Welcome Home!
Read Luke 15:11-32.
There's something powerful and comforting about coming home. Something familiar. When I make the turn off the highway and begin the winding road that leads to our subdivision, and even moreso when I make the turn onto our street, there is a peace and comfort that surrounds me. I love the drive down the winding road, as it affords me a few moments to leave behind the worries of the day and begin to relax into the warm feeling of anticipating home.
I wonder if the prodigal felt similar feelings as he turned for home. Well, of course it's "only" a story, but undoubtedly it's a story that has been lived out uncounted times in history. The prodigal turns toward a home he or she has abandoned...and then what? In Jesus' story, the prodigal is rehearsing his story, his excuse, his plea for mercy. But when the Father reaches him, he won't hear the plea. He welcomes his son home. In the father's heart, the prodigal never quit being a son; he was just away for a time.
But what about the elder son? Though he never left home, he was never really at home. There seems to be part of him that secretly envied the prodigal for going away. The elder son is home, but not happy. He feels cheated. He feels robbed. Even though, as the oldest son, his inheritance would have twice as much as his youngest brother—in fact, everything left at the family compound would become his because the younger brother had already taken his share—he is discontent. He goes to bed every night with anger, bitterness and even a touch of greed in his heart. And when the father urges him to welcome his brother home, it all comes out. He can't even bear to call the prodigal his brother. The prodigal is simply the father's son.
The elder brother has been at home all the time, but somewhere along the way, he let his attitude keep him from being a son. He's home, but not home.
Which makes me wonder...how many times do we do the same thing? We sit in church, we frequent the father's house, but somewhere along the way we stopped being a son or a daughter. We walked away from being a child of God. We probably didn't even realize it, any more than the elder brother did. We didn't understand why the church would welcome THAT person in. We don't like the way THEY are doing certain things. We grumble about "those people" being included in the church family. Doesn't the pastor know what kind of person they really are? Seriously, this is MY church, not theirs...and suddenly, our attitude distances us more from the father than we would want to admit.
Because, you see, it's the father's job to welcome all into the father's house...and that's especially true during Advent, when we anticipate the coming of the baby of Bethlehem, the one born in poverty and raised in anonymity, the one who always welcomes the least, the last and the lost. "The Son of Man came to seek and save the lost," to stand like the prodigal's father and watch for those who have turned toward home.
Is there any way in which you are home, but distant? The elder brother, too, needs to open himself to and experience the embrace of the father, the embrace that says "Welcome Home!"
There's something powerful and comforting about coming home. Something familiar. When I make the turn off the highway and begin the winding road that leads to our subdivision, and even moreso when I make the turn onto our street, there is a peace and comfort that surrounds me. I love the drive down the winding road, as it affords me a few moments to leave behind the worries of the day and begin to relax into the warm feeling of anticipating home.
I wonder if the prodigal felt similar feelings as he turned for home. Well, of course it's "only" a story, but undoubtedly it's a story that has been lived out uncounted times in history. The prodigal turns toward a home he or she has abandoned...and then what? In Jesus' story, the prodigal is rehearsing his story, his excuse, his plea for mercy. But when the Father reaches him, he won't hear the plea. He welcomes his son home. In the father's heart, the prodigal never quit being a son; he was just away for a time.
But what about the elder son? Though he never left home, he was never really at home. There seems to be part of him that secretly envied the prodigal for going away. The elder son is home, but not happy. He feels cheated. He feels robbed. Even though, as the oldest son, his inheritance would have twice as much as his youngest brother—in fact, everything left at the family compound would become his because the younger brother had already taken his share—he is discontent. He goes to bed every night with anger, bitterness and even a touch of greed in his heart. And when the father urges him to welcome his brother home, it all comes out. He can't even bear to call the prodigal his brother. The prodigal is simply the father's son.
The elder brother has been at home all the time, but somewhere along the way, he let his attitude keep him from being a son. He's home, but not home.
Which makes me wonder...how many times do we do the same thing? We sit in church, we frequent the father's house, but somewhere along the way we stopped being a son or a daughter. We walked away from being a child of God. We probably didn't even realize it, any more than the elder brother did. We didn't understand why the church would welcome THAT person in. We don't like the way THEY are doing certain things. We grumble about "those people" being included in the church family. Doesn't the pastor know what kind of person they really are? Seriously, this is MY church, not theirs...and suddenly, our attitude distances us more from the father than we would want to admit.
Because, you see, it's the father's job to welcome all into the father's house...and that's especially true during Advent, when we anticipate the coming of the baby of Bethlehem, the one born in poverty and raised in anonymity, the one who always welcomes the least, the last and the lost. "The Son of Man came to seek and save the lost," to stand like the prodigal's father and watch for those who have turned toward home.
Is there any way in which you are home, but distant? The elder brother, too, needs to open himself to and experience the embrace of the father, the embrace that says "Welcome Home!"
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