The Prodigal Heart

~Recklessly extravagant, having spent everything~

I have a prodigal heart.

Prone to wild jealousy, self-justification, entitlement, stubbornness and a reckless pursuit of “feeling good”–

because my heart is made of flesh.

And yet, I have a prodigal heart.

Prone to untamed joy, extravagant self-denial, lavished love, and a reckless spending of forgiveness –

because my heart is consumed with the lordship of Jesus.

I’ve heard the story of “The Prodigal Son” too many times to count; moreover, I’ve experienced the story of the prodigal son too many times for me to find meaning in the message. And it’s still too raw of a wound, since she’s still a runaway and I’m without my happy ending.  

So I brought closure for myself: I’ve forgiven enough. I’ve reached out enough. I’ve prayed enough. I’ve said enough. I’ve helped enough. There is nothing more left to do.

So, like the father in the parable, I simply wait.

And in the waiting, the Father reveals the real heart of the message is not about the runaway son but about the self-righteous heart of the older brother. The one who serves his father faithfully and then has to watch his younger brother (who shamed the family and took off to pursue his selfish desires) get treated like a celebrity. The one who refuses to enter the feast at the end of the parable. The one whom my heart connected with and felt, “I agree with him! That’s not fair! Lord, I’ve served you faithfully! Why won’t you answer me? Why won’t you celebrate me?” The one for whom the parable was intended.

My friend Beth sent me a book for Christmas called The Prodigal God by Timothy Keller. His analysis of the parable has rocked my world and flipped my self-righteousness on its butt. He points out something that we almost always overlook: to whom was the parable given? Luke 15:1-2 says, “Now the tax collectors and ‘sinners’ were all gathering around to hear him. But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law muttered, ‘This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.’” And then he tells three parables, one of which is the Parable of the Prodigal Son. These “tax collectors and sinners” in the parable are the lost son while the Pharisees are the self-righteous elder brother.

So, while the main message of the parable is God’s grace, we cannot overlook that the message was actually to call out the older brother, not the younger one. The message was to call attention to the stubborn, unforgiving, prideful heart of the older brother.

Indeed, that has been my heart.

I didn’t realize it in the moment, because I claimed I had already forgiven. But betrayal that deep, for reasons that no one can explain, can’t simply be covered by a claim of grace. It must be the act of grace.

I’ve talked to numerous people, I’ve gone over numerous situations in my head about what to do/say if/when she comes back. I’ve heard numerous pieces of advice like, “Of course you can’t take her back. You’ll just keep teaching her that it’s okay to run” or “How could you not? Aren’t you family?” Some told me to fight for her, to find her. Some told me to forget about her, to move on without a second thought. The only answer I could get from God was Wait.

I thought the waiting was time extended for Him to work on her heart. I was wrong. He told me to wait because He needed to work on my heart.

While I thought I was being gracious, I was truly bitter. I was extending grace only with the expectation that she would come back groveling, weeping at my feet, begging for forgiveness and acknowledging all the wrong-doing. I was expecting her to come back changed, or at least that I would only help her again if she was truly changed. So when that didn’t happen, I got angry. As more months passed, my heart got harder. I ignored the pain, avoided confronting my own heart by justifying how much I have done and how I have served God so faithfully (like the proper elder brother). And slowly, God reminded me to cast out all fear and face the pain. To sit and cry. He craved to take the pain from me, yet at the same time He expected me to extend the same to her.

In the parable, the Father demonstrates the most unconventional love by running out to his son and embracing him even before the apology and weeping. As Tim Keller puts it, the father is saying, “I’m not going to wait until you’ve paid off your debt; I’m not going to wait until you’ve duly groveled. You are not going to earn your way back into the family, I am going to simply take you back. I will cover your nakedness, poverty, and rags with robes of my office and honor.”

I was struck. Before? “God, do I have to forgive her before she comes and asks for it? Do I have to forgive her even if she never comes back or never asks for it? God, doesn’t she have to do something to prove she’s changed? Doesn’t she have to do something to prove she can be trusted? To deserve a place in the family again?”

Tim Keller summarizes the answer like this: The story “demonstrates the lavish prodigality of God’s grace. Jesus shows the father pouncing on his son in love not only before he has a chance to clean up his life and evidence a change of heart, but even before he can recite his repentance speech.”

Forgiveness, then, is not based on expectation or condition. It cannot demand a change. It simply gives. It gives lavishly, extravagantly, recklessly.

Indeed, we should call it a prodigal grace.

Untamed, lavished, uncontrollable, ferocious, fierce – the love of our Father.

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The love in my prodigal heart for her.