For my entire childhood, my mother was an avid bowler. Her social life revolved around her bowling league. She had her own team, and she was also on the sub list for the entire league. Anytime someone couldn’t make it, they called my mother.
A few months after I was born, once she had recovered from the pregnancy, she jumped right back into bowling.
Believe it or not, the bowling alley near our house had a nursery. So one morning my mother bundled me up in my car seat, grabbed the car seat in one hand, her bowling bag in the other, and headed to the bowling alley.
And I’m sure she had a wonderful morning. She bowled several games with her friends. Then she got in the car and drove home.
She pulled into the driveway, got out of the car, grabbed her bowling bag… and started walking toward the front door.
And somewhere between the driveway and the front porch she had this strange thought:
“Hmmm. I know I had something in the other hand when I left the house this morning…”
And then it hit her.
She had left something at the bowling alley.
Me!
I grew up, raised by janitors, spraying Febreze in bowling shoes so I could earn enough money for hot dogs and pizza at the snack bar.
No I didn’t. Of course I didn’t!
My mother raced back to the bowling alley and collected me—safe and sound.
Now I loved my mother, and I know she loved me. So I am absolutely certain that the moment she realized I had been left behind, she didn’t say,
“Well… I still have three other kids. Statistically the family is doing pretty well.”
No.
The moment she realized I was missing, she dropped everything and raced back to get me.
In that moment, getting her child back was her one and only priority.
Her high scores that morning didn’t matter.
The bowling bag she dropped in the middle of the driveway didn’t matter.
Traffic lights and speed limits didn’t matter.
She came to get me.
In Luke 15, Jesus tells three stories in a row to the same audience—three stories about something precious that was lost and then found. Luke is often very intentional about giving us the context and the audience for Jesus’ teachings. And he follows that pattern here. Look at Luke 15:1–2 ESV
1 Now the tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to hear him. 2 And the Pharisees and the scribes grumbled, saying, “This man receives sinners and eats with them.”
So when Jesus hears their grumbling, He tells them three stories. The first is about a lost sheep. The second is about a lost coin. The third is about two lost sons. That might surprise some of you, who have grown up hearing the story of the prodigal son. But stick with me, and you may come away from this sermon with a new understanding about this famous parable.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. For now, let’s read together the part of this chapter we are most familiar with:
READ Luke 15:11–32 ESV
[pray]
One of the interesting things about Luke’s Gospel is how often Jesus is around a table. He’s coming from a meal, heading to a meal, sitting at a meal, or telling stories about meals.
And that’s exactly what got him into trouble.
The religious leaders didn’t mind Jesus teaching sinners.
What bothered them was that he ate with them.
Because in that culture, when you shared a table with someone, you were saying: you belong here.
Luke’s Gospel suggests something profound: God’s priority is bringing the lost to the table.
A lot of times when we think about the gospel, we focus on the forgiveness that Jesus offers. Jesus died on the cross to save us from our sins. That’s absolutely correct, and we should never forget it. But we can’t just focus on the forgiveness and forget the feast.
All three stories in Luke 15 end on a note of rejoicing:
• Verse 6: “Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.”
• Verse 9: “Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.”
• Verses 23-24: And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.’
Because the kingdom of God is not just a rescue mission.
It’s a party!
I want to focus on the parable of the lost sons, but its worth pointing out what all three stories have in common.
• In each story, something of great value is lost—a sheep, a coin, a son.
• In each story, what is lost is found.
• In each story there is great rejoicing when what was lost is found.
In the first two stories, someone goes searching. The shepherd leaves the ninety-nine sheep to search for the one that wandered off. The woman lights a lamp and turns her house upside down looking for the lost coin.
But when we come to the third story, something changes.
The father does not go to the far country to search for his son.
Why not? Because buried deep within this story is an important truth:
God loves us enough to give us the freedom to choose whether we will come home… or stay in the far country.
God is a gentleman. He doesn’t force anyone to surrender to Christ. So if you have heard the gospel and responded to it, you chose to come home. If you have heard the gospel, and rejected it, you’ve chosen the far country.
Now, we call this story the Prodigal Son, but the word prodigal never appears in the story. So let’s pause and talk about this word “prodigal.” Because this is another Inigo Montoya moment: “I do not think that means what you think it means.”
“Prodigal” doesn’t mean wayward.
It means extravagant… reckless… wasteful.
The son was prodigal because he squandered everything his father gave him.
But here’s the real surprise of the story: In his book The Prodigal God, Tim Keller suggests that all three characters are prodigal in one way or the other.
• The younger son represents people who are wasteful in rebellion.
• The older brother represents people who are reckless with self-righteousness.
But by the end of the parable, the most prodigal person in the story isn’t either son. It’s the father. Because the father is extravagant with grace. Let’s unpack these, one by one.
The Prodigal Son
Jesus set up the story by saying that that the younger son came to his father and demanded that he be given his share of the estate. Typically that would have been distributed to the sons upon the father’s death. So basically the kid was saying, “Dad, I’m tired of waiting for you to die, so I want what’s coming to me now.” Jesus’ audience would have been absolutely scandalized at the lack of respect the son is showing to his father.
Nevertheless, verse 12 says the father divided his property between his sons. Presumably, the older son would have received 2/3, and the younger son 1/3.
From there, the text says the son traveled to a far country and squandered his inheritance in what the ESV calls “reckless living.”
The word Luke uses is actually pretty vague. It basically means wasteful living—life without restraint.
Now, we tend to imagine wild parties and scandalous behavior. And maybe that’s true. The older brother certainly assumed so. In verse 30 he tells his father that he “devoured your property with prostitutes.”
But remember—the older brother wasn’t there.
The real problem in the story isn’t just what the son did.
It’s where he went.
Luke says he traveled to a far country.
And that’s the tragedy of the story.
You can be reckless in your living and still look like a respectable, moral citizen.
The real danger isn’t always debauchery. It’s distance. It’s a life that has drifted a long way from the Father. Or it’s delay, like we talked about last week— thinking you have all the time in the world to “come to your senses,” like verse 17 says. That is true recklessness— far more than any party the older brother could have imagined. You know the rest of the story. A famine hits. The money is gone. And the son, on the verge of starvation, hits rock bottom. He hires himself out to a pig farmer, which for Jesus’ Jewish audience, was about as low as a person could go.
The kid comes to his senses. He decides he’s going to go home, apologize to his father, and beg to be taken on as a hired hand.
So now, let’s turn our attention to…
The Prodigal Father
In Jesus’ story the father waits. He watches the road.
And when his son finally does come home, Jesus tells us something remarkable.
“While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him.”
Which means the father had been watching for him all along.
In the ancient Mediterranean world, older men—especially wealthy landowners—did not run. It required lifting the long robes and exposing the legs, which was considered humiliating. But this father was willing to humble himself to bring his lost child home. Sound familiar?
Philippians 2 says that Jesus humbled himself, taking on a servant’s nature, so he could bring us home.
There’s another detail about verse 20 that I had never considered before I was studying for this sermon: In a small village culture, news travels fast. A disgraced son returning after squandering the family estate would not slip quietly back home.
People would notice. Neighbors would talk. Shame would spread quickly.
But the father doesn’t wait for the son to walk through the village streets.
He runs out to meet him on the road. He embraces him. He kisses him. And he walks back with him. Which would have said to anyone watching: This boy belongs to me.
Before the son ever reaches the house, the father has already reclaimed him. In that moment the father absorbs the shame so the son doesn’t have to. Again, does this sound familiar?
13 Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us—for it is written, “Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree” (Galatians 3:13)
The father gives his son four gifts.
• First, a robe. The father covers his son’s shame. Another word for covering is atonement
• Second, a ring. Most likely a signet ring—restoring him to the authority of the family. In the same way, our heavenly father has adopted us into his family.
• Third, shoes. Servants went barefoot. Sons wore shoes. The father is making it clear: you are not coming back as a servant. You are coming home as my son. We can relate that to our freedom
• And finally, the sacrifice. There is going to be a feast. But first, something had to die. The fattened calf was killed. Its blood was shed. This points to what theologians call substitutionary atonement.
But even the feast requires a sacrifice. The father is forgiving the sins of his son. And according to Hebrews 9:22, without the shedding of blood, there can be no forgiveness for sin.
I’ll ask you once more: Is this sounding familiar? It should. Jesus has given us a robe of righteousness. He has adopted us into his family. We are free in Christ. And if the son has set you free, you are free indeed.
And his blood cleanses us from all unrighteousness. (1 John 1:9)
Now that we’ve talked about the Prodigal Son and the Prodigal Father, let’s look at…
The Prodigal Brother
Here’s where you see what a brilliant teacher Jesus is.
Remember how chapter 15 begins. Jesus is eating with tax collectors and sinners, and the Pharisees are grumbling about it. So Jesus ends the story by targeting the Pharisees. He seems to be saying, “Obviously you saw the sinners in the story of the younger son. I want you to see yourselves in the story of the older son.”
Because the older son is lost too.
Not in rebellion.
But in resentment.
Listen to what he says when he finally speaks: “Look, these many years I have served you, and I never disobeyed your command.” In other words: I’ve done everything right.
But then he complains, “You never gave me a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends.”
But think back to the beginning of the story.
When the younger son asked for his inheritance, the text says the father divided his property between them.
The older brother already had everything that belonged to the father.
What the father says next is so gentle and so heartbreaking:
“Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.”
The celebration was always available.
The relationship was always there.
But the older brother cared more about his resentment of his brother than his relationship with his father. In that sense, he was just as far from his father’s heart as the younger brother had been.
One son was lost in the far country.
The other son was lost at the front door. While the music is playing and the feast is happening inside, the older brother is standing outside with his arms crossed.
And just as the father went out to welcome the younger son, he now goes out to plead with the older one.
He ran down the road to restore the rebel. Now he steps outside the house to rescue the resentful.
Jesus never tells us what the older brother did. Did he come into the party? Or did he stay outside?
We don’t know. Jesus doesn’t tell us. Because at that moment, His story isn’t finished yet. Would the Pharisees join the party, or would they keep grumbling from the sidelines? At that moment, the invitation was open for them.
We know the rest of the story. We know that for the most part, they rejected the invitation.
But what about you? Jesus is extending the same invitation to all of us:
When God welcomes sinners…
When grace seems extravagant…
When heaven throws a party for someone who doesn’t deserve it…
Will you come inside and celebrate?
Or will you stand outside with your arms crossed?
The music is playing. The feast is ready. The Father is inviting you in.
The only question is: will you come to the party?
Some of you may feel more like the younger son.
You know you’ve wandered. You know you’ve been living far from the Father. And today you need to come home.
Others of you may recognize yourselves in the older brother.
You’ve been close to the house your whole life, but your heart has grown cold and resentful.
But the good news of the gospel is that the Father goes out to meet both sons.
And the invitation is the same for all of us.
Come home.
Come inside.
Join the celebration of God’s grace.
