A New Perspective on an Old Parable
I was working at the computer late on this particular night. After completing the task I was working on, I decided to take Oreo, my beloved puppy, out for—as
I momentarily gave chase (stop laughing) into the marshy side lot, overgrown with tall weeds and soaked with the recent rains. While giving chase, I slipped, lost my balance and fell shirtless into a large muddy mess (I said, “Stop laughing!”). As I looked up from my mud-spattered morass and watched Oreo and her new friend running away trust me, I was not thinking good thoughts about my “beloved” puppy.
Realizing I didn’t have the speed nor the endurance to keep up with the dogs (however, I would like to point out that over short distances, I am surprisingly quick—if the two-yard dash ever becomes an Olympic event, I look to take home the gold), I decided to clean up and use the car to search for them. After a brief rinse in the shower, the search was on.
I must admit that during the hunt for the dogs, my own anger was replaced with concern. Oreo didn’t know to be afraid of walking in the street or of cars. I wasn’t sure where that dog was from; how far would they venture? I realize she is just a dog, but she was my little dog so I worried.
After about an hour-and-a-half of searching, I went back to the apartment, hoping that wherever she was, she would find her way home. I decided to sleep on the couch because from there, I could see out the front window in case she did indeed make her way back home.
About
Even though the door was open, she didn’t come in. Maybe she worried that she would be punished. Maybe she didn’t know whether she was welcome any more. Whatever her canine concerns were, they were all erased when I told her, “Come here, sweet girl.” Her whole persona changed. The tail appeared again, wagging excitedly. She bounded into the apartment, gulped down the treat I got for her and gladly accepted the ear-scratching I offered.
After our brief, loving reunion, I went to start a bath for her—she needed it immediately. I noticed that, thanks to Oreo, my shirt was dirty and now I smelled like a dumpster. It was at that moment I got a new perspective on the parable of the prodigal son from Luke 15 and a new appreciation for what God has done for me—more times than I would like to remember.
The son in Jesus’ parable had lost everything. In the story, he eventually hires on to feed pigs. I once toured a pig farm in
My point: When the son returned to the father in the parable, the father ran out to meet him and threw his arms around his son (this was not one of those awkward “man hugs”—this was a father lovingly embracing a son he possibly thought was dead or never coming back). With total disregard for the fact that the son was dirty and probably smelled horrible, the father squeezes and holds him tightly. In fact, after this prolonged embrace, the father probably had dirt on his clothes and now also smelled like the son.
When he called the servants, they probably smelled it on him. When the party swung into motion, the odor was no doubt, still evident on his person. When the older son pouted and the father intervened, their eyes were maybe still watering from the pungent aroma. Did the dad care? Nope, his words tell the story … “my son was lost, but now is found … I don’t care how I smell!” (Okay, so I added the last part).
Too many times I too have selfishly run off in pursuit of things that were not good for me, even though his sound of God’s truth was clear to me through the Word or through the Spirit’s conviction. When my pursuits have left me empty and alone, I make my way back to him, reeking of sin’s rebelliousness, filthy with sin’s regret, and embarrassed by sin’s hold over me. In those times when I genuinely accept and experience God’s grace through Jesus Christ, I am awestruck as to why Jesus would take the filthiness, stench and embarrassment of my sin on himself.
The only answer I come up with seems to simplistic to say, but it is because he cares that much for me. Like the father in the parable, the concern is less about where he has been or what he has done and more about the joy that he has come home … dirty and smelly maybe, but safe. That’s all that mattered to the father and it is what is most important to our heavenly father as well!
DAVE
