The Prodigal Father

We have called this parable the Prodigal Son for centuries. But I want to suggest to you this morning that we have been reading it slightly wrong. The hero of this story is not the son. The hero is the father. And the father in this parable is prodigal — extravagant, reckless, wasteful — in his love. When the son comes to his senses in the pigsty, he rehearses a speech. He will go home and ask to be made a servant, because he knows he has forfeited his right to sonship. He has his little speech ready. But watch what happens before he can deliver it. While he was still a long way off, his father saw him. The father was watching. The father was looking. Every day, scanning the horizon. And when he sees that familiar silhouette in the distance, he does not wait. He does not compose himself. He does not prepare a lecture. He runs. A Middle Eastern patriarch running to meet someone was an act of profound humility — it was considered undignified. The father did not care about his dignity. He cared about his son. He ran, he embraced him, he kissed him, and before the son can finish his rehearsed apology, the father is already calling for the robe and the ring and the party. Repentance in this parable does not produce grace. It meets grace that was already running toward it.