20, I had a new Bible in hand, and the void that I had been trying to fill with the dating scene started to be satisfied as I got to know my Father. I even started attending church again.
What I see in my story as well as the story of the prodigal son, God didn’t make us uncomfortable. God didn’t cause us to make the choices we made. I’ve said it before (and this probably won’t be the last time I say it) but there is a significant difference between making (or causing something) and allowing something.
In the story of the prodigal son, the son asked his father for his inheritance early. To do that in that day and age was the equivalent of wishing his father dead. But it wasn’t enough to have his inheritance. He wanted to live life on his own terms and in the way he saw fit – without the expected disapproval of his father.
He chose his course. He chose to remove himself from his father’s household (a place of honor that offered belonging, identity, provision, peace, and protection). He chose to move to a distant land where his name carried no weight. And he chose to spend his money unwisely – on reckless passions. God didn’t make him do those things. He. Chose.
I may have had my reasons for walking away from the church – and they seemed pretty good at the time – but regardless of the reasons, I chose poorly. It wasn’t a building or an institution that I walked away from, it was the palpable presence of God. Now please hear this: God is always with His kids. He has promised to be with us always – to never leave us or forsake us (Matthew 28:20, Hebrews 13:5). But I wanted to be as far away from anything that resembled Him as I could get. God didn’t make me; I chose.
Just like what happened to the prodigal son, lack became a new reality. While I had sought freedom, I found famine instead. I had a void that couldn’t be filled by a better salary, a more active social life, or a very fallible relationship. It was a void that was screaming to be filled with the only One who could give me belonging, my identity, provision, peace, protection, and the right to hold my head high.
But God didn’t make me choose hardship. God didn’t make me uncomfortable so that I would turn back to Him. Rather, He allowed my discomfort.
Every evil in this world, whether it’s the temptation of a life lived wildly, or the things that cause us sorrow (loss, destruction, and death), every last one of them is from the enemy. One scenario, the temptation of a life lived wildly like the prodigal son, is a choice that every single one of us must make. We can choose our Father or we can choose the enemy. The other scenario, the things that cause us deep sorrow (brought on by the evil in this world), still carries a choice we have to make.
We can either choose to run to our Father, or we can ignorantly shake our fist at Him. We can blame Him for making us uncomfortable, or we can see that He came to bring us life in abundance. We can find belonging, identity, provision, peace, protection, and honor in His love, or we can believe the lie that He’s the author of death and destruction (John 10:10).
I used to shake my fist at God as I ventured as far aways from the church as I could get. I know now that I chose that path because I didn’t know Him. I didn’t know that He promised to have peace with us and to never inflict pain on His kids (Isaiah 54:9-10, 15). I didn’t know.
I didn’t know that even after dishonoring Him, He would vigilantly watch the horizon for my return. I didn’t know that He would throw off dignity and close the distance between us that I had created (Kings aren’t known for running). I didn’t know that my shame wouldn’t get a chance to utter an excuse or an apology before grace covered me. He didn’t restore me as a hired hand – He restored me as daughter.
I couldn’t fathom the completeness of His restoration, but I came to my senses.
Maybe you’re living far away from your Father. Maybe you chose the distance out of anger or perhaps out of ignorance. Maybe you were simply deceived by the temptations of this world. Whatever it may be that caused the distance, it takes a split second to come to your senses. It takes a split second to have Him start to fill the void that no one and nothing else can touch.
Come to your senses and be fully restored to your Father.