[Part 2 on honesty and peace | read part 1 here]
The young man trudged along the rocky path to the field where his master’s pigs waited for their breakfast. His muscles were stiff and sore from sleeping in the barn, with nothing for a bed but moldy straw, which even the goats refused to lie on. He poured the foul smelling buckets of food over the fence and marveled that the pigs ate better today than he had in many weeks. The foreign country where his raucous adventures had finally come to an end was in the grip of a famine that made the rotting scraps look like a feast.
That morning he’d awoken from a dream of his far-away home. There was plenty of bread and meat on the table—and laughter that called to him across the years from a hundred fond memories. But that life was gone forever. After all he’d done—beginning with his arrogant departure all those years ago—surely his father had written him off and moved on.
It seemed a lifetime ago, that fateful morning when he’d marched up to his father at the breakfast table and announced his intention to leave home. He’d had enough of working the family land, he declared, and insisted he was leaving the drudgery of the farm behind for a new life. He was destined for bigger and better things—though what he really imagined was a life of luxury and comfort without all the hard work. He demanded his inheritance in advance, which was as good as saying he planned to never return.
To the boy’s astonishment, his father put up no argument. He simply handed over the money and stood quietly aside while his son packed his things and left.
Now, hungry and cold, with no hope of redeeming his mistake, the memory of what happened next was bitter indeed. He’d squandered his treasure in all the typical ways: food, booze, women, gambling—a road that led directly to this pig sty and the guilt and shame he wallowed in every day. No, his father would never take him back now. It was too late.
Or was it? He suddenly imagined the scene at home this very morning—where even the lowliest servant was sitting down to a warm meal. That’s it! I’ll go and tell my father, “I’ve sinned against heaven and against you, and I know I don’t deserve to be called your son. Let me live here as a hired hand.”
So, he got up, left the pigs behind, and started home.
As the young man reached the borders of his father’s land, he stopped. “What are you thinking?” he asked himself. “Have you forgotten the hurtful words you spoke the day you left? Have you forgotten the wine and the prostitutes you purchased with your father’s money?”
He was tempted to turn away once more—then shook his head. I’d rather be honest and face the consequences of my actions than spend another day running away, he thought.
As he headed down the road toward home once more, the young man saw someone come running out the door of the house. He rubbed his eyes, unable to believe what he saw. It was his father, racing toward him as fast as his feet would carry him. The old man arrived quickly and embraced the son he thought he had lost forever.
“You’re here!” he beamed.
The humbled son began his heartfelt speech of confession and contrition. He got to the part about wanting only to be thought of as a servant, but his father wasn’t listening: “The father said to his servants, ‘Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. 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.’ And they began to celebrate” (Luke 15:22–24).
No Place Like Home
Can you picture this scene? Can you hear the music and feel the thunder of dancing feet at the party that went on all night? Can you see the tears of joy running down the father’s face—and then down the boy’s face too, as he realizes how wrong he’d been to think he could never be accepted as a son again?
What if this were the story of your life? What if you woke up tomorrow and decided to stop running and be honest with God? What if, instead of giving you the frowning, reluctant reception you’re conditioned to expect from Him, He literally runs to meet you, sweeps you into His arms, and welcomes you home full of laughter and joy?
What if, indeed?
How long you take to leave your self-imposed exile and come home is up to you. But when you do, this is the outcome Jesus prepared for you in His death and resurrection. As the prodigal son discovered when he approached his father in honesty and humility, God’s exuberant acceptance is the guaranteed fruit of openness and honesty with Him.
