The Prodigal Son Had a Mama, Too

Most Christians are familiar with the story of the Prodigal Son – told by Jesus in Luke 15.  We know it is a true story, because Jesus said so. (“There was a man who had two sons . . . not “suppose there was . . . “) This family’s testimony of rebellion, consequences, repentance, forgiveness and restoration has served as the text for many a Sunday morning sermon – I’ve heard it taught from the dad’s perspective, the Prodigal’s, and even the faithful older brother’s. 

But it just dawned on me that the Prodigal Son had a Mama, too.

She is not mentioned in the text – we don’t know her name. But, being a mama too,  I believe I know a few things about her. She loved her boys. Both of them, just the way they were. She realized that, even though they shared the same genes and home environment, they were two very different young men.

Her first born was a hard worker, loyal, obedient, being groomed to inherit the family business and honor the family name. The younger, however, was a bit of a rebel – probably the kind of kid who asked “Why?” a thousand times a day.  He put the “terrible” in the terrible twos. He tested all the boundaries – got a whole lot more spankings than his older brother. He was the kind of person who was prone to learn things the hard way. Mama knew this when his little fingers were burned after he was told not to touch the oven, or as she patched the skinned knees after he was told not to climb past a certain tree limb. She prayed she would always be able to kiss his hurts and make them better, but, deep in her heart, she probably suspected that her baby boy’s life journey would be full of lessons learned in hard, painful ways.

So, what happened the day her younger son worked up the nerve to approach his dad – asking for his inheritance? Mama knew this would be a disaster – I’m sure she let Dad know he was crazy to even consider this (in a respectful, submissive way, of course). Mama knew that kid would get himself in all kinds of trouble with that money. He wasn’t ready for life in the fast lane – he still had so much growing up to do.

While Mama was thinking with her heart, Dad was thinking with his head. He knew that only hard lessons and painful consequences would make his boy a man. To everyone’s shock, Dad divvyed up the family fortune, and sent his son on his way. With half of his money, and all of his heart.

As Mama watched her baby leave, all she could do was weep and pray. He would not be calling home. She could not check up on his Facebook or Twitter. No skyping to make sure he was still in one piece.  In fact, she may never see him again.

All she could do was trust her son in the hands of the only One who loved him more than she did.

Even though he was now a stubborn, rebellious young man who needed to learn things the hard way, in her heart, he was still her little boy. How her arms must have ached to hold him, how she must have longed to hear his voice (even if it was bickering with his big brother). She probably even missed picking up his dirty clothes. That empty chair at the dinner table must have pierced her heart.  Did she sit on his bed and cry her heart out? Was he hungry? Was he safe? Where was he sleeping tonight? Does he remember how much I love him? Will I ever see him again?  Every night brought tears, every morning, hope that this would finally be the day. O, Lord, please take care of my baby boy. You are the Only One who can.

 I imagine Mama spent as much time on her knees as she did looking out the window – longing and praying for the day he would come home.

How long was the Prodigal Son gone? Weeks? Months? Years? We aren’t told – but it was long enough for him to blow through a substantial amount of money, meet and run with the wrong crowd, wallow with the pigs and get into who-knows-what kind of trouble. And, as strong-willed as I imagine that fella was, we don’t know exactly how long he held out before “he came to his senses” (Luke 15:17) . This mama knows that every sleepless night seemed like an eternity to his praying parents.

But they never gave up on him. I can just imagine the evenings that Dad tried to comfort his weeping, praying wife, gently guiding her away from the window where she kept watch.

But, Dad knew how she felt, because he was watching for him, too. There had been an empty chair at the dinner table for way too long.

Jesus said that “while he was still a long way off, his father saw him, felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him.”

“Still a long way off.” Oh, yeah, Dad was looking. He was out working, but he was always keeping one eye peeled for that wayward son. When he spotted a figure approaching from far in the distance, he recognized him immediately.  His instant response, to run – not walk -  toward the boy he loved.

Yes, he was “still a long way off” geographically speaking, but also emotionally and spiritually. There were fences that needed mending, apologies to be extended and accepted, repentance to be completed. A family to be restored.  

But both parties were moving in the right direction – toward one another. And they couldn’t embrace fast enough.

And just wait until Mama got a hold of him.

Pig stink still on his clothes, in desperate need of a bath, a haircut and a shave. Ashamed. Embarrassed. Penniless.  A lesson that cost a whole lot of money and even more tears. But, oh, so worth it.

Their son was home. Their boy was now a man.

A Heart Transplant

One of my very favorite TV shows of all time is “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.” I’m a sucker for happy endings, I guess because in real life they seem to be so few and far between. I enjoy seeing things made right, dreams coming true, worries and burdens lifted. There’s nothing like watching the family when they see their new homes for the first time. They’ve been given something huge – something they could never obtain for themselves - with no strings attached – and they seem to be so grateful. They say thank you over and over again, they jump up and down,  they hug each other, they hug the cast and crew, but, mostly, they just cry. And I cry, too.

I was especially touched by a rerun recently. The “Makeover” family had lost something far more precious than their house – something that could never be replaced. Their teenage son had been killed in a car accident. This would rip anyone’s emotions out, but, as the mother of three teenagers myself, this family’s story was almost more than I could bear. We eventually learn that this precious boy was an organ donor. Through his death, several lives were saved, and grateful families changed forever.

In an especially touching twist, a surprise meeting was arranged between the “Makeover” family and the family of the young woman who received this boy’s heart. Deep, complicated emotions ran freely. Just imagine being part of either family. 

 . . .the grieving mama wept both tears of sorrow and tears of joy as she clung to this sweet girl, pressing her ear on her chest, hearing the beautiful music of that beating heart. . . the heart of her son . . . the heart that saved this girl’s very life. If my son’s heart were beating in that girl’s chest, I might find myself asking for a few things in return - to take good care of that heart. Physically, spiritually. Make a difference with your life. Never forget that every moment of your life is a gift. Use them wisely. Someone died to make them possible for you.  Honor him.

. . .the girl’s parents . If money could have bought a heart for their dying daughter, they would have given everything they had.  But, all the money in the all the banks in the world wouldn’t be enough. This new heart came at a much higher price.

. . . the young girl, who literally owes every morning she wakes up to a teenage boy she has never met. She owes him her very life. A gift she did not earn, and one she will never be able to repay. 

Maybe this touched me so deeply because I, too, have been given a new heart. Not in a hospital operating room, but on the Cross.

The Father wept as he watched his precious Only Son die to give me life. Tears of sorrow for His Son. Tears of joy for me. He loves us both, you see.

Would I take this priceless, blood-bought life for granted? Sometimes.  Would I waste hours, days, on things that don’t matter?  Of course. Would my actions and attitudes resemble those who don’t even know who Jesus is? Often.  Would there be days that I would forget the price that was paid for my new heart, trading it’s strength and purity for far lesser things? All the time.

He knew these things about me, and yet, He allowed His Son to pay the ultimate price – to give His very life – for mine. While I was a sinner, Christ died for me.

So, what do I do now? How do I repay Someone Who gave his very life for me?

I take good care of this new heart. Guard it. Protect it. Feed it with good things. Soak it in the Word. Be thankful, really thankful, for every day, treating it as the precious gift it is.

I will live like Someone died for me.

I will give my life back to Him.

Blind Bartimaeus And Me

When our son, Graham, was a little guy, he loved to be read to. I remember a favorite Bible Story book, with large print and beautiful illustrations. It had maybe eight or so sweet Bible stories, but Graham always chose the same one - he was completely taken with Blind Bartimaeus.

One day, when he was 2 1/2 years old, during a visit from his grandparents, Graham found the Bartimaeus story in his book, and brought it to his Mimi. Of course, she thought he wanted her to read the story to him, but, instead, the little dude started reading it aloud to her! "Poor Bartimaeus, his eyes were sick. He couldn't see the sky, he couldn't see the sun, he couldn't see anything."

Surely, we had a child-genius on our hands. Reading Bible stories at 2 years old. I'd have bragging rights in my Moms group for years to come.

Wishful thinking. The kiddo had heard the story so many times, he had it memorized - word for word. Even when to turn the page! Funny how our minds - even at 2 years old - can retain things that are important to us, things we love. And Graham loved Blind Bartimaeus.

I love the story of Bartimaeus, too. We meet him in Mark, chapter 10. He's the beggar on the side of the road. He heard a crowd coming his way, and learned that Jesus was among them. Despite the rebukes for him to be quiet and behave, he just couldn't contain himself.

"Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me," he shouted, obviously loud enough to get the job done. He got Jesus' attention. Mark says that Jesus stopped, and called for this blind beggar.

Bartimaeus was up, on his feet, and running toward Jesus like a crazy man. Moments later, face to face, Jesus asks him "What do you want me to do for you?"  Jesus knew. He never asks a question because He needs information. Bartimaeus was given the opportunity to present his request before the Lord. And, present it he did. "Rabbi, I want to see." Respectful, yet straightforward. Blunt. Honest. He didn't waste words. Bartimaeus knew what he wanted and he knew who to ask.

That kind of faith must have made Jesus' heart happy. I just know that His face must have broken into a bright, wide smile. "Go," said Jesus, "your faith has healed you."

The Bible says that Bartimaeus "immediately received his sight."  Do you know what that means? The first thing he saw was the face of Jesus Christ.

That's worth saying again. The first thing Blind Bartemaeus saw was the face of Jesus Christ.

Bartimaeus shows us a supernatural formula: Our Faith + God's Grace = A Miracle.

We can learn a lot from this formerly blind beggar. First, he knew he was helpless, but he knew who to turn to. He knew his only hope was in Jesus. He made his request known boldly. At the risk of rebuke, ridicule and embarassment, he made a racket that wouldn't be ignored. In sheer desparation, he called out to Jesus. Jesus heard. Jesus answered.

Next, when Jesus called for him, he ran to Him. He even threw his cloak (probably one of his only earthly possessions) aside so nothing would slow him down. What slows me down in my pursuit of Jesus. Pride? Unbelief? What do I need to throw down?

And, after looking into the face of the of the King of Kings, Bartimaeus followed Him along the road. If I had been him, there's nothing that would have stopped me from staying as close to Jesus as I could. Forever.

But, wait, I am him. Just like Bartimaues, I once was blind, but now, I see.

All because of God's grace.

Amazing.

Amazing Grace

I enjoy the new worship choruses we sing at church, but I really love the old hymns. There's so much sound theology found in the pages of those old hymnals. I truly worship when we sing "There Is A Fountain," and am particularly intrigued by the second verse:

The dying theif rejoiced to see
that fountain in his day;
and there may I, thou vile as he,
wash all my sin away.

The thief on the cross. We don't even know his name. But God does. It was written in His book. 

All we know about him is what the Bible tells us. He is called a criminal, his crime terrible enough to warrant the sentence of death. He was hopeless and helpless, and he knew it. By his own admission, he was only getting what he deserved. His soul was doomed.  But, God had another plan. Mercy and Grace hung on the cross next to his.

There were three crosses on Mount Calvary that day. Jesus hung with a criminal on either side. Three men were to die that day. One man, scoffing and cursing the Lord until his final breath did, in fact get what he deserved.

But something spoke to the man on the other side. I guess there is something about staring Eternity in the face that will put the fear of God into a man. Being that close to Jesus changed him. Being close to Jesus changes everything.

In Luke 23, we're told that the desperate, dying, convicted criminal mustered up the humility, courage and faith to call out to the Lord - "Jesus, remember me when You come into Your kingdom."  And our suffering Savior answered, "I assure you: today you will be with Me in Paradise."

That moment, an eternal transaction took place. The Criminal on the Cross called upon the name of the Lord, and was saved. (Romans 10:13)  He was saved by pure grace, through faith  (Ephesians 2). Period. No one pulled out a Gospel tract and led him in the Sinner's Prayer. He wasn't saved by "asking Jesus into his heart" or, for that matter, "giving his life to Jesus." He had no life to give. Couldn't even be baptized. The only thing he was able to do for the Lord was to trust Him, to call upon His Name. And, when Jesus "assured"  him of his eternal savlation, that was enough. A done deal.

Back to our hymn - The dying thief and I have a lot in common. I am just as hopeless, helpless, guilty and condemned were it not for the blood of Jesus. The blood that does what with my sin? Rinses it out? Covers it up? No, it washes all my sin away. All of it. The criminal and I stand together, perfectly clean, before the Lord.

The nameless Thief on the Cross. He wasted his life here on earth, but he took his final breaths close enough to Jesus to hear Him whisper. He died next to the Christ. He opened his eyes in paradise, sharing Eternity with the Saviour of his soul. . .

That's grace. And it's amazing.