Today’s post is penned by my fellow Phoenix writer Chad Jones, aka Randomly Chad. It is in a sense a response to my last post about forgiveness. I love it when I connect with a fellow writer’s words, and they inspire me. It’s also amazing when the opposite happens, like this post. Here’s a little more info on my friend Chad, in his own words.
Hi! I’m Chad. Sometimes I’m serious, sometimes I’m silly–hence the moniker, “Randomly Chad.” I live in Arizona with my awesome wife, Lisa, 2 great kids, and 2 dogs (they are not my dogs–they are my kids’ dogs). I work professionally in IT, but don’t talk about that much, because the scope of my interests is much broader than that (though I may share a funny story from time-to-time). That said, I am pretty much an Apple fanboy.
If you like what you hear below, please check out his blog. It’s one of my favorites, you won’t regret it. Without further ado, here are some of Chad’s thoughts on the parable of the prodigal son:
The Prodigal Son. The story of a young man who received his inheritance, and promptly wasted it on a profligate lifestyle. He squandered his blessings on wine, women, and song. He at least finally came to his senses, there in the hog pen, and decided to go home.
Thinking all the while that he was no longer worthy to be called his father’s son. What he failed to account for is that once a name is given it cannot be taken away.
Meaning that just because we sin does not mean we are no longer a part of the family. Does this mean we should sin? As Paul said, “God forbid.”
What it means is that we, like the Prodigal Son before, serve a God Who runs. Make no mistake: His love is always there, but somehow when we turn around (repent) God gallops to us with arms wide open. Even when we still have the stench of hog on us.
Even so, when we have been forgiven, healed, restored, how is that we turn to living like the Prodigal Son’s brother? He groused that he was never likewise celebrated, and moreover judged his brother’s shameful life. Yet feasting was all the while available to him–had he but asked.
How does this happen to us? Once having been forgiven, we detour to that place which tells us we are not worthy, not noticed, that having been given all the riches of the kingdom, these things are somehow unavailable.
Yet we see that our brother has been feasted, and we seethe with anger, hatred, jealousy. It seems that our hearts are as dark as deem his deeds. We had not moved away from the Father geographically, but rather internally.
Yet all outward signs point to everything being just fine. It would be better if we were the Prodigal, knowing our depths, than to be in such close proximity to the Father, and his riches, knowing not that we are all the while loved.