Born To Be Wild

Introduction — The Song That Never Dies

You’ve heard it — whether you meant to or not.

At a car show, blasting through chrome fenders and candy-paint engines.

In a movie chase scene, pounding in the background as tires squeal and sparks fly.

In a garage full of tools, the smell of gasoline thick in the air.

Or coming out of a dusty old jukebox in a forgotten diner somewhere on a road map nobody uses anymore.

A voice rasps:

> “Get your motor runnin’, head out on the highway,

Lookin’ for adventure and whatever comes our way…”

It’s more than a song.

It’s an anthem — the anthem of the restless soul.

Steppenwolf called it Born to Be Wild.

And the strange thing is… over fifty years later, the song refuses to fade.

Hits change, trends come and go, styles shift — but that line keeps coming back.

Why?

Because it touches something in us.

It names something we’d rather pretend isn’t there — the part of us that wants to run.

Something in us wants wide roads, no rules, and nobody telling us what to do.

We crave the open horizon.

We crave the feeling that the next turn might finally give us the life we think we deserve.

We call it independence.

We call it freedom.

We call it being our own person.

But Scripture calls it something else:

Lostness.

Because the moment we demand freedom without the Father,

the moment we grab the keys and say,

“Thanks, God — I’ve got it from here,”

we’re not running toward life…

We’re running from it.

---

1. The Wild in All of Us

Jesus tells a story — not about monsters or villains,

but about a father… and two sons.

It’s almost too normal to be remarkable.

But the moment Jesus says,

> “A certain man had two sons…”

everyone in the crowd leans forward.

Because everyone knows:

you don’t have to teach a child to disobey.

Rebellion is factory-installed.

You have to teach sharing.

You have to teach patience.

You have to teach respect.

But rebellion?

That comes with the package.

The younger son walks up one day and fires the shot heard around the neighborhood:

> “Father, give me the portion of goods that falls to me.”

In our modern ears, it sounds bratty but manageable.

In Jesus’ culture, it was unthinkable.

He was essentially saying:

“I want your money, but I don’t want you.”

“I want what you can give me, but I don’t want your authority.”

“I want the inheritance — now — because waiting for you to die takes too long.”

It was a slap across the face of his father’s love.

And yet…

we understand him.

Because the wild in him is the wild in us.

The itch.

The craving.

The whisper that says:

“There has to be more than this.”

“There’s a better life somewhere out there.”

“I’m missing out — and I deserve more.”

We hear that whisper in our teens:

“I can’t wait until I’m out of this house.”

We hear it in adulthood:

“I just need something new — a new job, a new city, a new relationship, a new thrill.”

We hear it in our spiritual life:

“God’s holding out on me. Other people get better breaks. Why can’t I live a little?”

The wild isn’t wicked at first.

It’s simply directionless desire.

A longing without a shepherd.

And Jesus knows it.

He’s not mocking the younger son —

He’s diagnosing the human condition.

We were born with this restless fire.

But without God, fire becomes destruction.

---

2. The Road of the Runaway

So the son leaves.

Luke says,

> “Not many days after,

the younger son gathered all together

and took his journey into a far country.”

He didn’t delay.

He didn’t pray.

He didn’t second-guess.

The wild doesn’t wait — it moves quickly.

Picture him:

new clothes, pockets full, head high, heart racing.

The scent of freedom stronger than the dust rising behind him.

The first few miles?

Thrilling.

The world ahead?

Endless.

Rules?

Zero.

He buys what he wants.

He drinks what he wants.

He does what he wants.

He sleeps when he wants.

He parties until the sun meets him at the door.

Every night felt like victory.

Every morning felt like possibility.

But there is a truth the world never advertises:

Freedom without direction is slavery in disguise.

You don’t notice the chains at first,

because they are velvet — soft, comfortable, pleasant.

But they tighten slowly.

The further he went from home,

the more he insulated himself from the voice that once grounded him.

And one day,

he reaches into his pocket… and finds nothing.

No coins.

No friends.

No options.

Then Jesus adds the detail that destroys his illusion: