Introduction:
I want you to imagine for a moment that you have one chance to travel back in time and go back to relive part of your life. And suppose that when you go back, you know everything that you know now. You have all the understanding and the wisdom that you have developed over the years from study and experience. And imagine further that, when you go back in your life, you can change one things. You could change any decision that you made. You could either change some time that you failed to take some action or you could change any action that you took and wish that you hadn’t.
But you could only do this in your own life. You couldn’t go back and change anything in anyone else’s life, only what you did.
What would you change? There are some things I wish that I could change. There are some things that I wouldn’t do, given the opportunity again. There are some things that I wouldn’t say. There are some attitudes that I would change. And I would want to change those things because I understand more now that I didn’t understand then.
What about you? Is there anything you would change? You might say, “Well everybody would want to change something. But we can’t do that.” No, we can’t do that, but there is something that we can do.
I want to call your attention this morning to the parable of Jesus that we call the parable of the prodigal son in Luke 15.
You remember the parable. It’s a well-known story. “A certain man had two sons. And the younger of them said to his father, ’Father, give me the portion of goods that falls to me.’” (Luke 15:11-12).
This was an absolutely unthinkable, unheard-of thing in that culture. Such a request would warrant a beating, since it was implying that the son wished the father were dead. In fact, I understand that in all of Middle Eastern literature, from ancient times to the present, there is not one instance of a son, young or old, demanding his inheritance from his father.
But the younger of these two sons decided that he wanted to leave home. Now, the parable doesn’t tell us why he wanted to leave. Maybe he had all he could stand of home, of Dad, and especially of his older brother. In their society, the older brother was in control when Dad died. In their society, the older brother received two thirds of the inheritance. In their society, the older brother would make the family decisions.
Or maybe he left because he was sick of religion. The Jewish religion controlled every aspect of life. It controlled what you ate. It dictated what you could and could not do on Saturday. It controlled everything from your work to your food preparation. You went to the synagogue every Saturday to listen to scripture being read and discussed, to hear rules and laws declared, and to pray. You went to the temple to offer sacrifices. You were expected to pray personal prayers three times a day. There was a rule for everything, and you were required to know and keep all the rules.
Or maybe this boy just wanted to experience life without religion, to experience what the New Testament refers to as the "pleasures of sin." Maybe he wanted to get drunk. Maybe he wanted to "run with the bar crowd." Maybe he wanted to be sexually irresponsible. Maybe he wanted to gamble. Maybe he wanted the high of being the center of attention by blowing all his money.
I don’t know. The parable doesn’t tell us why he wanted to leave home; it simply tells us he did.
So he demanded his share of the inheritance, his third, and then packed his bags. “And not many days after, the younger son gathered all together, journeyed to a far country, and there wasted his possessions with prodigal living.” (Luke 15:13). Can you imagine how happy he was when he walked out the door?
He was on his own. He didn’t need anybody! He certainly didn’t need his family! I bet he wore some fine clothes! I bet he was looking good! He went far away from home and all the influences of home. He planned to live like he wanted to live with no restraints, no restrictions. He didn’t want his family to bother him. He didn’t want religion to bother him. He didn’t want to be near anyone who knew his family. He was committed to doing his own thing.
But living the life that he chose was expensive. Of course, as long as he could pay for the party, he had all kinds of friends and he got all kind of attention. As Solomon once said, “The poor man is hated even by his own neighbor, but the rich has many friends.” (Proverbs 14:20).
And I have no doubt that the younger son experienced pleasures that he never knew existed. He probably experienced some fantastic highs, because doing what is wicked and acting irresponsibly can create some incredible pleasures. The Hebrew writer spoke about how Moses dealt with the “pleasures of sin” (Heb. 11:25).
But there’s another word used by the Hebrew writer that’s significant here in Luke 15. He doesn’t just talk about the “pleasures of sin”. He talks about the “passing pleasures of sin”. You see, sin brings pleasure, but it also brings some terrible consequences. And the worst consequences, the most painful consequences, the consequences that demand prices that you never dreamed existed are the consequences that occur inside you.
There came a day, and it probably wasn’t too long after leaving home, that this boy’s money ran out, and, as luck would have it, at the same time the country he was in entered a severe economic depression. “But when he had spent all, there arose a severe famine in that land, and he began to be in want.” (Luke 15:14). Immediately, perhaps overnight, his situation totally changed.
Before, he had lived in the finest places and was welcome everywhere; now he had no place to stay and was welcome nowhere. Before, he had lots of friends who loved to party with him; now that he had no money and couldn’t afford to party, he had no friends. Before, he never wanted for food and drink; now he had nothing to eat and nothing to drink. Before he didn’t want work and didn’t need work; now he was desperate; he had to find a job at a time when there were no jobs.
He left home to get away from every restraint and influence of home, and he did. He probably wanted to get away from Dad’s watchfulness, and he did. He probably wanted to get away from his older brother, and he did. He probably wanted to get away from religion, and he did.
But getting away didn’t create the result he expected. The only job he could find was feeding pigs. “Then he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country, and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. And he would gladly have filled his stomach with the pods that the swine ate, and no one gave him anything.” (Luke 15:15-16).
Here was a boy who never would have fed pigs at home because pigs were forbidden the Jewish people. But necessity forced him to do the unthinkable.
Here was a young man who was literally starving to death, and no one cared; in fact if he died, his death would help solve their problem. Nobody cared enough about him to give him anything. Even the slop he was feeding the pigs was starting to look pretty good.
Verse 17 contains one of the most insightful statements that Jesus ever made as he tells us that this young man took the first step toward changing his life. Jesus was the master of stating the most profound, insightful understandings in very simple statements. Jesus simply said that one day as this starving man was feeding the pigs, that he “came to himself” (Luke 15:17).
I heard about an eloquent black preacher who was speaking on this parable. He was illustrating what happened to the prodigal son in the far country. He said, “As his money disappeared, he had to sell his clothes in order to eat. He took off his shoes and sold those. Then he took off his coat and sold that. Then he took off his shirt and sold that. And then he came to himself!”
While that may very well have happened, Jesus means it a not-so-literal way. Some translations say, "He came to his senses."
What a great moment of realization! In that moment he actually understood what he had done. In that moment he actually understood where he was and why he was there. In that moment he realized it was not his father’s fault, it was not his older brother’s fault, it was not religion’s fault, but that it was his fault. He was where he was, he was doing what he was doing, he was starving to death because of his choices, because of his decisions.
And at that moment, he realized a lot of things. He realized that he couldn’t turn the clock back -- he couldn’t change the past, he couldn’t go back and reverse any of his decisions. But he also realized that he did have a choice as to what decision to make next. He didn’t have to stay where he was. If he stayed there, it was because he decided to stay instead of accepting responsibility for his decisions and his actions. If he starved, it was because he decided to starve instead of accepting responsibility for his decisions and actions. If he died far away from home feeding those pigs, it was because he decided to die instead of accepting responsibility for his decisions and actions.
What happened to the prodigal son is very simple: one day he woke up, he saw what was happening, he saw where he was, and he asked, "What am I doing here?"
In his heart of hearts, he knew that he could never go back and be a son like he once was. He didn’t even want to go back and be a son. He was ashamed of himself. He was ashamed of what he had done. He was ashamed of the grief and pain that he caused. He was ashamed of the way that he had wasted his life. He just didn’t want to starve to death, and the only person, the only person, who would care enough about him to let him work as a servant and have food was his father.
It is extremely important that you pay careful attention to this truth: nothing good happened in this man’ s life until he came to himself. In the world all around us and even in the church, terrible things happen because people do one of two things: Either they never come to themselves. Or when they do come to themselves, they refuse to accept responsibility for their decisions and their actions.
Now you would think that anyone who is suffering the consequences of the life he has chosen to live would come to himself. But sometimes we prefer to deny the reality of our situation. Or, perhaps we prefer to blame someone else for what we allowed to happen. Or, we prefer to hold someone else responsible for our choices.
"It is my parents’ fault." "It is my husband or wife’s fault." "It is my children’s fault." "It is my boss’ fault." "It is the fault of the person who hurt me."
But it’s vital that we accept responsibility for our actions. That’s the heart and soul of repentance. But the person who refuses to come to himself or herself will never repent. We can’t change the past. We can’t go back and undo something we’ve done that was a horrible mistake. But we can find forgiveness if we are willing to truly repent.
So, here is this prodigal son, feeding the pigs. He had nowhere to call home. He had no family where he lived -- by his own choice he was in a foreign country. He deliberately separated himself from his family and his home. Very likely, his family had no idea where he was -- they couldn’t find him if they tried. He didn’t even have enough money to buy food. He looked like a man who fed pigs; he was dressed like a man who fed pigs; and he smelled like a man who fed pigs. He was a starving man. He was so thin you probably could count his ribs. A person who saw him as he left home wouldn’t have recognized him as the same man.
Then came that moment when "he came to himself." When he saw himself for what he really was. When he saw what he did for what it was.
At the moment that he came to himself, he stood at a fork on the highway of life. One fork was the road to death. He could stay where he was, and die. He could continue to do what he was doing, and die. He could fill himself with the shame, the guilt, and the embarrassment of self-pity, and die. He could get angry at the world for all his misfortune, and die. He could punish himself for all his wrong doing, and die. He could just do nothing, and die.
The other fork was the road of courage. When he left home he thought that he was being courageous. But as he fed the pigs, he learned some hard lessons about courage. He learned that it takes no courage to be selfish, to be greedy, controlled by pleasure, rebellious, angry, defiant. Those things don’t require courage because they don’t require that you deal honestly with yourself.
But feeding pigs in a foreign country during an economic depression led to the discovery of true courage. It takes courage to look your personal failures "in the face" and admit them -- not to have a person force you to confess them, but to admit them to yourself when there is no one to talk to but you. It takes courage to accept responsibility for the mess you made. It takes courage to take the necessary action to deal with the mess you made. It takes courage to make a positive, constructive decision and follow through.
If the prodigal son was to take the road of courage, he had to do some specific things. First of all, he had to leave the pigs and get out of the foreign country. Second, he had to get on the road that went home and return to his family. Third, he had to admit his failure to his father.
The hardest thing this man ever did in his life was also the most courageous thing he ever did: he found the courage to go home.
I want you to think about all the difficulty involved in walking home. He wanted to admit his mistakes and failure, but he didn’t know how his confession would be received. Can you imagine his thoughts as he made that trip?
In my opinion, the closer he got to home, the more afraid he became. "I know what Dad is going to say. I can hear him now." "I just know how upset Dad will be when he learns that I wasted all that money." "I know how upset Dad will be because of what I did to his reputation." "And then there’s my older brother Oh, how I dread facing my older brother." You know the end of the parable. He had good reason to dread seeing his older brother.
As he made the trip home, I wonder if there were moments when he thought there was no need to complete the trip. "Dad will reject me." "My older brother will run me off." "My former friends will shun me." "Nobody will be glad to see me back." "I’ll be a constant, living embarrassment to everyone." I wonder if there weren’t moments when he thought, "I had rather die than go home and face everyone."
But I want you to pay special attention to the fact that without the courage to go home, nothing in his life would have changed for the better. For the prodigal son to come to himself was good, but if he did nothing, nothing changed. For him to realize his failure was good, but if he did nothing about it, nothing changed. For the man to accept responsibility for his mistakes was good, but if he did nothing, nothing changed. For the son to confess to himself that it happened because of his choices and his decisions was good, but if he did nothing, nothing changed. For the man to be sorry for his decisions, sorry for the pain he caused, sorry for his foolishness and wastefulness was good, but if he did nothing about it, nothing changed.
The hardest thing that any of us will ever do is to deal honestly with ourselves, and the most courageous thing that any of us will ever do is to redirect our lives.
It involves admitting our weakness. And it involves trusting God enough to love us and accept us in spite of our imperfection. It involves redirecting our lives and doing what is right, with the right motives.
Does all of that involve courage? Absolutely! It always takes courage to take a close look at who you are. It always takes courage to be honest with yourself about your weakness. It always takes courage to face your fears. It always takes courage to trust God’s promises. It always takes courage to redirect your life.
When the prodigal son "came to himself," he knew that he was dying. When he faced the fact that what he had done and was doing was killing him, he had to make a choice. When he made the choice to redirect his life, he had to act on his choice.
I want to ask you this morning -- are you in the same situation? I’m not talking this morning about the facade, the mask that you wear for everyone else to see. I’m not asking if you have your family and friends fooled. I’m not asking if you have the congregation fooled. I am asking, when you look deep in your heart, when you are truthful and honest with yourself, when it’s just you and God, are you where you ought to be?
If not, this morning, you have a choice to make. And I pray that, like the prodigal son, you’ll have the courage to do what may well be the hardest thing you’ve ever done in your whole life -- and that’s go home.
You see, God wants you in His family. There has never been a time when God didn’t want you in his family. But it’s not enough for God to want you as His son or daughter. You have to want to be God’s son or daughter.
And I’ll be honest with you. There will always be an older brother who makes it difficult for you to want to come home. Satan will see to that.
But God never stops waiting for you to come home, wanting you to find the courage to come home, and watching for you to come home because you found the courage.
