September 27, 2026

One of the first complete sentences a child learns to utter is, “That’s not fair!”  If a sibling gets a slightly larger slice of cake, or if a friend gets to stay up fifteen minutes later, their innate radar for fairness goes off.  Most of us carry the notion of strict fairmindedness into adulthood.  We believe in a world of transactional justice.  If you work hard, you deserve a raise.  If you break the law, you deserve the punishment.  We like balanced ledgers, so in our Scripture for today, something seems off kilter.  Most of us are familiar with The Parable of the Prodigal Son; though perhaps, a more accurate title would be The Parable of a Scandalous Father.  I say that because in this story, Jesus introduced us to a God who walks up to our neat, tidy, transactional spreadsheets of human fairness, rips them to shreds, and throws them in the trash, making known to us to a concept called grace.  If we are being completely honest, grace sometimes deeply insults our sense of fairness, but it is also our only hope.

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This parable was shocking to Jesus’ original audience, because, in ancient Israel, by asking for his share of the estate while his father was still living, the younger son was essentially looking his father in the eye and saying, “Dad, I wish you were dead.  I do not care about you; I just want your money.”  It was a devastating insult; yet, scandalously, the father granted the outlandish request.  The younger son took the cash and soon fled to a far country, a place both free from the rules of his home and from the gaze of his community.  There he blew through a lifetime of family wealth on temporary thrills, but eventually, the money ran out, and to make matters worse, a severe famine hit the land.

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This irresponsible young man ended up broke, starving, and employed by a Gentile pig farmer.  To a Jewish listener, this was hitting absolute bottom.  The younger son became so desperate that he eyed the food the pigs were eating, wishing he could fill his aching stomach with their slop.  At that point, he came to his senses and remembered that his father’s hired hands had plenty to eat.  This recollection led him to concoct a transactional plan.  He even rehearsed a speech: “. . . ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you, and I am no longer worthy to be called your son.  Make me like one of your hired servants.’” [Luke 15:18-19, NKJV]  Thinking in terms of strict human fairness, the prodigal assumed that he had ruined his relationship with his father, but maybe he could work off his debt.  He then began the long, humiliating walk home.  I imagine that he smelled like a pigpen, but worse than the smell of the manure was the reek of failure.  “‘. . . But when he was still a great way off, [Jesus said,] his father saw him and had compassion, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him.’” [Luke 15:20, NKJV]

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This was the emotional climax of the story, but it was also the culturally scandalous part because a Jewish patriarch never ran.  To run, a man would have to lift up his long robe, exposing his ankles and legs, which was a shameful, even scandalous act.  Why did the father run?  In that era, if a young Jewish man abandoned his family, blew his inheritance among Gentiles, and tried to return, the village would perform a ceremony called the Kezazah, where the men of the village would smash a clay pot at returnee’s feet and declare him cut off from his people forever.  The father did not run because he was impatient; he ran to intercept the villagers; he ran to take the shame on himself before anyone else could throw a stone at his boy.  When his father reached him, the son started reciting his rehearsed, transactional speech, but the father interrupted him and yelled to the servants, “‘. . . “Bring out the best robe and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand and sandals on his feet.  And bring the fatted calf here and kill it, and let us eat and be merry; for this my son was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.” . . .’” [Luke 15:22-24, NKJV]

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Imagine a corporate executive who learned that an employee had embezzled millions of dollars from the company.  The thief went to Los Vegas and blew all the money gambling, and then showed up at the CEO’s office to beg for a job cleaning the toilets to pay rent and buy food.  Instead of calling the police, the CEO stepped out from behind the desk, hugged the employee, handed him or her the keys to a brand-new company car and threw a massive corporate gala in his or her honor.  We would think that executive was crazy, and if we worked for the company, we would shout, “That’s not fair!”  That is the scandal of grace.  The younger son, in this parable, represents the rebellious, overt sinner who realizes that he or she cannot earn salvation; instead, it comes only through an unmerited, running embrace of God’s grace.

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If the story ended there, it would be a beautiful, heartwarming tale about a lost child coming home, but Jesus did not tell this parable just to comfort the broken; He told it to confront the well-behaved.  In the second half of this saga, the party was rocking, the music was playing, and the fattened calf was roasting.  At that point, the older son came in from the field where he had been working and heard all the commotion, causing him to ask one of the servants what was going on.   “‘. . . “Your brother has come, and because he has received him safe and sound, your father has killed the fatted calf.”’” [Luke 15:27, NKJV]  Upon hearing this, the older son became angry and refused to go to the party.  While the younger brother was out destroying his life, the older brother was home doing everything right.  He woke up early, worked the fields, kept the rules, and did not waste a penny, so when he heard that his deadbeat brother got a party instead of a prison sentence, he was furious and boycotted the family celebration.

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Just as the father went out to meet his younger son in his rebellion, he stepped out of the party to plead with his upright son to join the reunion.  Listen again to the older son’s outburst to his father: “‘. . . “Lo, these many years I have been serving you; I never transgressed your commandment at any time; and yet you never gave me a young goat, that I might make merry with my friends.  But as soon as this son of yours came, who has devoured your livelihood with harlots, you killed the fatted calf for him.”’” [Luke 15:29-30, NKJV]  The older brother represents the morally religious person.  The older son did not view his father as a dad; he viewed him as a boss.  He did not see his home as a place of love; he saw it as a labor camp. He kept the rules, but his heart was completely detached from his father’s love.  He did not want his father either; he just wanted the inheritance through the mechanism of good behavior.

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One person does not speed merely to follow the rules.  Another person does not speed to avoid getting a ticket, thus, protecting insurance rates.  Outwardly, both people obey the law, but inwardly, one is acting out of respect for the law and the other is acting out of cold, calculated self-interest.  The older son’s goodness was entirely transactional.  He believed his decency gave him leverage over his father.  He believed he earned his place, and because he believed he earned it, he had absolutely no mercy for someone who blew it.

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We tend to divide the world into two categories: the “bad people”, who break the rules, and the “good people”, who keep the rules.  We assume God loves the good people and is angry with the bad people, but in this parable, both sons are completely lost.  The younger brother tried to escape his father through rebellion; the older brother tried to escape through morality.  The younger brother used bad deeds to get his father’s money; the older brother used good deeds to do the exact same thing, and here is the ultimate twist of the parable: At the end of the story, it is the rule-keeping, moral son standing outside the house in the dark.  Eventually, lifestyle choices caused the younger son to realize that he was a basket case and needed grace.  The résumé of the older son blinded him to the point that he assumed his good performance was sufficient; consequently, he thought that he did not need grace at all.  The father looked at his bitter, angry older son and said words of profound tenderness: “‘. . . “Son, you are always with me, and all that I have is yours.  It was right that we should make merry and be glad, for your brother was dead and is alive again, and was lost and is found.”’” [Luke 15:31-32, NKJV]

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This parable is a cliffhanger.  We never find out if the older brother swallowed his pride, dropped his anger, and walked into the party, or if he stayed outside brooding over his ledger of fairness.  Jesus left the story open-ended on purpose because He was looking right at the religious leaders of His day—and He is looking right at us today—asking, “Which son are you?”  If you are here today and your life looks like the younger brother—if you have squandered your potential, if you are carrying secrets, if you smell like the pigpen of life’s worst choices—hear this clearly: You cannot out-sin the grace of God!  The Father is not waiting on the porch with a lecture; instead, He is running to embrace you by grace.  Stop trying to work your way back.  Just receive the robe and the ring, but if you are here today and you realize you are the older brother—if you are proud of your morality, if you look down on people who do not have it together, if you view your faith as a cold checklist of duties—hear this: Your good behavior cannot save you!  Your uprightness is just as much of a barrier to God as another person’s wickedness if it keeps you from relying entirely on Jesus.

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God’s grace is offensive to our pride.  It forces us to admit that we are all equally desperate, whether we are sitting in a pigpen or standing in a pristine field, but that scandalous, unfair grace is the only hope we have.  This week, I challenge you to identify your default setting.  Are you prone to the younger son’s reckless escape, or the older son’s self-righteous isolation?  Whichever it is, take a step toward the Father’s voice today.  Lay down your ledger of performance, drop your defenses, and step into the feast of His unmerited, scandalous grace.