While he was still a long way off, his father saw him (any of Abba’s disconnected kids). His heart pounding with compassion, he ran, hugged, and kissed him affectionately (Lk.15:20). Then he gave him the best robe, new “Birks,” a ring, a feast, music, and dancing (Paraphrase of Lk.15:22-25).
Heavenly Father, help us, free us. We’re still tempted to think the profuse display of affection in this story is hyperbole, metaphor, or poetry. Or it’s reserved for people like Corrie ten Boom, Joni Earekson Tada, and martyrs. But in the story, your love isn’t lavished on martyrs, but messes like us. A son wasted away with partying, and a son eaten up with self-righteousness. Thank you, 1000 times over.
You see us with perfect vision and eyes of grace. You run (not mosey) to us in the Gospel—no matter our location or condition. Our repentance doesn’t earn such love; it simply puts us in the way of it. Abba, your love is our only hope and perpetual welcome. And you don’t pat us on the shoulders or give us an awkward side hug; you throw your arms around us and you “kiss us.” How? By greatly delighting in us, quieting us with your love, and rejoicing over us with singing (Zeph. 3:17)—your descriptor, not our wishful thinking. Thank you, Abba.
One Day we’ll realize this story was just a hint and whisper of the greatness of your love for us in Jesus. Help us believe and savor it now, come alive and grow healthier. Even today, free us to extend your love to fellow messes like ourselves—to our parents, siblings, and kids who love us imperfectly; to a world that has no clue what you are really like; and to our enemies, people that irritate us, and those who’ve hurt us. So Very Amen.