Prodigal
I was thinking the other day about someone who is on the edge of life. Their checkered past has been reduced to a bed with all the instruments that keep a body going when tired, sick, worn-out and wanting to quit.
What warmed my heart was that the person in my thoughts is turning his heart toward God. So many years of his life were wasted—wasted in sin...rebellious sin...
He knew better. Went to church as a child. Learned scriptures. Sang songs about Jesus. Took part in Christmas programs. Went to youth camps. Even gave his heart to Jesus.
But then sin knocked on the door. Sin smiled. Sin had perfume. Sin played a charming melody like the Pied Pieper. He followed.
I doubt if he knew where he was going. Sin has a way of making the next step so easy, so charming, so adventuresome, so fulfilling.
Sin can point fingers at hypocrites in church. Sin can find fault with the preacher. Sin can question the truth of the Bible. Sin can paint gray bigger than Truth.
Sin lies. Sin does not tell the whole picture. Imagine that sin says: "Come go with me, and I will take you to hell...darkness, misery, and eternal separation from God...where you will never know love...never be without pain...never be without fear...."
Yes, sin lies. Sin betrays. Sin sneaks up like a predator. Sin waits in the dark. Sin spreads a net like a spider to wait for its bait. Sin is patient. Fools follow sin not knowing the abyss that is ahead.
I marvel at the grace of God. I marvel at the gentleness of Jesus. I marvel that Love so pure, so holy, so total can reach out to a prodigal that has wasted healthy years. I marvel that Love is willing to take back the left-overs, the brokenness, the bits-and-pieces of what sin has ravaged.
A thief on a cross is certified to go to heaven without being baptized in water. A woman married fives times and shacking up with a man not her husband is forgiven of her sins.
I marvel, and yet I wonder why I marvel. Was not I once a prodigal? I had sin in my heart. I was born into a fallen world. My nature was a rebellious one. Yes, I too was a prodigal. Does it matter that I did not do all the things that some prodigals do? I thought about the things prodigals do and wished I could do them. I dreamed of the day when I would be old enough to do them and not have to ask permission.
No theologian is necessary. Sin was there. Sin was there in my thoughts to do evil long before age 10. Sin was there to think about the day when I would be old enough to do certain things and parents could not discipline. Sin was there to draw my mind to times and places and things that Jesus would not have been proud to find me doing.
I am not surprised that a prodigal comes home. I am not surprised that Jesus takes in a prodigal. I am not surprised that the love of the Master is so great that He takes the left-overs. I am grateful.
My heart is constrained. It seems to me that I am writing to a prodigal...someone who has wandered far from home...someone who perhaps was called to preach...someone who once taught Bible study...worked with children in church...Are you that someone? Are you a long ways from where you used to be with Jesus? Come home. Today. Now. The arms of Our Father are open and waiting.
Pastor Bare
Luke 15