The God who Runs, the God who Walks

Photo by ttronslien at morguefile.com

My pastor preached a moving sermon last Sunday about the prodigal son. He dramatized the shame this son brought on his family when he demanded his inheritance early. "Dad, I wish you were dead," the son implied.

Then came the moment when the the inheritance was spent, and the son found himself feeding pigs, unclean animals both physically and ceremonially. The son finally felt his own shame.

But his father didn't hold back. In a culture based on honor and respect where men don't run, the father did just that. He abandoned it all and ran to meet his returning son.

We see this as the epitome of love and grace, yet I seldom feel the impact of the story because I can't see myself in the prodigal son. That's not my personality. I follow the rules.

The grace that touches me most comes at the end of the story when the father walks out to his older son, who was fussing, "You never threw a party for me."

What greater shame could the father bear? Having to walk out and beg his unrepentant son to come in?

But that is what God did for me. I will forever be grateful to the God who walked out to me and said, "Jenny, I love you. I'm throwing a party, and I want you to be part of it. Will you come in?"