Son, Not a Servant
Son, Not a Servant
In Luke 15, when the Prodigal Son finally comes to his senses in the pigpen, he rehearses a speech for his return home. To fully appreciate the freedom the Father offers, we have to look at the striking difference between what the son planned to say and what he actually said when he got face-to-face with his father.
In Luke 15:18-19, the son crafts his resume of repentance:
“I will arise and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Treat me as one of your hired servants.’”
He has the whole transaction mapped out. But look at Luke 15:21, when he is finally standing in his father's embrace:
“And the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’”
Do you notice what’s missing? The final line—“Treat me as one of your hired servants”—is completely gone, because the Father didn't even give him the chance to utter the words.
I love how Scottish theologian Sinclair Ferguson paints this scene. He said the reason it’s missing is because the father squeezed him so tight he couldn't even finish the sentence. Before the son could even launch into his business proposition to work off his debt, the Father fell on his neck and smothered him with kisses. The Father’s embrace literally choked out the son’s legalism. The Father’s arms were wrapped so tightly around him that there was no room left for the son to negotiate a contract.
The Father violently interrupted his attempt to commercialize the relationship. By smothering him in kisses, calling for the best robe, and throwing a ring on his finger, the Father essentially said, "We aren't doing that here. You cannot downgrade your status to an employee just because you feel guilty. You left as a son, you returned as a son, and a son is all you will ever be."
Don’t we often want to finish that speech? It just feels safer to tell God, "Treat me like a hired servant." Why? Because being a servant feels like it's under our control. If we are servants, our standing relies on our effort, our hours logged, and our metrics.
But being a beloved child forces us to accept absolute vulnerability. It means standing there in a pristine robe we didn't spin, wearing a ring we didn't buy, eating a feast we didn't cook, completely dependent on a love we did absolutely nothing to earn. Can you simply accept that hug today?
-The MissioCare Collective Team