When he came to his senses, he said, “How many of my father’s hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired servants.”
Luke 15:17-19
As a young soldier, I would start growing restless around this time of year. Not because of the start of football season or the cooler weather, but because my favorite holiday was just around the corner. Thanksgiving was more than just an opportunity to catch up with old friends or stuffing myself with turkey, sweet potatoes, and pecan pie. It was a chance to come home and spend time with my father. And not that my mother didn’t matter. Of course I loved her and spent time with her too. But there was something special about those moments when my father and I would sit on the front porch and talk, just me and him. I always looked forward to coming back home regardless of the occasion, just for that reason.
But for the young prodigal, this would not be one of those occasions met with celebration and joy, at least not in his mind. No, I think for him there was a sobering recognition that his life had forever changed. The number of miles he was from home or how long the journey would take – we don’t know. But his return would undoubtedly be the most difficult and humiliating trek the young man had ever faced. And during his journey back home, we can see him replaying his last conversation with his father over and over: “Why am I leaving, you ask? Are you blind? Take a look around you! There is no life here. There is no joy here. There is no future here, not for me. There is a better life awaiting me someplace else!”
Oddly enough, those were the very words I spoke to my own parents when they scoffed at my plans to leave home and join the military. Of course, I didn’t wish my father dead and ask for my inheritance before shipping out.
And so, there was that, too. The young man would have to go back and face his father, after essentially telling him that he was worth more to him dead than alive. And that’s the real crux of the issue, isn’t it? It’s not so much that the young man wanted to get away from home. I think there’s a natural longing in most young people to want to live independently – at least there was for me. But not at the sake of abandoning my father and wishing him dead.
And yet that’s the pull of the world, isn’t it. That’s the pull of sin. It’s not necessarily about experiencing life – but experiencing the kind of life that separates us from our Father.
In his book Orthodoxy (1908), G.K. Chesterton writes:
“The modern philosopher had told me again and again that I was in the right place, and I had still felt depressed even in acquiescence. But I had heard that I was in the wrong place, and my soul sang for joy, like a bird in spring. The knowledge that I was out of harmony with things was a more satisfactory secret than the knowledge that I was in harmony with them.”
Ultimately, this is where the young prodigal finds himself – recognizing the truth of who he is. Chesterton points us to this great paradox: that there is a certain joy to be had in recognizing our own sinfulness, for it opens the door to mercy, which is far more exhilarating than self-justification. There’s a sudden clarity and self-awareness, and a real sense of relief that comes with no longer having to pretend that we’re flawless. It is only here where we are connected to something greater – this wonderful hope of restoration and redemption.
And yet, we can only imagine how far removed those thoughts are from the mind of the young man in our story who’s preparing himself for his return home. How much more joyful would his journey be if only he knew what awaited him?
Perhaps it would be worth a moment or two for each of us to consider that same question.
Former Blackout Artist 