Overall, people love the parables our Lord tells. Most are simple stories about some strange yet relatable occurrence which reveal to us a profound truth, a teaching about the Kingdom of Heaven or the life of discipleship. They are told in such a way that we can remember them. The people of God never seem to tire of hearing the parables of Jesus. We all have our favorite ones. Often, when we return to them, they reveal new insights we either missed before or perhaps have forgotten along the way. Of course, each time we come to our Lord’s Word, we are in a different place, facing different struggles, and so finding different insight. But of all the parables He has told, easily the most favorite is that of the Prodigal Son.

However, today I want to challenge the title. It is a bit of a misnomer. Our English translations give these handy little headings to various pericopes, but calling this parable “The Prodigal Son” is not very helpful. It might even skew our reading and understanding of the text. For myself, for a long time, I did not even realize what a prodigal was. I thought a prodigal was one who returned. There were always references in movies and books to one returning to the fold being labeled a former prodigal. But as many of you may know, to be a prodigal means to be wasteful and extravagant in lavishly throwing away what you have. Therefore, to reduce this text to the younger son’s prodigious living is to miss so much more that is going on here.

We love this parable because it is easy to see ourselves in it. There are three main characters, the two sons and the father, and there is a lot more than just the extravagant living. There are the family relationships, the security, and meaning found in being part of the father’s household. There is the fickleness of friends in a foreign land, the longing for compassion, and the inability to save yourself. There is disappointment at the father’s generosity, and a desire to have your own recognition; to have someone celebrate your diligence and faithfulness which seems to have gone unnoticed for too many years.

For many, the younger son is the focus of the parable. This makes sense, for he is a unique and somewhat terrible creature. It begins with him asking his father for his share of the inheritance. He wants the property that will come to him when his father dies, which is tantamount to wishing your father were already dead. When he gets it, he immediately leaves the family and goes off to a foreign land. There he has a fun time, for a while. The text says he “squanders his property in reckless living.” He turns completely inward toward his own desires and appetites and blows through the remains of his father’s life. And if that was not bad enough, we are told there is a famine in the land, a famine which makes resources and generosity scarce, especially for a foreigner. He ends up binding himself to a pig farmer to scratch together just enough to survive.

It is easy for many of you to see yourself as this son, at least at times in your life, periods when you squandered the gifts and blessings you took for granted. It does not have to be money. It could be the time you have, time you could have used to invest in those you love, in your children or parents, and time which you cannot get back. It could be friendships you neglected, people that were there for you to speak of hope and demonstrate love, people you let fall away. And, of course, it could be the very gifts of God, the gifts of Word and sacrament, the living promises that bring repentance and faith, which call you out of the darkness into the light. How often do you take these for granted? How often do you squander the rich blessings of God?

So, we know what it is to “come to ourselves” as the younger son did, to find ourselves having spent ourselves out of all our resources, to be empty-handed beggars without a way forward. In serving our own desires, we find the well soon runs dry. We know what it is to be filled with shame and longing to return to the father’s house. We know how it feels to be broken, not wanting restoration, but just a small portion of the kindness and care we remember from our Lord. Perhaps we even craft our confession like the son did, our last attempt to save some face as we come crawling back, for we too are not worthy of being called sons.

The shock, of course, is in the son’s return. The scene set before us is one where the father has never stopped waiting for his boy’s return. It is almost as if he is watching and waiting every day for him to come walking home. When he is still a long way off, the father sees him, and he does not send out an entourage or a servant to bring him home, no, he rushes headlong toward him. The father falls on his neck, embracing and celebrating his return. He restores him completely and begins the great celebration. With tears in his eyes, he declares, “This my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.” There is hope for you, hope in returning yet again to your Father. For his mercy overflows, his love is not exhausted by our neglect and selfish desires.

But the parable is not over. In fact, it seems all of this was to set up the story of the older son. We are now directed towards the faithful son, the one who was always there, always doing the work, always striving to be dependable. Remember, this parable was told because the Pharisees and the scribes grumbled against Jesus saying, “This man receives sinners and eats with them.” For just as you see yourself in the younger son, you will find yourself in the older one as well. When you see the celebration of another prodigal who returns, you begin to wonder where your celebration is. Where is the recognition for your faithfulness, your striving day-in and day-out? Many of the saints of God remain faithful through tremendous trials, but where is their great feast?

Then, in the text we see the father in action again. The party has begun, the fattened calf has been slaughtered, but the father goes out to his other son. This uncommon father who runs out to welcome home his one son now pleads with the other, “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. It was fitting to celebrate and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found.” The fellowship is not complete without him. The celebration is hindered without both of his children.

This parable is a story of hope and reconciliation, a description of love beyond our experience. And it is truly a parable about a prodigal, but not a prodigal son. It is the father who is the prodigal. The father lavishly and extravagantly pours out all he has in love and compassion. The father recklessly pours his life out for his children, and this is your experience too. The Father sends His only begotten Son to die in your place. The Father rushes to restore you, to claim you as His own child, to clothe you with the garments of His Son, and prepare the feast. This Father of yours comes to you today to invite you to the feast, to gather around His table with your brothers and sister, and to celebrate that what was lost has been found.