Every Last Word

Dr. Philip Ryken: Have you ever loved someone even when it really cost you something and then kept on loving? Have you ever loved so much that other people thought you were a bit strange? Well, that's how God loves us.

Announcer: Welcome to Every Last Word, a radio and internet program with Dr. Philip Ryken, teaching the whole Bible to change your whole life. Today we'll be learning about the father of the prodigal son and how he showered his love on his lost son.

Mark: Well Phil, today's message is entitled "The Prodigal Father," but we don't usually think of the father as being lost. So, what do you mean by the prodigal father?

Dr. Philip Ryken: Usually when we hear that word, Mark, "prodigal," we usually hear it in connection with the prodigal son. So, we usually think it means something like lost. But actually, there's another meaning for the word prodigal. It means lavish or someone who squanders something at great expense.

And that's exactly what we find here in this story: the father lavishing his love—you might even think squandering his love—on this undeserving son. And that's why I call it really the story of the prodigal father. It's really not so much a story about the son, although we identify with the son. It is even more a story about the father's love.

Mark: Well indeed, the love the father exhibits in the story is a costly kind of love. How can we love like that?

Dr. Philip Ryken: I think we're called to that, aren't we, Mark? We're called to love the way that Jesus loves. We're called to love the way that God the Father loves. And I think what we see in that love here is a father who does not break his relationship with his son but is still waiting for him and longing to be reconciled to him. And if we know someone who's lost, if our listeners know someone who's lost, we should be waiting for them and loving them, praying for their return with as much affection as God the Father does.

Mark: Alright, thank you, Phil. Please turn in your Bible to Luke chapter 15, verses 11 to 24, and let's listen now to Dr. Ryken.

Dr. Philip Ryken: If ever there was a father who loved a son, it was the prodigal father. Now I know usually people speak about the prodigal son, and surely the son in Luke chapter 15 was prodigal. He was recklessly wasteful. He did squander everything that he had: his money, his reputation, his family—all of that. He was prodigal with every last bit of it.

But there is another meaning for the word prodigal. If you look in the dictionary, a second meaning, it means lavish. And here in the Gospel of Luke, chapter 15, we have the story of a father who lavishes his love on an undeserving son. And so, I would call that the story of the prodigal father.

There's a man who himself was a prodigal father, a man named Joe Farone. I recently read his story in a book. It tells how one Labor Day as he was celebrating with his family, his thoughts inevitably turned to his prodigal son, Tony. He wondered where Tony was. He didn't even know if he was alive or if he was dead.

But late that Labor Day night, he received a phone call from his son. It was evident he was in a bad way, probably on drugs. "I'm so sick," he said. "I'm so hungry. I'm really hurting. Tell me what to do." Immediately, the family jumped in the car. They drove more than a hundred miles to find him.

And when the Farones saw their long-lost son, they hardly recognized him. He looked more dead than alive. His ragged clothes were covered with filthy vomit. His shoes were worn all the way through. He was so weak that he had to be carried out to the family car. And as they drove home, the stench was all but unbearable.

Joe said to himself, "I've heard so many sermons about the prodigal son in a stinking pigpen. Well, here I am, holding my nose, living out that very scene." And then he thought to himself, "My son. I love him because he is my son. He has come back home, and that's all that matters now."

When Tony Farone was wasting away, he was rescued by the extravagant love of his father. And this is what a good father does: he lavishes his wayward children with his love, no matter what the cost. And we see it so clearly here in the story of this prodigal father, whose affection came at a much higher price than most people even realize. Here we see what has been described as the costly demonstration of unexpected love. And it speaks to us of the undeserved affection of God the Father, who loves us much more than we ever dared to hope.

Have you ever seen how much this father truly loved his son? Have you understood what the parable says? He loved him first of all when they were both still living at home, and how costly it was to love this son then. Jesus tells us in verse 11 that there was a man who had two sons. And the younger of them said to his father, "Father, give me the share of property that is coming to me." And he divided his property between them.

And that was costly—costly in financial terms for sure. It cost the prodigal father a lot of money. Just imagine how expensive it would be to give up on demand one full third of everything you have worked so hard in life to gain. It's interesting when the scripture says that he divided his property. The word used, which does mean property, but it's also the word for life. It's almost as much to say that the father was giving his very life to his son.

But this is what the prodigal father does. He responds to this unreasonable request with unimaginable generosity. Rather than disowning his son and throwing him out of the house as most fathers would have done in those days, he rather gave him what he had asked. How costly it was.

And then the son sold all that property, and that cost his father even more. Jesus tells us in verse 13 that he gathered all he had and took a journey to a far country. And that phrase for "gathering all that you have" means that he sold that third of his father's estate. He turned it all into cash.

Kenneth Bailey explains that this would have been a staggering loss to the entire family clan. He liquidated his assets in a hurry, which in turn indicates a sale at any price. The accumulated economic gains of generations would be lost in a few days. And the whole family would have suffered for that selfishness, but no one suffered more than this father.

Because the real loss to him, of course, was not financial; it was relational. When this son started to sell his property, the man was exposed to public insult. There were no secrets in a community like this. People would talk; soon everyone would hear what his son was doing. He would put the whole family to shame.

But even that is not the worst of it. What cost the father most surely was the heartless rebellion of his beloved son. For when the boy demanded his share of the inheritance, he was really saying that he wished his father would just go ahead and die. It was a total rejection. He was saying no to his family, no to his community, no to his father's heart.

And how heartbroken he must have been, this man, to know that despite all of the advantages that his son had in life, he would never reach his potential to take a place of leadership in the community. How costly it all was for the father to let go of this son.

And then how costly it was to go on loving him the whole time that he was lost. He thought about his boy every day that he was gone. Any parent who has ever lost a child will tell you that. The son may have been lost, but he was never forgotten. And every day his father would wonder at times where he was, what he was doing, always hoping for the best, but frankly fearing the worst. Anyone could see where this whole story was heading. This boy would surely lose everything that he had, and there was nothing the father could do to stop him.

But he could keep loving his son. He could keep longing for his return. And although the son had wandered from his father's home, he had never wandered from his father's heart. And so, the old man watched and waited, hoping for a return, longing for his son in suffering silence. Do you see how costly this all was for the father? Do you see what he expended in his love for his son?

Kenneth Bailey points out that here he does not sever his relationship with his son, but he holds out his broken end of the rope of relationship, hoping that the other end can yet be joined. And in so doing, he suffers. If the father had disowned the son, there would then be no possibility of reconciliation. No, the father's suffering provides the foundation of the possibility of his son's return.

Now, as costly as all of that was, how much even more costly it was to welcome the son home. Because this young man did not return in triumph; he came back in complete disgrace. Understand that in those days, it would have been customary for someone in his situation to return bearing gifts. If he wanted to be reconciled to his father, he had to make things right. He would surely come bearing something as a token of the expression of his love for them.

But to his shame, he had lost everything. He came back with nothing. He was completely empty-handed. No money, no health, no honor, no self-respect. Everything had been squandered. And having lost everything, he came back looking more like a slave than a son.

Rembrandt has brilliantly portrayed this in his painting of the return of the prodigal son. He shows the son kneeling at his father's feet in penitent surrender. The father is reaching over him in an aspect of grace. He embraces his son's shoulders, he holds him close to his heart. And as you see all of that, you cannot mistake the absolute contrast between these two figures.

The father is covered in seemingly royal scarlet. The son is dingy and disheveled from the long prodigal road that he has walked. His head is shaved like a slave. He's wearing the plain undergarments of servitude. Since he kneels with his back to the viewer, it's a wonderful touch in the painting. You can see the soles of his feet. You can see how scarred they are. You can see that his sandals have worn almost completely away.

And that's faithful to the biblical text, as I'm sure Rembrandt knew, because one of the first things the father did for his son was to give him a new pair of shoes. But here is the picture of the degradation that comes when we give ourselves over to the power of sin. How lost the son was and what a terrible situation he ended up in. And you see it so clearly in the way that he returns.

Now the real humiliation was not all of that, not how the young man looked, but it was the way that people would treat him when he returned. Because you see, in those days, the Jewish people had a deep revulsion for anyone who squandered his inheritance among the Gentiles. Somebody who did what the prodigal son did and went off to some far country and gave away everything he had—the people in his hometown would surely despise him.

But they might well do something even worse than that. They might cut him off from their community entirely, much the way, for example, that the old order Amish will shun someone who violates the code of their community. According to Kenneth Bailey, who has given a lifetime to study the customs of the Middle East, the Jewish community had developed in those days what was called the kezazah ceremony—that is to say, the cutting off ceremony.

And here is how he describes it: any Jewish boy who lost his inheritance among Gentiles faced the ceremony if he dared return to his home village. The ceremony itself was simple. Fellow villagers would fill a large earthenware pot with burned nuts and burned corn, and they would break it in front of the guilty individual. While doing this, they would shout, "So-and-so is cut off from his people!" And from that point on, no one in the village would have anything to do with him.

Now, I think you would agree with me that if the lost son in this parable received that kind of treatment, it would have been no more than he deserved. He had disgraced his family. He had earned the condemnation of this community. But the prodigal father did not wait. No, he did not wait for that kind of reaction. He did not wait for the village to reject his son. No, you can see in verse 20 that instead, while the son is still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion and ran and embraced him and kissed him.

Now what is perhaps most surprising about this costly demonstration of unexpected love is the way that the father ran. Even today, it's not all that common to see senior citizens run somewhere. If you saw an old man run down the street, you would kind of wonder what was happening and where he was going. That was especially true in the ancient Near East, where it was considered very undignified—even to this day, this is true—for a man of age and position to run.

Men who wear long robes don't sprint; they stroll. And particularly in a case like this, because if the older man did want to run, he would have to gather up his robes like some kind of youngster, and his undergarments would probably show. In all likelihood, a traditional man like this prodigal father hadn't run anywhere to meet anyone for decades. It just wasn't done, as anyone who heard Jesus tell this parable would have known even without being told.

So why did the old man run? Why did he make such a spectacle of himself? Well, surely he did it because he couldn't wait to see his son, and surely that was part of it. But could it also be that he wanted to be reconciled to his son before anyone in his community could even think about cutting him off?

Here is how Kenneth Bailey describes what the father was doing: he pictures him waiting day after day, staring down the street to the road in the distance where his son had disappeared. And he is remembering all the while that ceremony. He knows how the village will treat his son when he returns. And so, he prepares a plan for their meeting. He will reach the boy before the boy reaches the village, and therefore he will be his protection.

The father understands that if he's able to achieve that kind of reconciliation with his son in public, that no one after that will dare to treat the prodigal son badly. They will witness the reconciliation; there will be no consideration that the ceremony should be enacted. But you see, to achieve that goal, self-emptying humility will be required from the father.

And this is what he offers to his son. He exposes himself to that kind of public ridicule. Rather than looking at his lost son and thinking about what a mess he's made of his life, people will look instead at this extraordinary spectacle of this distinguished gentleman running down the street, bare legs and all. And by the time anyone realizes what has happened, the father and son would already be reconciled. Here is the prodigal father, so lavish in his compassion that he is willing to suffer his own humiliation to restore his long-lost son.

It occurs to me to say by way of incidental application that many parents do exactly the opposite of this, even Christian parents. When their children start going off in the wrong direction, they speak to them with scorn, they treat them with shame. Rather than humbling themselves, they humiliate their children. And some of us surely have experienced that.

Jesus is redefining our expectations of what a father does. He gives here a better model for fathers and mothers to follow in godly parenting. This father doesn't wait to see what his son has to say for himself. He doesn't demand an account of what he has done and where he has been. It's not a contingent welcome based on a prior repentance or on a promise to do better. But here the father takes the initiative to go out and to welcome his unworthy son into the embrace of his self-humiliating love.

The expression of the father's love comes first. It's a sort of preemptive reconciliation. It's offered without reproach, without words of repentance, before even those have been uttered. And J.C. Ryle comments—and you can apply this to your own parental situation—let it be noted that the father does not say a single word to his son about his profligacy and wickedness. There's neither rebuke nor reproach for the past, nor galling admonitions for the present, nor irritating advice for the future. The one idea that is represented as filling his mind is joy that his son has come home.

And how often I say even Christian parents lack that kind of balance and compassion and welcome. But the real application is not just to family life, but the hope that it gives to every lost sinner. Because even after we've wandered in the far country of our sin, even after we've wasted everything God has given to us, even after we have wallowed in the foul pigpen of rebellion against God, even after all of that, we have a good and loving father who is running to welcome us home.

What a homecoming it was for this long-lost son of the prodigal father. When he had left home, he had given his father an unqualified rejection. But here he is coming home in disgrace and receiving unqualified acceptance. And almost before the prodigal son knew what was happening, he found himself again in his father's arms.

I suppose he was as surprised as anyone to see his father running to meet him on the road—surprised, maybe even a little bit scared. But there could be no doubt as to the intentions of his father when he took his son in his arms and started to kiss him. And I say started to kiss him because the Greek form of the verb here is intensive. The father was kissing and kissing his son; that is what the scripture is saying. He was as prodigal with his kisses as he was with any other aspect of his affection. And what volumes that spoke about his feelings for his son.

Charles Spurgeon once preached an entire sermon just on the end of verse 20, just on the father kissing the prodigal son. It was a whole seven-point sermon just on the kiss. Spurgeon said the father's kiss revealed much love, much forgiveness, a full restoration, exceeding joy, overflowing comfort, strong assurance of salvation, and intimate communion with his beloved son. Now that's a seven-point sermon, and I don't think any of that is a stretch. I think all of that is there in the scripture. It's all communicated with this kiss.

And you see, Jesus, in telling this story, is speaking to us of our own salvation. What forgiveness, what love, what acceptance, what welcome, what intimacy we can have with the father of the beloved children, our Father in heaven. This son must have been overwhelmed to receive such a welcome, but you'll see not so overwhelmed that he forgets to make his long-practiced apologies. He says in verse 21, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son."

And the boy was right about that. His sins were so great; he was no longer worthy really to be called the son of his father. But you see, worthy or not, his father was there to receive him as a son. And so, with eager impatience, he says to his servants, "Bring the best robe, put it on him, put a ring on his hand and shoes on his feet, and bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. For this my son was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found." And they began to celebrate.

There's an ironic twist here, I think, because really in this social context, the son is the one who ought to be bearing all the gifts. He's the one who owes the great debt. He's the one that needs to make the step towards reconciliation. But of course, he cannot do that because he has nothing to give. Empty-handed, he returns with nothing for anyone, nothing to give his father except his need—his need for food, his need for clothing, his need for forgiveness.

What a picture this is of our own spiritual need. We were looking at how lost this son was, and we see it again as we see him coming back empty-handed. And we consider: what is it that we have to offer to God? Really, it is nothing, absolutely nothing. We owe God an infinite debt for all our sin against his perfect holiness, and yet we have nothing to pay him, nothing to offer him, nothing to give him except our spiritual need.

How beautifully this is expressed in that well-known hymn of Augustus Toplady, "Rock of Ages, cleft for me." In fact, if you hear the words of the hymn, it almost sounds like something the prodigal son might say: "Nothing in my hand I bring, simply to thy cross I cling; naked, come to thee for dress; helpless, look to thee for grace." You see, this is the only way that any prodigal child can come to God: bringing nothing but our need for his grace. And that's what the father gave to the son. He gave that grace, that unmerited and undeserved favor.

I tell you there's no one who's ever been more completely saved by grace than this prodigal son, who received free forgiveness and unconditional acceptance with the restoration of the full rights of his sonship. And notice then the significance of these gifts that the father lavishes on his son, each of which I think in some way signifies his sonship.

The father calls for the best robe in the house, and really what he is doing is placing his mantle back on his son. As long as he continued to wear those ragged robes of his servitude, people would think that he was still a slave. But once he put on the finest robe in his father's house, people would recognize his position as a son.

So also with the ring—if anything, more significant—in all likelihood a signet ring, something that indicates authority and control of the estate. It's an emblem of authority; it represents the restoration of his inheritance. And even his shoes, I think, are a sign of sonship because servants do not wear shoes. Not in those days they didn't, but sons did. Sons did if they belonged to a wealthy house; they wore the shoes of freedom. And so, this boy was received not as a servant, which you remember is what he had requested, the way that he had requested to be received simply as a hired servant. But his father says, "No, I will receive you as my son."

And then there is this last gift, this fatted calf. And you'll notice specifically the fatted calf. If you had visited the family farm, you probably would have been able to pick it out yourself, that calf that they had been fattening for some special celebration. And here it was, the occasion that they had been waiting for. And with the celebration of that feast, the son was welcomed back; he was fully restored to table fellowship.

What a costly demonstration it all was of unexpected love. No expense was spared in welcoming home this long-lost son. He was given the best of everything. Nothing was expected from him in return. And the father did this because he wanted everyone to know that his son was still his son.

And how significant then the language that the father uses at the beginning of verse 24. Maybe this was the greatest gift of all. The father speaks to his servants and he says, "This my son." Twice the son has renounced that very sonship. He did it the first time he left home when he demanded his inheritance, and he rejected his father. He said, "I don't want to be your son." And he has done it again just in the verse before. He has said, "I'm not worthy to be called your son. I renounce my claim to that sonship."

But you see, the father has never regarded him as anything but a son. And so no matter how much it costs him, his heart will not let him go. And so it was that when the prodigal son finally came home, that the prodigal father said, "This my son." And the son was found in his father's love.

Surely Jesus told us this story so that we would understand our own acceptance in the extravagant love of our prodigal God. We too have been welcomed as sons and daughters to the Father's house. We too have been blessed with a costly and freely offered forgiveness that seeks and that suffers in order to save.

We see in this parable, I think, the compassion of God the Father, who loves us as we see more than we even dare to hope. Now some people, I must admit, have questioned whether the father in this parable actually stands for God or not. But I would say that we know from scripture, and you can read about it in Ephesians chapter 3, that all fatherhood comes from God. That's what the scripture says. And so whenever you see a good and godly father, you're getting a glimpse of your Father God.

And when we look at the parable closely, we see how clearly his fatherly compassion is displayed in the actions of this prodigal father. Here you have a human expression of a divine compassion that even when his son is lost in rebellion, he goes out to save him from being cut off. And that's what our Father God has done for us. He has come reaching to save us, not waiting until we get our lives back together, but running to meet us at the end of our prodigal road.

This is good news for every lost and prodigal sinner. And it is good news for every prodigal son or daughter that we love with a wounded heart. This is the father who is seeking to save. He comes running with arms open wide to receive, his heart ready to forgive. Anyone who comes to God in repentance and faith will be found in the Father's love.

But I think also here we see the love of God the Son. And again, I will say some people have questioned that. In fact, many Muslims will point to this parable as the proof that you don't really need Jesus to be your savior. All you have to do is turn away from your sin, come to your own senses, and go back to God. You don't need Jesus to come and save you; you can find your way back to God on your own.

And even some Christian theologians have pointed out that this is really a parable without a Christ because there's no incarnation and no atonement. Now what should we say in response to that? Well, partly we should recognize that no single parable can present the whole gospel. You need the gospel itself to do that with the incarnation and the crucifixion and the resurrection. Even the stories that Jesus told are only giving us a little part of this or a little part of that, helping us to put together the full picture.

And so here in this parable, what we mainly see is the joy of God in finding lost sinners. We don't need to find every aspect of the gospel here. But can we not say that Jesus, who himself told this parable, in a way has shown us something of his heart for sinners, that in a way he's put himself into the parable?

Because when we see a costly demonstration of unexpected love, especially one that comes at the expense of suffering and humiliation, are we not reminded of the cross where Jesus died? And is Jesus not already beginning to speak of his own sufferings and death for sinners and showing us the heart that will lead to our salvation?

And isn't what the prodigal father says about the prodigal son true for us in Christ by the cross and by the empty tomb? Because the father says, "This my son was dead and is alive again." That's the story of the salvation of every sinner who comes to Christ and receives that new life through his death and resurrection, that the dead are now alive in Christ.

So here we see the love of the Father and the love of the Son. And as well as that, we also see our own position as sons and daughters of the Most High God. Because these gifts that the father lavishes on his son are emblems of our own salvation. They have a rich background in the biblical imagery. We too are robed in righteousness, the righteousness of Christ, what the Bible calls the garment of our salvation. And now we are reckoned as holy before God as his own perfect son.

We too have been sealed by the Holy Spirit, who's a kind of signet ring of God. You can see the language of sealing an inheritance, for example, in Ephesians chapter 1. This is the work of the Holy Spirit. Our feet are shod with the gospel of peace; that's the imagery the Bible uses describing the shoes of our salvation. And we too have been invited to sit down and to share table fellowship with God in the banquet of heaven.

And best of all, through faith in Jesus Christ, by the adopting grace of the Holy Spirit, God the Father now says to us the words that our hearts are longing to hear. He says, "This my son, this my daughter." He says, "You are my beloved children."

And what great joy the Father has in saying that. What great joy he has in welcoming sinners home, forgiving our sins, granting all of these gifts of salvation. What great joy he has in declaring that the dead are alive, that the lost are found, and that his children are his children.

And what great joy there is in heaven. This is the point of all these parables here in Luke chapter 15. What great joy there is in heaven when a long-lost sinner returns to God. I tell you that in the Father's house, there is music and dancing every time a prodigal son or daughter comes back home. And is there any joy as full as a father's joy in the return of a long-lost son?

Alexander McCall Smith has written a series of touching stories about life in everyday Botswana. And in *The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency*, he describes a terrible tragedy that befell the headmaster of a local school. His son had been kidnapped by evil men who practice magic arts. The father and everyone else who knows about the situation give the child up for dead. They assume that he has been sacrificed in some ritual.

And yet a lady detective is on the case, and many days later she unexpectedly arrives at the master's house. Here's how Smith tells the story: The schoolmaster looked out the window of his house and he saw a small white van drive outside. He saw the woman get out and look at his door. And the child—what about the child? Was she a parent who was bringing her child to him for some reason?

He went outside and found her at the low wall of the yard. "You are the teacher?" she asked. "I am the teacher. Can I do anything for you?" She turned to the van and signaled to the child within, and the door opened and his son came out.

And the teacher cried out, and he ran forward and then stopped as if looking for confirmation. Then he ran forward again, almost stumbling, an unlaced shoe coming off, to seize his son and hold him while he shouted wildly, incoherently, for the village and for the world to hear his joy. This is how the story ends. When the child returns, the father rejoices.

And isn't that how you want your own story to end? With the Father running to meet you and taking you into his arms and shouting to the world that the lost child has finally come home.

Our Father, we do pray to you as our Father, that this would be the joy that comes at the end of our story. That you would receive us to yourself, as far as we have wandered, yet we know that there is still forgiveness for sinners in your grace. And so we come to you, praying that you would receive us for Jesus' sake. And we pray not only for ourselves, but for all the prodigal children that are still far from home and still in need of your Father's welcome. And it's in Jesus' name that we pray. Amen.

Announcer: You are listening to Every Last Word with Bible teacher Dr. Philip Ryken, a listener-supported ministry of the Alliance of Confessing Evangelicals. The Alliance exists to promote a biblical understanding and worldview, drawing upon the insight and wisdom of reformed theologians from decades and even centuries gone by. We seek to provide Christian teaching that will equip believers to understand and meet the challenges and opportunities of our time and place.

Alliance broadcasting includes *The Bible Study Hour* with Dr. James Boice, *Every Last Word* with Bible teacher Dr. Philip Ryken, *God's Living Word* with Pastor the Reverend Richard Phillips, and *Dr. Barnhouse and the Bible* featuring Donald Barnhouse.

For more information on the Alliance, including a free introductory packet for first-time callers or to make a contribution, please call toll-free: 1-800-488-1888. Again, that's 1-800-488-1888. You can also write the Alliance at Box 2000, Philadelphia, PA 19103, or you can visit us online at Alliancenet.org. Ask for your free resource catalog featuring books, audio, commentaries, booklets, videos, and a wealth of other materials from outstanding reformed teachers and theologians. Thank you again for your continued support of this ministry.