Watching Down the Road

     One of the better known of Jesus' parables is that of the Prodigal Son, found in Luke 15.   Jesus tells of a father who grants the younger of his two sons his request to receive his inheritance early,  then  watches as the boy "sets off for a distant country and there squanders his wealth in wild living."  Just the mere asking to receive his inheritance before his father's death is the worst kind of disrespect he could show his father, but all we know is the father allows it.

    Ultimately, after dishonoring himself with prostitutes and wasting his inheritance, the boy finds himself starving in a famine-stricken country.  Realizing the grave mistake he has made, he repents of his ways and decides to return home and beg his father to take him in as a servant, so he at least won't starve to death.

     "When he came to his senses, he said, 'How many of my father's hired men have food to spare, and here I am starving to death !  I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you.  I am no longer worthy to be called your son;  make me like one of your hired men.'"

     At this point, I imagine that I observed him from a perfect mountainside perch, with a full view of the last two miles he walked on the road toward home.  Even from a distance, I could see in his slumped shoulders and his drooping head how ashamed and self-condemning he was.  He long ago had to throw away his shredded sandals, and his bare, crusty feet dragged heavily as he kicked up the dust.   Each time he thought about turning around in his shame and heading back to the "far country" of his sin, his hunger  carried him forward.  Not just the stabbing knives of hunger in his stomach, but the even more painful hunger in his heart to be home and near his father and brother again.

     I watched him plod along, a defeated young man, but old for his age.  As he passed a huge oak tree next to the road, he remembered that not so long ago, he had passed that very tree, leaving home a rich young man,  headed for what he thought was the good life.  Oh, if only that tree had spoken to him and warned him of his foolishness, before he had gone off and ruined his life.

     His heart quickened as he neared an ancient stone marker that was a mile from his home's front gate.  A marker that he and his older brother had ventured to more than once when they were younger and had childishly threatened to run away from home.  But they had never gone further.  For that is about the time their first pangs of hunger would begin, and they would realize that home wasn't so bad after all.  But those pains were nothing, compared to the hunger he felt on the trip home.

     As he trudged toward home, I had been so intent on observing this young man from my lofty observation point, that I had not seen that someone had begun moving slowly from the other end of the road, through the homestead gate.  As I looked more closely,  I could see that that someone was the boy's father.

     He moved slowly at first, and I saw him put one hand up to shade his eyes, as he looked into the blaze of the setting sun.  How many times had he peered down that road, day after day, never giving up hope ?   Oh, he could have gone after him.  He knew where he was.  He just wanted him home and he wanted the pain to go away.   But he knew the boy had to come back by his own choice.  That was the only way.  Just that morning, he had walked down the road to that old stone marker, thinking this might be the day.  But there was no sign.  Maybe tomorrow, he said to himself walking back.  Maybe tomorrow.

     But now,  the evening of that same day, he thought he could see a speck of movement on the horizon, in spite of the glare.  He walked with a slight limp, and I suspected he must be favoring a bad hip.  What a sight it was, as my eyes took in the two of them.   I had heard what had happened between them months ago, and I actually felt a bit like an intruder as I just happened to be where I could see, even at this distance, what I hoped was going to be a sweet reunion.  I was not disappointed.  

     I was alone, so I wept unashamedly as I saw that father run haltingly, as fast as he could with no regard for that disabled hip.  The boy lifted his head, not believing what he was seeing.  He had never seen his father run this way before,  running and weeping, arms outstretched toward him.  This was a welcome he could never have expected after the way he had treated his father.   And the boy's shame began to reluctantly lift toward a sky that by this time was multi-hued,  as the large red wafer of sun itself had dipped out of sight, below the sky's edge behind him.

     Everything he saw in his father's face told him there would be no "I -told-you-so's."  There would be no having to earn forgiveness.  The fact that he was truly sorry and had the courage to come home was all that would be needed.  All his father could speak about was the celebration they were going to have.  Tomorrow would be the first morning in months that he hadn't walked to the gate, looking down the road and wondering if his son was even alive.  The sound of the father weeping tears of joy harmonized beautifully with the sound of the boy crying tears of repentance.

     As I watched them walk through the gate with the father's arm draped around his son's shoulders  and head toward the house, I couldn't help but ask, how many of us have traveled that same road ?   Either as a rebellious son or daughter, or as a grieving parent, watching the horizon every day for the return of one who has lost their way. 

    Any of us who know the joy of finding someone we thought we had lost,  know what this father meant when he said, "For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found."

    Why should we understand any less the joy that our Heavenly Father in Heaven feels when we honor his faithfulness by turning our hearts toward home and Him ?

     In Luke 15:10, Jesus says, " In the same way,  I tell you, there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents."

    The Christian poet and songwriter, Rich Mullins, wrote a song called Growing Young, which reveals his own days as a prodigal, and likely hits home in one way or another for all of us.  

     Meditate on these beautiful lyrics, then take the time to go to YouTube and access Growing Young by Rich Mullins, in order to hear the music......

I've gone so far from my home

I've seen the world and I have known
So many secrets I wish now I did not know

'Cause they have crept into my heart
They have left it cold and dark and bleeding
Bleeding and falling apart

And everybody used to tell me big boys don't cry
Well, I've been around enough to know that that was the lie
That held back the tears in the eyes of a thousand prodigal sons

Well, we are children no more, we have sinned and grown old
And our Father still waits and He watches down the road
To see the crying boys come running back to His arms
And be growing young, growing young

I've seen silver turn to dross
Seen the very best there ever was
And I'll tell You, it ain't worth what it costs

And I remember my Father's house
What I wouldn't give right now, just to see Him
And hear Him tell me that He loves me so much

And everybody used to tell me big boys don't cry
Well, I've been around enough to know that that was the lie
That held back the tears in the eyes of a thousand prodigal sons

Well, we are children no more, we have sinned and grown old
And our Father still waits and He watches down the road
To see the crying boys come running back to His arms

And when I thought that I was all alone
It was Your voice I heard calling me back home
And I wonder now, Lord
What it was that made me wait so long

And what kept You waiting for me all that time
Was Your love stronger than my foolish pride?
Will You take me back now
Take me back and let me be Your child

'Cause I've been broken now, I've been saved
I've learned to cry and I've learned how to pray
I'm learning, I'm learning even I can be changed

And everybody used to tell me big boys don't cry
Well, I've been around enough to know that that was the lie
That held back the tears in the eyes of a thousand prodigal sons

Well, we are children no more, we have sinned and grown old
And our Father still waits and He watches down the road
To see the crying boys come running back to His arms
And be growing young, no, no, no, growing young
No, no, no, growing young