In Jesus' parable of the Prodigal Son, the younger brother packs up his bags and leaves his father far behind. He has grown up in his father's house, a place of love and care. But now, he wants to know what lies beyond his father's doors. Surely there is a life of adventure he is missing out on.
Back home, the father has trouble sleeping. One night, he crawls out of bed and goes outside. A cool breeze blows by as he looks up at the star-filled sky. Too many to count. But many years ago, on nights like this one, he and his son would try. Hand in hand, they would laugh and count up to a bajillion, pointing at each star.
The father sighs as he thinks back. "I myself taught my son how to walk, leading him along by the hand," he says. "But he doesn't know or even care that it was I who took care of him."
The father begins to pace back and forth. Why does he waste so much time thinking about his son when his son has no regard for him? Why should he even care?
The father can hear the town chattering behind his back. He knows they think he is weak for continuing to lament his son's departure. He should listen to them and just disown his son already!
But then the father stops pacing and drops to his knees. Looking up at the stars, he cries, "Oh, how can I give you up, my son? How can I let you go? My heart is torn within me, and my compassion overflows."
Okay... So, the father doesn't actually say any of these words in Jesus' parable. But, interestingly enough, a father does say these words in the Old Testament.
In the book of Hosea, God portrays himself as an abandoned spouse. He wants to convey this message so much that he tells the prophet Hosea to marry a prostitute. When she becomes unfaithful, God tells Hosea to redeem her and bring her back into the safety of his house. This is how much God loves Israel, and the imagery of God as a rejected lover is what the book of Hosea is known for.
But towards the end of the book, the metaphor shifts. God becomes a father who has been abandoned by a son:
When Israel was a child, I loved him,
and I called my son out of Egypt.
But the more I called to him,
the farther he moved from me,
offering sacrifices to the images of Baal
and burning incense to idols.
I myself taught Israel how to walk,
leading him along by the hand. (Hosea 11:1-3, NLT)
As I read these words, I couldn't help but think of the Prodigal Son story that Jesus would tell centuries later. A son moves away from his father to chase after the lifeless idols he thinks will bring him life.
And a heartbroken father. Heartbroken, yes—but not hopeless. Because just when you think he's ready to give up on his child, he continues to keep watch for him.
When my friend Marco and I wrote The Prodigal Musical (a musical based on, you guessed it, the parable of the Prodigal Son!), we wrote a song for the father called "All That I Want." In one of the verses, he sang:
Long ago, my child chose to leave me
Still every day I keep watch on the road
Hoping he comes home and praying he knows
My forgiveness is here
This is the same ache we see in God in Hosea. He longs for his people to return to him. He cries out:
Oh, how can I give you up, Israel?
How can I let you go? (Hosea 11:8, NLT)
God is the father who can't give up on us, even when it makes no sense. He is always keeping watch on the road, ready to run like crazy to meet his children when they come home. And it's not simply a "New Testament" thing. It's always been true.
It was true in Jesus' day. It was true in Hosea's day. And it was true in Adam & Eve's day when God lovingly provided them with clothes to cover their shame. As J. Ellsworth Kalas says in his book The Grand Sweep:
The biblical descriptions of God's relationship to our human race are always at personal, relational levels: lovers, friends, parent-child, husband-wife. At the core of our universe, the Scriptures remind us, is not an impersonal computer but a heart—God's heart of love.
It might be a silly exercise, but go ahead and put your name in the blank:
Oh, how can I give you up, _____________?
How can I let you go?
That is not simply a feel-good piece of news for a Friday. It's a roadmap back home when you find yourself covered in pig slop and don't know the way.
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