Preschool
For other foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ. 1 Corinthians 3:11
For other foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ. 1 Corinthians 3:11
For other foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ. 1 Corinthians 3:11
For other foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ. 1 Corinthians 3:11
Background Scripture: Luke 15
Lesson Scripture: Luke 15:11-24
The prodigal son left his father’s house, squandered the treasures of his personal inheritance, and finally all but destroyed himself. Prematurely claiming the gifts his father had carefully gathered for his future prosperity enabled him in his descent into poverty and disgrace.
God may not deny his gifts to those He knows will squander them. Neither does He shield such squanderers from the consequences of their folly. But, like the father of the prodigal son, He waits to welcome every remorseful beggar who comes limping home. The story of the prodigal son is a story of rebellion, selfishness, and folly; it is also a story of repentance, redemption, and the Father’s unconditional love.
And I will give them an heart to know me, that I am the Lord: and they shall be my people, and I will be their God: for they shall return unto me with their whole heart (Jer. 24:7).
Luke 15:11 And he said, A certain man had two sons:
12 And the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me. And he divided unto them his living.
13 And not many days after the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living.
14 And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want.
15 And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine.
16 And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat: and no man gave unto him.
17 And when he came to himself, he said, How many hired servants of my father’s have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger!
18 I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee,
19 And am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants.
20 And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.
21 And the son said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son.
22 But the father said to his servants, Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet:
23 And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry:
24 For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. And they began to be merry.
“Then drew near unto [Jesus] all the publicans and sinners for to hear him” (Luke 15:1). The publicans and sinners were the outcasts, the undesirables—unwashed and unchurched. They drew near to Jesus, near to this Teacher who spoke of hope and rest. Some men looked at their wretched histories and pulled away, but Jesus beckoned them closer. Barriers of class and religion blocked their way to acceptance in society, but with Jesus there were no barriers. He welcomed them with open arms.
The scribes and Pharisees, the “elder son” in Jesus’s story, despised such people. They criticized Jesus for associating with them. To these Jews, who valued their law more highly than mercy and their own reputation above another man’s soul, Jesus told a story that is both tragic and pleasantly wonderful.
Jesus makes no excuses for the prodigal son. The young man’s actions are deliberate, and his selfishness is obvious. He is impatient, headstrong, and ungrateful. He is also a fool. What a modern novelist would spend many chapters describing, Jesus tells us in a few, short words: “He wasted his substance with riotous living.” The young man gambles his entire fortune at the world’s glittering table—and loses. In a few brief sentences, he goes from riches to rags, from all to nothing.
And now the economy crashes. The rich have many friends, but the poor man is hated even of his own neighbor (Prov. 14:20). The once rich young man is now poor. His money is gone and so are his friends. Famine peels back the façade of civilization, and he finds himself tasting a bitter repast he has never known before—humiliation, hunger, and homelessness.
But his downward slide is not yet finished. To a Jew, swine-keeping must surely have been lower than his lowest imagination. Yet that is what he becomes—a hungry servant to greedy swine. Compared to the young man as we see him now, the publicans are clean, even beautiful. This is the bottom of the hill of the downward road he had chosen.
How bitter is his first taste of God’s mercy! For though he does not know it, it is mercy that brought him here. When mercy has brought him so low that he can go no lower, he turns at last to look back up the long road that brought him to ruin. “The goodness of God leadeth thee to repentance” (Rom. 2:4). The path of hunger is the path that finally turns his steps toward home. When he comes to himself, he realizes that his father’s mercy is his only hope of bread. His own resources cannot supply even the most basic human needs, and finally he knows it.
He may not yet be forgiven, he may be far from home, but a repentant man homeward bound is a man already transformed. He has gone from “give me what’s mine” to “please give me what I know I do not deserve.” From caring only for his own desires, he has come to look at himself from his father’s point of view. This is repentance, and no wanderer can reach home without it.
Unlike the shepherd in the story of the lost sheep, the prodigal son’s father did not follow him. He gave him what he asked for and let him go. But the father’s yearning love never failed, and his eye never strayed far from the road down which his son had disappeared.
What a vivid scene Jesus painted in the beautiful picture of the father meeting his long-awaited son. The father breathless with running, tears pouring down his cheeks, sobbing his broken welcome, gathering his son in a tight embrace, and kissing him repeatedly. The barefoot, weary boy, dressed in rags, smelling of swine, fearful of rejection, faint with hunger, stammering his unworthiness, and his tears mingling with his father’s, returns the embrace, the long years of separation melting away.
No wonder the publicans and sinners drew near. This was what they felt from Jesus—the irresistible, yearning love of a Father who did not look at what they had done but at who they were: his own long-lost sons.
This is the wonder of salvation. This is the joy of the gospel. This is love beyond description. This is the father-heart of God.
“Father, I have sinned . . . and am no more worthy to be called thy son” (Luke 15:18-19) was the cry of the prodigal son.
At first glance, anyone sitting in Sunday school discussing this lesson is clearly not a prodigal son. Not just now, anyway. The modern prodigal son is sleeping off a hangover in a distant city, glumly watching television in a prison cell, or standing in line at a soup kitchen. He has not been near a church building for years—he is, after all, in the far country.
That is where we put the far country—far from family, far from church attendance, and far from us. But where is the far country on God’s map? On God’s map, how far is it from his house to my web browser history? How many days of travel is it from the Father’s house to the cherished unforgiveness I cling to? How far have I journeyed since the Father last saw my bank statement, my wardrobe, or my bookshelf? How does God measure distance from the cross to chronic complaining? How many miles from the feet of Jesus to a proud look or to social exclusivity? Where is the far country on God’s map?
Jesus told the hypocrites of his day, “This people draweth nigh unto me with their mouth, and honoureth me with their lips; but their heart is far from me” (Matt. 15:8).
Many of us, in our youth, have received from our wealthy, heavenly Father a rich inheritance: abilities, good health, financial prosperity, a mind with which to think, and a heart with which to love. The gifts are not all the same, but the Creator gives liberally.
We often use the word prodigal to mean someone who has forsaken home and faith, but the original meaning is to spend or give money and resources lavishly and foolishly. How have you spent the hours and days of your inheritance? Have you lavished time on trashy novels or social media? Have you spent years of precious time building up financial equity? For whose benefit and pleasure have your talents been developed and applied?
“There arose a mighty famine” (Luke 15:14). Famine is inevitable in the far country. If we take our inheritance and squander it on ourselves, sooner or later it will be used up. No one has enough to cover the high cost of living apart from God. There may be some who seem to thrive for a time outside the sanctuary of God (Ps. 73), but there is always poverty behind the scenes. Fortunate the person who realizes he has run out of resources before the judgment day and finds his way home.
The Father waits at the window. The robe and the ring are ready, the shoes always at hand. God yearns for the prodigal and runs to meet him the moment he comes into view. Because of his love at Calvary, He can forgive the most dreadful deed; his wealth of grace can compensate for the deepest emotional and spiritual poverty. What we must do is stand up and say, “I have sinned and know I am unworthy, but I am going home.”
Source: COGICM Daily Bible Readings (Daily Bible Readings, PO Box 124, Glenn, CA 95943).