Untitled Sermon (66)

Before we jump into the text here, I thought it’d be wise to speak for just a second about what our elders asked for at our business meeting, and what the church voted to approve.

Long story short, Nikki and I are burned out. As I reiterated at our business meeting that doesn’t mean there has been any kind of moral failing, and also our marriage is in a terrific place, and our children are doing just absolutely amazing. It’s awesome to see them just really growing in Jesus. I couldn’t be more proud or more happy.

But we’ve been going non-stop in ministry for 20+ years. And sometimes you get to a place where .....

Honestly, prioritizing love over the letter of the law, is really what I want us to see in the text this morning. Now my fear is that you’ll tie it too closely to this situation and miss it....I don’t want that. I don’t want this to be about us…is there anyway you can just kind of stick everything I just said in your back pocket and now we kind of proceed here with the text?

Everybody, I think, has their own set of rules. Their own kind of “this is how the world works”. And many times its informed by the society around us. This is how you do things here…this is what is expected of you.

Today is Father’s Day. And we have many expectations about what a dad is supposed to be. We can even change these expectations as we get older. For me as a 7-year old, “a dad is the one who caves in and buys you a pack of baseball cards.” But that morphs some as you age, right?

“Baseball cards” end up being other things. And our expectations change. And dads have their own expectations about what they want to be. And our culture says, “Here is what a man is. Here is what you’re supposed to be as a father.”

What are some of these:

Be the rock—never waver, don’t show fear, don’t show doubt, or weakness.

Provide at all costs—your value is measured by your paycheck

Don’t be a burden—keep it all to yourself.

Stay in control and keep those around you under control—you’re responsible for order, discipline, keeping those kids in line—and some might even justify abuse with this one.

Your role is temporary—get those gets kids grown, your job is done. Now its up to others.

Be respected at all cost—don’t ever let them question you.

Be tough on sons, tender with daughters.

You’re only as good as your legacy—raise successful kids, build something that outlasts you.

Don’t let them walk all over you. Set boundaries. Hold the line. Don’t get played. You can’t ever look weak.

To be clear I’m not saying all of these are bad or necessarily wrong or anything. I’m just saying they are out there…they press in on you…it’s where regret comes from sometimes, cultural expectations, or our own expectations, and we don’t match up to what we THINK we’re supposed to be.

That same thing is in the background in the story of Luke 15:11-32, the story of the prodigal son. There were expectations of how a father was supposed to act—and especially in a situation like this one.

Imagine yourself as the nosy neighbor watching this whole thing unfold. Let’s call the dad in this story Jack...

“You hear what Jack’s boy did?”

“That good for nothing kid, asked for his inheritance early. The old man is taking it pretty hard too.”

“That little punk might as well have said, “I wish you were dead”.

If that was my kid…oh boy…you better believe I wouldn’t let that happen. I’d slap that kid silly. He’s shamed the whole family. Jack can’t allow this to happen. He can’t ignore this insult. He needs to disown that boy. Treat him as good as dead.

I heard he burnt through the whole inheritance already—ran off, wasted every bit of it. He’s just thrown his life away, and Jack’s right along with it. Last I heard he was in the bad part of town, practically living on the streets, doing all kinds of things God doesn’t approve of.

Ol’ man Jenkins said he saw him yesterday…shuffling around, about a quarter mile outside of town. Looking like he was rehearsing some speech…probably going to beg his dad for some more money he could waste.

If he does come back…oh boy…I know what I’d do. A man has to protect his name, his land, his family. Let the boy knock on that gate all he wants. He’s not coming back in until he apologizes to everybody, gets back what he squandered, works it off. That’s what a respectable man would do. Can’t let him get away with this. That’s how honor works, you know?

That no-good kid is nothing like his brother. Mitch…he’s been steady this whole time. Never caused any trouble. He stayed when his brother took off…he’s done everything a father could ask. I wish he was my boy, to be honest. Good kid. Jack ought to be proud...

Letting that little twerp back into the family would be a slap in the face for Mitch too. I hope that punk never shows his face here in town again. And if he does…well…I hope Jack does the right thing.

Well....let’s pick up the story...

Luke 15:20–24 ESV

And he arose and came to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him. And the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his servants, ‘Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and 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.

Well, so much for what we thought “Jack” would do.

He sees the boy a long way off…no waiting for him to desperately knock at the door…show his sorrow and repentance…make sure he’s really sorry…he’s learned his lesson.

None of that. He ran to him.

Ran!

Again, this is not on the list of something that a good father would do. This is undignified. It’s shameful. No self-respecting father lifts up his robe, and runs.

And especially not out to a son that is filthy, pig poo all over him, and he goes out there and kisses him…kisses him…before he even seems to mutter out a word.

The boy starts out with a confession…the one our nosy neighbor was looking for…and the father just cuts him off. Like he didn’t even hardly make it.

He doesn’t make him work his way back in. No he calls for a robe, a ring, sandals. He kills a calf. Throws a party.

This is lavish. This is…well…prodigal behavior. Growing up I always thought the word “prodigal” meant bratty kid who runs away from home…or person who drifts from their calling, leaves their destination, stuff like that. But it doesn’t it means

spending money or resources freely and recklessly; wastefully extravagant

And the father in this story…well…it’s pretty irresponsible. So what is Jesus doing in this story? Why does he present the father this way…in a way that is shocking…offensive, even. You have to see that. If you think, this isn’t offensive—breaking all the rules—I think you’re missing the major point Jesus is making.

Keep in mind all of this goes back up to Luke 15:1-2

Luke 15:1–2 ESV

Now the tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to hear him. And the Pharisees and the scribes grumbled, saying, “This man receives sinners and eats with them.”

This parable is to show them what the heart of the Father is like. When repentance happen…he gets a little “prodigal” in his response.

Now what does that mean for us?

Maybe we can just ask a question here…what if the father had done what was expected. What if he was like what they wanted him to be—how he ought to be—what if he didn’t break the “rules” for the sake of love?

And I know some squirm at that…God’s not a rule-breaker. Well, God’s not one who is going to break His own law…He’s going to fulfill it…but He’s more than happy break stupid man made ideas of what is “supposed to be”. He’s not going to conform to us. And that’s what Jesus is wanting them, and us, to see here.

If he didn’t break the rules...if this wasn't the heart of God...it’d mean that you could never actually get back home. It means there wouldn’t be feasting, or restoration, or celebration. There would only be distance and shame. And if that’s what God is like, there wouldn’t be any hope for us, really.

For some of you, that might be very welcome news. You don’t have to clean yourself up. The Father isn’t there arms crossed. He’s not following the rules that we’ve made up. He’s not going to say, “you’ve got to pay for this...” He’s not going to hold redemption out in front of you like a carrot on a stick.

But I wonder, Christian, someone who has been going at this thing for a while what that truth is doing for you. Does it still stir you up? Are you still amazed by this truth?

I think we might keep grace at arms length. That’s easier than being undone by it. It’s safer to get cynical, sarcastic, or “realistic” instead of tender. Because to be tender is to be moved by something—and that’s scary. I wonder if sometimes we might run from grace like this because shame, painful as it is, is actually familiar.

Distance feels safer. It keeps us from having to face the terrifying vulnerability of being fully loved. We know the story. We know about rehearsing that repentance speech. And we know that we’re accepted—at least we know that it’s supposed to be the story. But I wonder if maybe those robes of acceptance get little itchy. Like they don’t feel like they belong to us...they aren’t robes we’ve earned...

We carry our guilt like it’s a form of atonement—as if enough sorrow or self-hatred will finally make us clean. And when we do that, we don’t just keep ourselves out of the party—we start keeping others out, too. Because if I had to earn my way back, you’d better believe they should too. But the Father in Jesus’ story doesn’t play by those rules. He doesn’t let shame speak the final word. He doesn’t let distance win. He just runs. He embraces. He restores. And if that’s what the heart of God is really like, maybe it’s time we stopped punishing ourselves. Maybe it’s time we stopped punishing each other.

To accept the Father’s embrace is to accept that we are no longer who we thought we were. And that’s hard. Because shame gives us a script, even if it’s a sad one. It tells us who we are and how the story ends. But grace throws out that script. It changes the ending. And that can be scary.

But this is shocking, scandalous, and beautiful news that Jesus is telling us here. God doesn’t love with conditions but with compassion. He doesn’t wait and see if you’re somehow “worthy” to be brought back in. He runs to you.

Let yourself be found.

What does that mean? It means be honest about your condition...don’t hide from God. Bring your mess into the light. Drop the performance. “God this is who I am. this is what I’ve done.”

And you receive it. Stop beating yourself up. Stop disqualifying yourself. Stop keeping yourself as a “servant” but live like a son. Receive joy. Dance. Celebrate. I don’t have to live in this shame...this isn’t my identity...this isn’t who God says that I am.

This isn’t a story about a runaway son getting his act together. It’s a story about a Father who never stopped loving. And if Jesus is telling the truth—and I believe He is—then you are not too far gone. You are not too filthy. You are not too late.

But Jesus is telling just his parable for a reason...it’s not just so us rascals can receive pardon and dance in grace. It also begs a question. If this is what God is like...what does that mean for how we’re supposed to love others.

Are we going to live by rules or by love? No, we aren’t breaking God’s rules. We’re breaking the ones we’ve made up. The assumptions we’ve made about rules...or the rules we made up about God’s rules. The rules we picked up from pride. From fear. From hurt. From culture. The ones that say, “They’ve made their choice.” The ones that say, “They don’t deserve a second chance.” The ones that say, “If I forgive them, they’ll just do it again.”

Loving like the Father means being willing to look foolish. It means running toward people, not waiting for them to crawl. It means covering shame, not exposing it. It means restoring people instead of reminding them of how badly they messed up. It means celebrating repentance instead of holding grudges. It means choosing presence over pride, grace over keeping score.

And listen—this isn’t soft love. This isn’t weak love. This is the strongest love there is. Because anyone can hold a grudge. Anyone can keep a distance. But only people who know the Father’s heart can love like the Father does. What does this mean for Father’s?

Part of what this means is that your highest calling isn’t to have everything all together. You don’t have to impressive, perfectly respected, or always in control. It’s not about following every rule our culture has handed down to us about what a man is or what a dad should be.

Your calling is to reflect the heart of THE Father—the one Jesus shows us. The one who prioritizes relationship over reputation. Who keeps the porch light on for the wayward son. The one who isn't afraid to be vulnerable. The one who moves first...who moves towards your child instead of waiting for them to act..The one who never gives up on his kids.

None of that means you don’t lead, or discipline, or parent. Or even allow your kid—painful as it might be—to run off to the far country, and even get in the pig slop, and to wait...looking at the road for their repentance...their shuffle towards repentance.

This story IS about what to do when repentance happens. It’s important to keep that in mind.

Am I looking for teachable moments? Places where I can correct them...get them in order...or am I looking for ways that I can blow them away with grace, lavish love upon them, blow them away with how free and safe and secure and wonderful love is? You get the idea that the Father was just waiting to run.

He probably already had running shoes.

Do you ever wonder about the robes, the rings, the sandals...and even that fattened calf? I don’t know this for sure...but it almost seems like these things were in waiting. He’s not saying, “go out and buy those things...it’s almost as if the direction here is telling them something where they knew what robe, what sandals, what ring, and what calf… The father was ready for redemption. He was ready for the return. He had the whole party ready...

I think there is definitely an image in Scripture about the wrath of God being poured out upon sin and sinful humanity...and I’ve preached on Colossians about how God’s grace is just holding back this wrath...like a dam...that someday, He’s going to let it go...I’ve shared this illustration like imagine this city down below this dam...and when the dam breaks the city is destroyed...and the gospel message is that right now grace/patience/kindness is holding back the wrath...flee the city...run...

And we get the idea that God is just holding His arm there...that this is His heart...holding back the wrath....it won’t always be that way...someday He will, and I believe broken-heartedly...pull His arm away and the dam will break, and wrath will be poured out.

But I think there might be another image that we’re being given here. It’s that there is a party just waiting to bust out. Right now it’s being held back by the arm of God’s justice. He doesn’t celebrate the son in the pigsty. He can’t celebrate while the son is in the far country. That’d be dumb. That’s a wreckage of all that is good and right...that’s not where joy is truly found. That’s the place where the wild things are, where death is, where all that is destructive and harmful and such. That’s where you get emptied instead of filled up. There isn’t flourishing there.

The father isn’t going to part while the son is there. His loving justice...his dedication to truth...all of that is holding back the party. But you better believe that He’s just waiting...He can’t wait to pull back His arm and unleash the flood of joy. He can’t wait to dance.

And I think, we’re called to be dad’s like this. Daddy’s that enjoy dancing with their son and daughter. Just looking for opportunities to celebrate. Places to shine a spotlight.

Your kids don’t need a perfect father, they need a present one. One who shows them what the heart of the Father is like. Maybe you aren’t this dad, maybe you weren’t. There is still repentance. This story is for father’s who’ve shanked it. Run to grace.

And it’s also for those who may not have had a dad like this. In some ways, none of us have. God is the perfect Father. But in as much as your dad has been this...thank them...it’s a gift. But if you didn’t have this, you need to know that you DO have this kind of Father.

Your Heavenly Father. Jesus wants us to know that this is who God is.

So where does that leave us?

For some of you, this is the call to come home. Drop the speech. Quit trying to earn your way back. Let yourself be found.

For others, this is a call to lay down the arms-crossed version of Christianity. To stop keeping score. To stop managing grace like it’s a scarce resource. To celebrate more than you correct. To love like the Father.

For some dads in the room, this is a wake-up call. Not to be a perfect father—but to be a present one. To be a dad who runs. To be ready with a robe, a ring, a feast. To parent not from fear or control, but from love. From joy.

And for some—maybe this stirs up grief. Because you didn’t have a dad like this. Or you’ve lost one. Or you’ve been wounded by one. If that’s you, can I just say this clearly: You do have a Father like this. And He’s the one Jesus came to reveal.

So wherever you are in the story— whether you’ve run away, or you’re standing at a distance, or you’re still holding onto your list of rules— you’re invited to the feast.

The Father is ready. The robe is ready. The party is ready. Come home.