Parables - Lost and Found

Sermon Transcript: The Parable of the Lost Son

Great is Thy faithfulness! I'm a witness that He's been good, amen! He's been good, He's been faithful, even when I haven't been. Great is that faithfulness! If you're newer to CWC and you have children under the age of 12, we encourage you to go downstairs. You can go down that way or back this way. Our kids' leaders have made their way downstairs to our children's area. We'd love to have them minister there. We don't babysit around here—come on, say amen! We don't babysit, but we disciple our kiddos, and so we're excited about Pastor Stacy giving leadership to this next season.

I'm excited to begin a new sermon series for the summer entitled Parables. Everybody say, "Parables!" We're going to be talking about God's everyday wisdom. Each week, we'll be taking a look at a parable that Jesus told. We'll be unpacking some powerful truths and godly wisdom. What I've found is that people love stories. Parables are a way that Jesus uses to capture people's attention when He sought to change their attitude or behavior. So, we'll be asking questions like: What is Jesus's intent? What is Jesus's purpose of the parable that He's telling? What point is He trying to make? What attitude or perspective is He seeking to change? The word parable—everybody shout, "Parable!"—literally means "to throw alongside of." That's what the word means, to throw alongside of. What that literally means is Jesus has already been trying to make a point. There's already something He's trying to do, and the parable is simply to throw alongside of that to help people understand a point He's trying to make or something they've missed that He wants them to see.

I don't know about you, but recently I was out at one of the trampoline parks here locally. Thankfully, I didn't blow my Achilles—come on, somebody say amen! You gotta be careful once you hit 50. There are certain things you just have to be cautious about trying to do. Anyway, I was out there with my kids, and one of my daughters had brought a friend. You know those moments where you feel like you should say something? We were all gathering around the table, and they were taking off their shoes and putting on their socks. I saw the girls with phones put them in their back pockets, and I'm like, "You probably should just give me the phone." But they were like, "No, no, no, wherever we are, you might want to get in touch with us." I didn't know how responsible the friend was with her phone, as it was my first time with her, so I said, "Y'all sure y'all don't want me to have the phones?" They said, "No, we're okay." As you would guess, at some point during our two hours at this trampoline park, I get a call from a frantic person—my daughter—saying she lost her phone. This place was packed with people! I'm like, "Where was she last? Can you backtrack your steps? Where did you last see it?" I'm trying to walk her through this on the phone, and they're just frantic. I didn't want to be that parent who has to tell the other parent that the first time I had their child in my care, they lost their phone. I did not want to be that guy!

So, we're trying to help them out, and lo and behold, the phone is gone. We get to the end of our time, and I'm like, "Hey, we can't stay here all day. We may just have to tell the parents—lost phone." Then it dawns on me: "Have you talked to the people at the lost and found?" They were like, "Lost and what?" I said, "You've never heard of the lost and found? That's the place you go when you lose something. It just might be possible that the phone is there." My daughter's like, "Okay, hold on." She hangs up, and within five minutes, I get the call: "We found it! We found it!" I'm as happy as they are—come on, somebody say amen! I didn't have to have that conversation with the mom who dropped her off to say, "We lost this expensive iPhone." When you find something you've lost that's important to you, not only do you celebrate, but the people who know you lost it, who tried to help you find it, they celebrate too. We can call off the dogs—come on, somebody say amen! We don't have to do a report or have that conversation. There's something special about finding something that is lost.

Today, our parable captures a story of a father and his son. I think there's a great deal we can take from the characters in this story. You may see yourself in the father, or you may see yourself in the son if you look closely. This parable is only found in Luke's gospel. If you know Luke, his interests are in talking about how Jesus fulfilled the historical kingdom of God found in the Old Testament. In Luke 15, Jesus tells us about the lost sheep, the lost coin, and, for our story today, the lost son—or, as I was growing up, they called him the prodigal son. All three—somebody shout, "All three!"—of these parables remind us that our God has great interest in helping to redeem lost things, especially lost people.

So, turn with me to Luke 15, verse 11. We're going to read these three verses together from the NIV. It should be up on the screen. Let's read them: Jesus continued, "There was a man who had two sons. The younger one said to his father, 'Father, give me my share of the estate.' So he divided his property between them. Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country, and there squandered his wealth in wild living."

Let's pray. Father, we know the flower fades, the grass withers, but Your word stands forever. Speak into this moment. Move, be at the forefront. Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in Your sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer. Speak now, give us all the courage to respond in obedience. We pray this in the matchless name of Jesus—somebody shout, "Amen!" You may be seated.

I want to talk to you from this thought: Lost and Found. Parables were typically told in a practical way to talk about something in real life that the listener could understand to point to a deeper truth they may not yet grasp. Parables—somebody shout, "Parables!"—are neither historical accounts nor allegories in which everything stands for something. Many, if not most, of Jesus's parables are about the nature of the kingdom of God. His parables were usually told in a moment of crisis, often exposing a heart issue in His listeners. So, what is the problem here? What is the conflict? Why is Jesus telling these three—somebody shout, "Three!"—parables about lost things? If you're asking that question, I think it's important to expose something we find in the first two verses of Luke 15. It says: Now the tax collectors and sinners were all gathering around to hear Jesus. But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law muttered, "This man welcomes sinners and eats with them."

Now we see the conflict. Some religious people are wondering why Jesus is hanging with sinners. They either believe Jesus is willfully breaking the law and their cultural traditions, or He doesn't know any better. To these religious people, both would have been inexcusable. They're saying, "He's eating with those people, those sinners," as if they were without sin, as if their stuff didn't stink—come on, somebody say amen! Maybe they think they're better than these people. Their statement revealed both their self-righteousness and self-centeredness. So, Jesus follows up their accusation with these three parables, each showing how God feels about lost things and, more importantly, lost people.

We won't deal with the first two parables today—those are sermons in themselves—but this third one, with this father and younger son, is our focus. If you know your Bible well, you know there are actually two sons in this parable. We won't have time to deal with the second son today; we'll deal with him next week, is that alright? But remember, in verse 11, this son came to his father and said, "Father, I want what is mine." Technically, it wasn't his yet—his parents would have to be dead for his share to be given. Historically, part of the son's inheritance, if the parents were alive, was to care for them and the family. But this son—somebody shout, "This son!"—wanted his share only for himself, and he wanted it right now, basically saying to his father, "I wish you were dead." It was both disrespectful and selfish. The parents—we don't know where the mom is in the story—but the father grants his request. When he got it, the Bible says he immediately left home and spent it whileing out. If you don't know what that means, he was doing a bunch of stuff he shouldn't have been doing.

Why would he do that? There's this thing called FOMO—anybody know what FOMO is? The fear of missing out. I think all of us wrestle with this if we're honest. The fear of missing out can create insecurity, restlessness. It's what our culture, media, and marketing strategies thrive on. FOMO can convince us we need the newest phone, game, car, house—y'all know what I'm talking about. When you're up past midnight, it's nothing but infomercials. They figure if you're restless and can't sleep, they can sell you something—somebody say, "Ouch!" It plays off this idea that we're not enough, that having God in our lives is not enough, that we need more, that our life is only complete when we get this next thing. This son has FOMO. He thinks his father and family have been holding out on him, so he goes into the world trying to find his own way, doing things his own way. FOMO will have us making rash decisions without thinking them through, throwing out standards and overstepping boundaries for temporary pleasures.

Who am I talking to? When we don't know our why, we tend to live out of why not. Why not party all night? Why not spend all my money on temporary pleasures? Why not sleep around? Why not put things in my body that could harm me? Why not disobey my parents? Why not lie, cheat, and steal? Why not mistreat this person? Why not be late to this important meeting? Why not overcommit and underdeliver? When we don't understand our why, we live out of why not. It's a dangerous place when you don't know your why, because everybody else will convince you of their why, and you'll start playing their game and living by their rules. You need to know your own why. When you know your why, you have boundaries, standards, a rule of life.

This son had a basic problem that every human being has—the same problem the Pharisees had. Without the Holy Spirit guiding us, we focus on what we want and what we think we need. He wanted independence and freedom, not realizing our real freedom comes when we're completely dependent on the Father and interdependent with other believers. I'm amazed at what happens on Tuesdays here with the Hope Center. It amazes me, the number of volunteers who serve our unhoused or marginalized friends. Often, it's not just people with means who are giving, but people not far from our unhoused friends who are extremely generous with their time and resources. It blows me away. In our culture, we assume what happens in our building is driven by those with means, but that's not always true. It's often people who can relate to our unhoused friends who are the best at serving because they understand.

The challenge is that we want to believe what the culture says, what the world says, instead of what God says. Yes, people with means are giving their time and resources, but you don't have to be in that category to give to the Hope Center. No matter where you are, you can serve, give of your time, talents, and treasure. We all have something to offer. What I love is when the tables shift, and the people who were once served at the Hope Center become the ones leading it. It's a beautiful thing when you see those who were receiving now giving, encouraging, and praying. That's what this is about—lifting up everybody, serving everybody, loving everybody—somebody say, "Everybody!"

When that son left home, I'm sure he didn't say, "I'm going to wreck my life." I'm sure the person driving that truck last night didn't say, "I'm going to run through a shelter." He didn't say, "I'm going to get tangled up in something I can't get out of," or "I'm going to embarrass my family." All he probably said was, "I'm grown. I want to do what I want and take what's mine." He didn't make a mature decision or count the cost; he just wanted to live it up.

So, that leads us to verse 14: After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything. Let me suggest something: sin is never satisfied. Sin will never get enough. If you live in any kind of sin, it'll always want you to do a little more. You start with light drinks, just social stuff, then you're drinking hard liquor—come on, somebody say amen! You start with a cigarette, then a blunt, then some drug. Sin is never satisfied.

I was in Northern California this week, not far from where wildfires happened. Driving through the mountains near San Jose, I was amazed by how dry the mountains were—almost crunchy. When you pour water on dry ground, it soaks it up, but it doesn't look better because it's so dry deep down. You have to moisturize what's under the surface before you see change on the surface. That's how sin is—never satisfied. You think you've fed it, but it's still hungry. This young man didn't understand that. He spent everything, and now he's broke, busted, and disgusted. There were few jobs more despised by a Jew than caring for pigs, yet here he is.

I've learned this: we are blessed with boundaries. If we don't honor God's boundaries, we become burdens—burdens on our family, institutions, society. Our perceived freedom seems cool and fun, but it's self-centered and leads to sin. Sin comes painted with beautiful colors but never tells you the consequences, only the benefits. God's freedom always comes with boundaries. In the garden, He gave freedom with boundaries. Ultimate freedom always has boundaries to keep you safe, whole, and connected. When we toss away God's boundaries, we may face the unsavory consequences of disobedience. This son thought he was going to be free, but now he's someone else's slave. He lost his freedom completely. He is clearly lost.

Let's slide down to verse 17: When he came to his senses, he said, "How many of my father's hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired servants." So he got up—touch your neighbor and say, "He got up!" Is anybody in the room ready to get up? He got up and went to his father. He remembers his father's provision, protection, and position in society, but he's unsure about his father's forgiveness and love. He doesn't believe he's worthy of restoration, so he thinks the best he can be is a hired servant. Is that what you believe? Is that the narrative you've been telling yourself?

When I first recommitted my life to Christ in 1998—y'all heard the story, truck flips over, no seat belt, not a scratch—the Holy Spirit started speaking. As a single dad, I started praying, "Father, I think I'm supposed to be in a relationship, maybe married." But I convinced myself I could only find someone with a similar story, someone with a terrible life. I didn't believe I was worthy of someone like my wife. I was praying one day, and the Holy Spirit said, "I want more for you and from you than you've convinced yourself." I had convinced myself I’d just be a hired servant, getting scraps from the table. One of the greatest sins is thinking of ourselves more highly than we ought—pride, arrogance. But there's also a sin of thinking more lowly than we ought, a false humility, self-degradation, believing God doesn't want to do anything for or through you. I had done so much dirt, I thought, "Lord, if You just let me in the door, I’ll be alright." But He arrested my heart: "I didn't save you to think like that. I saved you to understand you're fearfully and wonderfully made, with a purpose."

What does it take for us to come to our senses? For me, I had to hit a wall—a car wreck. What does it take to admit we've done wrong, to turn back to the Father, to be still and know He is God? Sometimes we have to hit rock bottom, sometimes people have to leave, for us to repent and admit we need help.

The question in this parable is: How will this father respond? This is better than a soap opera, better than Young and the Restless, Bold and the Beautiful, or the Maury Povich show about "Who’s the daddy?" Get your popcorn and listen: What will this father do? Will he punish him, say, "I told you so," slam the door, or replace him with a more worthy son? Jesus is telling this parable to religious people who only see sin in others, not themselves. Verse 20: But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him. This meant he was looking for him. You can’t see what you’re not looking for. He was expecting him to come home, waiting for him, filled with compassion—not anger or bitterness. He ran to his son, threw his arms around him, and kissed him. Verse 21: The son said, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son." Verse 22: But the father said to his servants, "Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found." So they began to celebrate.

This is the kind of stuff that makes you fall in love with God. I love the song Fierce: "Like a tidal wave crashing over me, rushing in to meet me here, Your love is fierce." Or How He Loves: "He is jealous for me, loves like a hurricane, I am a tree bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy." We are the son, and God is the Father. This is a beautiful picture of a Father’s love, His full pursuit of us in spite of us. He doesn’t wait for us to get it together or clean ourselves up—He came after us. Aren’t you glad He’s chasing after you, your family member, that person far from Him? All we have to do is turn and acknowledge, "Father, I have sinned."

Culturally, historians note that a Jewish father running was a big deal. Aristotle said an adult male running was undignified. But this father pushed aside cultural rules and tradition, caring only about getting to his son, embracing and restoring him. The robe was likely the father’s, symbolizing status. The ring was a signet ring, giving the son the right to do family business. The sandals distinguished him from servants, reminding everyone he was still family, despite his bad choices. Even though you’ve made bad choices, you’re still part of the family. The fattened calf was for a community celebration, not just a family reunion—a big park cookout! God doesn’t just redeem us spiritually; He redeems us practically and communally, for our community, because there’s something we’re supposed to do with and for others.

The son confesses, "I have sinned." Some of the hardest words to say are, "I’m sorry." Why do we make excuses and rationalize our sin? This son had seen enough, done enough, been through enough. He didn’t blame anyone else; he took ownership of his junk. 1 John 1:8-9 says: If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.

I want to close by talking about the power of confession and repentance. Unconfessed sin puts a chokehold on our soul, leading to spiritual blindness. Samson woke up, hair cut, thinking he’d break loose, but he didn’t realize the Spirit had left him because he was spiritually blind. I don’t wish spiritual blindness on anyone—it’s like being around someone who’s not self-aware, unaware of the impact of their words and actions, like watching a train wreck. Confession and repentance—changing our direction, position, mind, and behavior—are powerful. God’s goodness should lead us to repentance.

Now, the power of forgiveness and love. The father welcomes the son with open arms, despite his disrespect and selfishness. Forgiveness is giving up the right to get even. It doesn’t mean you forget—only God can do that. It doesn’t always mean reconciliation, though it can be a byproduct. You can forgive and not trust yet, remove yourself from unhealthy situations, still have boundaries. But you cannot forgive and use what they did as a weapon—that’s not forgiveness. The father restores the son to his family and community, modeling the power of love and acceptance. Perfect love overcomes any fear or obstacle.

What can we learn from this son? He represents us. What does this story teach us about God’s love and forgiveness? What message is Jesus giving the Pharisees? He’s challenging their stinking thinking about others. Spoiler alert: the second son, whom we’ll discuss next week, is a lot like the Pharisees.

Please stand. I’ve had times when I thought something was lost, but it was closer than I anticipated. Ever run around looking for your glasses, and they’re on your head? Ever look for your keys, and they’re in your back pocket? Ever been in a public place with your kids, turn around, and they’re gone, only to realize they’re playing hide-and-seek under the clothes? You have that instant fear, then relief when you see them. What I want you to understand is you’re not as far from God as you think. You’re close enough for Him to reach you. That family member, that community member far from God—they’re not so far that God can’t reach them. Keep praying, keep trusting, keep believing. They might be in their prodigal son moment, at the pigsty, about to come to their senses. Don’t give up on them now.

Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, we pray for people far from God because we know what it’s like to be the prodigal son. We have a heart broken for those far from God, and God will only trust us with them if we’re praying and seeking them. Your pastor lived a disrespectful, selfish life for a long time. If it weren’t for people like you praying, pleading the blood of Jesus while I was whiling out in the clubs, in my own pigsty, I would’ve never come home. Don’t give up on those who are lost—they’re searching, even if in the wrong places.

Let us be the kind of church where prodigal sons and daughters know it’s safe to come home. Sometimes they won’t come here, so we have to meet them on the road, at the supermarket, laundromat, schools, jobs. Are we willing to be that kind of church? I believe we will.

Let’s pray. Father, maybe there’s someone in the room who’s been whiling out. For me, it was drugs, alcohol, promiscuity, pride, and arrogance. For others, it may look different. Maybe someone just wants to come home, has come to their senses, and heard about this Jesus who forgives and accepts. Whether they’re watching online or in this room, meet them where they are. Help them repent, confess, receive Your love and forgiveness. Maybe it’s someone recommitting or rededicating their life to You. Maybe it’s someone who’s been selfish and arrogant like the Pharisees, looking down on others, and this message has arrested their heart: "We all need Jesus; we’ve all sinned." Your Word says if they confess with their mouth and believe in their heart, they will be saved. Do the work in their hearts. We’ll continue to pray. Whether it’s a first-time commitment, recommitment, or someone needing Your touch—welcome home. Jesus’s arms are wide open, so is the Father’s. Holy Spirit, have Your way. Minister to people right where they are. Heal, set free, deliver, bring freedom where there’s been bondage, wholeness where relationships are fractured, reconciliation where there’s division. We lift all this to You in the matchless name of Jesus, and all God’s people say, "Amen!"