Marvelous Adoption

Life As A Redeemed & Adopted Child of God

1.5.25 [Galatians 4:4-7] River of Life (2nd Sunday after Christmas)

The parable of the prodigal son is one of the most heartwarming, inspiring, and insightful stories our Savior ever taught. A young man foolishly demands his share of his father’s estate with dreams of doing as he pleases. As soon as it’s his, he sets off for a distant land. He doesn’t want dad looking over his shoulder as he pursues his passions. As it turns out, those passions are pricey. He runs out of money almost as quickly as he got his hands on it. When a famine strikes, he’s hit particularly hard. It seems no one cares about him. He’s all alone—starving and shamefully shoveling slop to pigs. Things get so bad he begins to hanker for what the hogs were eating—which couldn’t have been very appetizing during a famine. Finally, he comes to his senses. He reminisces about life back home. He remembers how his dad would treat the help. They had plenty to eat. So he decides to trek back home, admit his mistakes, and ask for a job.

On the way home, he practices his apology. (Lk. 15:18-19) Father, I’ve sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Make me like one of your hired servants.

As he trudged along, his father saw him while he was still a long way off. Dad couldn’t run the risk that his son would get cold feet, so he went running to his son. As soon as dad closed the gap between himself and his son, he embraced his son and kissed him.

The young man began his apology, but his father cut him off as soon as he said I am not worthy to be called your son. Immediately, he commanded his servants to whip together a party. (Lk. 15:23-24) Let’s have a feast and celebrate. This son of mine was dead and is alive again. He was lost and now is found. So they began to celebrate.

It’s a gloriously happy ending to a story that began as a tragedy. The only thing is, it’s not the end of Jesus’ story. While everyone else is singing and dancing and celebrating, the older brother comes near the family home. He’s been out in the field and does not know what has transpired. One of the servants gets him up to speed and instead of joining the celebration, he sulks outside. He simply will not be a party to this party. So dad comes out to him.

The older brother protests loudly. I’ve been faithful. (Lk. 15:29) I’ve been slaving for you for all these years. I’ve never disobeyed. Why don’t you celebrate me like you do this disaster you call your son?

The father gently and patiently chided his firstborn. (Lk. 15:31-32) My son, you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. But we had to celebrate. This brother of yours was dead and is alive again. He was lost and is found.

This parable is a beautiful illustration of God’s activity as Paul lays it out for us in Galatians 4. While Jesus’ parable describes marvelously what happens in our redemption and restoration, these words detail the how and why. And we need these words. We need this truth.

Because the truth is, the older brother is not factually inaccurate. He may have a distorted view of the way his father’s love should work, but he has not misrepresented what has and has not happened.

Verses 4 and 5 describe the father’s way of dealing with the younger son. When the set time had fully come—after God had blessed his children with the inheritance he’d promised to Abraham and they’d turned away from him and squandered all they had been given in wild living. After they had been humbled by a famine of his Word, after they were exiles in a country far away, God was filled with compassion. Our God didn’t even wait for sinners to trudge home, barefoot and broken shells of themselves. He saw sinners while they were still a long way off from the glory of God. So God sent his Son to us, to embrace our humanity and place himself under the Law, so that we might be freed from our slavery to sin.

Then at our Baptisms, he makes us alive. He finds those who have been lost in sin and shame. He celebrates over us, beaming with a pride that almost makes us feel uncomfortable. Yet, after all we have done, after all the ways we have brought shame to his name, he is proud to call us his own. Though we are not even worthy to be his hired hands, he embraces us. He restores us. He calls us his sons. Because of Christ’s righteous record and substitutionary sacrifice, we receive adoption to sonship.

At first blush, this might sound like unnecessarily sexist language. But it's not. In fact, it's necessarily powerful and precise. Recall how Abram was troubled before he had any offspring. He said to the Lord, (Gen. 15:3) You have given me no children; so a servant in my household will be my heir. A wealthy man such as Abram could initiate a legal process and make someone his own son & heir. All the old debts would be canceled. The adopted son would be given a new name & status. As a son, he would be entitled to an inheritance.

Abram was disappointed he didn’t have a traditional, legitimate heir.

But look at God your Father. He has a Son. A perfect Son. One who only and always does his will. Yet, because he is filled with compassion for sinners like us, he sends that perfect, obedient Son to secure for us a new status. By his sacrifice, we are redeemed. By his wounds, we are healed. By his physical & emotional punishment on the cross, we are given peace. By his death, we are adopted. We are written into God’s last will & testament. God has made us heirs.

But here’s the thing about being an heir. You quickly lose sight of that future reality, when your present conditions aren’t so splendid. You know you are a son and an heir during the singing and the dancing. But when the music dies down, when the last bits of the fattened calf are gobbled up, and life goes back to normal—what now?

It’s easy for us to grow envious when we see our Father celebrate the next redemption. Call it a sense of spiritual sibling rivalry. It’s easy for us to feel resentful of all the adulation the most recent adoptee receives. When we’re slogging away out in the fields and someone else is the center of attention, we wonder: am I still really God’s own child like that? Have I been overshadowed? Forgotten?

Add to that the reality of living as a child of God. First of all, we are keenly aware that we still daily fall short of our Father's glory. We may not go bankrupt in wild living, but we still think and talk and even act in ways that are spiritually and morally bankrupt. We don’t represent him as well as we should. We hunger for a righteousness we cannot produce. Our guts groan from all the sinful junk food we've filled up on.

Secondly, we are maltreated because of our Father’s way of doing business. At times, his compassion is taken advantage of. In other cases, it’s his holiness. People tell us that we shouldn’t be so focused on doing the right thing when our Father is so forgiving. Live a little, they say! But we know that’s not right! We must live for our Father, not for ourselves. And God wants us to be sure.

So, because you are his son, (Gal. 4:6) God sends you the Spirit of his Son into your heart, the very Spirit who calls out Abba, Father. This Spirit recalibrates our reality and reminds us that we are not slaving away in the master’s fields, but we are God’s child. We recognize hardship for what it is. Not arbitrary. Not unfair. Not some bad break or evidence that our Father has forgotten about us. (Heb. 12:7-9) Hardship is discipline. It is our loving Father’s way of keeping us close to him, on the path to salvation. Heavenward.

He gives us his Spirit as distinct, personal assurance we are his own.

That is what God does for all his children. Recall the complaint of the older brother in Jesus’ parable. He doesn’t sound like Joseph’s brothers, right? You gave him the best robe and here I am in worn out barn clothes! You put sandals on his feet and I’m barefoot. You gave him the family signet ring and I’ve only got callouses on my hands!

No, the older brother had all those things—because he was a son, too. He complained because he didn’t feel celebrated enough. He thought it was patently unfair that the Father would make such a big deal of his screw-up younger brother coming back home.

Him feeling that way is totally believable. It feels valid, doesn’t it?

Now imagine if the Father came out to the older brother and said to him, you know it would be nice if you gave up your room for him. The older brother would have blown a gasket, right?

But Jesus, your older brother, did more than just give up his room for you. He gave up his life. And while he was wrestling with this reality, outside the Holy City that was celebrating the Passover, he cried out (Mk. 14:36) Abba, Father, everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will.

Jesus, your perfect older brother, gave up everything so that everything he has might be ours. So that you might be clothed with the robe of his very best, his righteousness. So that your feet might be fitted with the good news of the Gospel. So that you might have the family signet ring on your finger and be able to speak authoritative words of forgiveness and peace on behalf of your Father. Your older brother does not rattle off all the sordid details of your shameful past. He redeems you from them and rejoices to (Heb. 2:11) call you his brothers and sisters. (Heb. 2:18) He even helps you when you are tempted. His Spirit assures you that you are his brother and that his Father is your Father, too.

The Spirit of his Son empowers you to pray for his kingdom to come, for his will to be done here on earth as it is done in heaven. This Spirit of his Son opens your eyes to see God’s wisdom in words that others consider foolishness, to see God’s goodness where others see only badness, and to see God’s love even in hardship. Jesus (Heb. 2:10) was made perfect through suffering and we are brought to the perfection of heaven (Acts 14.22) through many sufferings.

The Spirit of his Son keeps your eyes fixed on the final day, when you will receive what your Father has promised to all his children. Because you are not a hired hand, you are God’s own child and God has also made you an heir of eternal life. Amen.