Born To Be Wild

Introduction — The Song That Never Dies

You’ve probably heard it somewhere — over a loudspeaker at a car show, in a movie chase scene, or echoing through the years from a dusty jukebox:

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

Lookin’ for adventure and whatever comes our way…”

It’s the anthem of a restless soul — Born to Be Wild.

The song first hit the airwaves in 1968, and it hasn’t gone away since.

Maybe because something in us recognizes it.

Something in us still craves the open road, the wind in our face, the freedom to go wherever we please — and to shake off every rule that hems us in.

We call it independence.

We call it adulthood.

We call it freedom.

But Scripture calls it lostness.

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1. The Wild in All of Us

Jesus once told a story that could’ve been written for every restless heart since time began.

He said, “A certain man had two sons…”

And just like that — every parent in the crowd leaned in.

Because anyone who’s ever raised a child knows: you don’t have to teach rebellion.

It comes standard.

You have to teach obedience, patience, gratitude — but rebellion? That’s factory-installed.

The younger son looked at his father one day and said,

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

Now in that culture, you didn’t ask for your inheritance while your father was still alive — that was like saying, “I wish you were dead.”

He didn’t want the father — just the father’s stuff.

And so it begins.

The itch. The restlessness. The wild in all of us that whispers:

> “There’s got to be more out there.

More fun. More excitement. More life.”

He was, you might say, born to be wild.

But not ready to handle the wild he thought he wanted.

We understand that.

Every one of us has felt it — that pull toward “somewhere else,” that hunger to find ourselves by running from what’s familiar.

The wild is attractive because it promises freedom, but it’s seductive because it lies about what freedom really is.

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2. The Road of the Runaway

Jesus says,

> “And not many days after, the younger son gathered all together and took his journey into a far country.”

He didn’t waste time.

He packed his bags, sold what he could, cashed his inheritance, and left.

And for a while, it probably felt incredible — no rules, no curfews, no expectations.

Sun on his face, coins in his pocket, and not a care in the world.

But freedom without direction is just another form of slavery.

The further he went from home, the freer he thought he was — but every mile was another layer of insulation between him and the love that had raised him.

He spent it all.

He tasted every thrill, bought every distraction, laughed until the laughter ran out — and when it did, he found himself alone, broke, and starving.

> “And there arose a mighty famine in that land, and he began to be in want.”

Funny how that happens.

When the world runs dry, you start realizing who your real friends are — and who your real Father is.

He hired himself out to feed pigs — which, for a Jewish boy, was rock bottom.

No lower you could go.

He’s knee-deep in filth, covered in sweat, and drooling over pig food — the wild he wanted has turned into a wilderness he can’t escape.

This is what sin does:

It starts as liberation and ends as humiliation.

It begins with “Give me what’s mine” and ends with “I’m not even worthy to be called yours.”

The far country is any place where we think we can make it without God — any heart that says, “I’ll run my own life, thank you.”

It’s not about geography; it’s about the soul.

The wild road always ends in famine.

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3. The Turning Point — When He Came to Himself

And then, one of the most hopeful lines in all of Scripture:

> “When he came to himself…”

He didn’t find God in that moment — he remembered Him.

He didn’t have a theological revelation — he had an honest one.

For the first time, he saw himself clearly — and that’s when the journey home began.

Sometimes God lets the bottom drop out, not to destroy us, but to wake us up.

He lets the wild run its course until the silence is so loud you can finally hear His voice.

He remembered what home was like — the smell of bread, the laughter at the table, the safety of belonging.

He rehearsed his speech:

> “Father, I’ve sinned against heaven and before you.