Some sat in gloom and darkness. They were prisoners suffering in chains. They had turned against the words of God and had refused the advice of God Most High. So He broke their pride by hard work. They stumbled, and no one helped. In their misery they cried out to the Lord, and He saved them from their troubles. He brought them out of their gloom and darkness and broke their chains. Let them give thanks to the Lord for His love and for the miracles He does for people. He breaks down bronze gates and cuts apart iron bars.
(Verses 10-16)
The Lord looked and could not find any justice, and He was displeased. He could not find anyone to help the people, and He was surprised that there was no one to help. So He used His own power to save the people. He covered Himself with goodness like armor. He put the helmet of salvation on His head. He put on clothes of punishment and wrapped Himself in the coat of His strong love. Isaiah 59 (italics, mine)
The son said to his father, "I wish you were dead."
Of course, the aching in the father's heart was palpable. This wasn't the first time his younger son screamed the invective at him. If only his kid knew how much the father loved him. How willing the elder was to lavish on this rebellious child affection without limit. But they lived on a massive estate with many chores. There was much work to be accomplished every day. And this son? He wanted no part of the process. Just the father's money. Now. His portion before his father's death. And death was nowhere in sight. The father a vital man. Tired of the rules of the household and his perceived lack of freedom, the younger son demanded his inheritance one fateful morning.
The father went to the bank. Sick to his stomach. A foreboding washing over him anew. As it did every time his child and he argued. I will finally let him go.
It took a very long while for the son to spend his father's money. On prostitutes, drugs, parties and every other dishonoring thing he could find. Filling the emptiness of riches with hedonistic pursuits until one day he found himself alone and destitute. Begging first on street corners for money to feed his habits. Working in a homeless shelter for pennies. A bare subsistence. Diseased from his profligacy, addicted to his medications, the boy kept thinking, "I wonder if Dad will take me back? I could work for him. Wouldn't have to be his son. Just a servant in the kitchen, maybe. Or an errand boy." It would be better than this. It took him months to get the courage to wander home.
The father always looked. At sunrise and sunset. Perhaps today he'll walk up the driveway. Day after day for months that turned into years, there was no sign of his boy. This child he loved. Gone astray, refusing to live by the standards of the house.
No time to shower at the shelter. No time to waste. The boy had made up his mind and began the long walk home. Through several cities, down major interstates, walking, walking, walking. And thinking what he'd say. "Dad, I've been so wrong. I know I'm not really your son anymore. I wished you dead, took what wasn't really mine, and squandered it. But...but, Dad...would you just hire me to do some job for you? Any job? I never want to leave you again." Over and over. A mantra. This is what I'll say to my dad.
Sweat was pouring down his face as the boy neared the long driveway leading up to his father's mansion. A homeless beggar, unrecognizable beneath the scraggly beard. He stank of garbage cans and months-old perspiration. Open sores oozed his body's retribution for the abuse it had endured. With his hands, the young man smoothed his matted hair as best he could and started toward the house. "Dad, I've been so wrong...." Repeating it so he'd leave nothing out.
The sun was hot when the father ventured outside. It was a ritual by then. Stepping onto the sidewalk leading to the front door of his home and walking to its edge for a glance down the driveway. Always hope. On this day there was a man standing on the street, head down as if in thought. He was dressed in rags. A homeless beggar was what the father thought. And just then the man looked up. The concrete of the drive covered a quarter mile, but there was something about the way the homeless man moved. Something familiar. And the father's heart beat fast. Pounding recognition to his brain. "My son!" He screamed it. He screamed it over and over as his feet beat the concrete in an ever faster rhythm that took him closer to the boy with whom he collided in joy.
"Dad, I've been so wrong.." He couldn't say it for the kissing and hugging. Tears of joy had wet the father's face and washed his own in their embrace. "You've come home! Oh, my God! You're finally home!" That was all. The father didn't seem to smell the boy's rancid breath or notice his broken body. But embraced the boy's misery and traded it for joy.
It's just what happens. When we go astray. Strike out on our own in our rebellion against God. Well loved and divinely cared for. And it just isn't enough. What is left for the Father to do but let us get to the end of ourselves? In the prison of our pain, we sit. And sit. Scraping our open wounds and working off our addictions. And no one cares any more. We've used everyone up. Misery is a great teacher. It drives us to the edge. And if we're smart, we work our way back. Like the younger son, hoping in our groveling for God to help us out here. Covered in darkness, gloom hovering over us, we might be in an actual jail or one we've created that binds us just as surely. God doesn't care where we are when we say, "Jesus, help me." He just wants us to come to that. Many of us have gone a long way out. And for us, it will be a long way back. But worth the journey to hear our Father say, "My daughter! My daughter! You're home!"
Seems too easy. Someone needs to make it right. All this we've done wrong. Isn't the Father's mawkish greeting a mockery? I mean, the kid's been horrible to him. And then we truly understand. Someone had to pay. To put on clothes of punishment and wrap Himself in the coat of His strong love. And His own goodness gave Him the strength to do it. The embrace of the Father cost the Son Who said: "The Lord God has put His Spirit in Me, because the Lord has appointed me to tell the good news to the poor. He has sent me to comfort those whose hearts are broken, to tell the captives they are free, and to tell the prisoners they are released." Isaiah 61; Luke 4:18
When we were unable to help ourselves, at the moment of our need, Christ died for us, although we were living against God...But God showed His great love for us in this way: Christ died for us while we were still sinners. Romans 5:6;8
We can always go home.
(Verses 10-16)
The Lord looked and could not find any justice, and He was displeased. He could not find anyone to help the people, and He was surprised that there was no one to help. So He used His own power to save the people. He covered Himself with goodness like armor. He put the helmet of salvation on His head. He put on clothes of punishment and wrapped Himself in the coat of His strong love. Isaiah 59 (italics, mine)
The son said to his father, "I wish you were dead."
Of course, the aching in the father's heart was palpable. This wasn't the first time his younger son screamed the invective at him. If only his kid knew how much the father loved him. How willing the elder was to lavish on this rebellious child affection without limit. But they lived on a massive estate with many chores. There was much work to be accomplished every day. And this son? He wanted no part of the process. Just the father's money. Now. His portion before his father's death. And death was nowhere in sight. The father a vital man. Tired of the rules of the household and his perceived lack of freedom, the younger son demanded his inheritance one fateful morning.
The father went to the bank. Sick to his stomach. A foreboding washing over him anew. As it did every time his child and he argued. I will finally let him go.
It took a very long while for the son to spend his father's money. On prostitutes, drugs, parties and every other dishonoring thing he could find. Filling the emptiness of riches with hedonistic pursuits until one day he found himself alone and destitute. Begging first on street corners for money to feed his habits. Working in a homeless shelter for pennies. A bare subsistence. Diseased from his profligacy, addicted to his medications, the boy kept thinking, "I wonder if Dad will take me back? I could work for him. Wouldn't have to be his son. Just a servant in the kitchen, maybe. Or an errand boy." It would be better than this. It took him months to get the courage to wander home.
The father always looked. At sunrise and sunset. Perhaps today he'll walk up the driveway. Day after day for months that turned into years, there was no sign of his boy. This child he loved. Gone astray, refusing to live by the standards of the house.
No time to shower at the shelter. No time to waste. The boy had made up his mind and began the long walk home. Through several cities, down major interstates, walking, walking, walking. And thinking what he'd say. "Dad, I've been so wrong. I know I'm not really your son anymore. I wished you dead, took what wasn't really mine, and squandered it. But...but, Dad...would you just hire me to do some job for you? Any job? I never want to leave you again." Over and over. A mantra. This is what I'll say to my dad.
Sweat was pouring down his face as the boy neared the long driveway leading up to his father's mansion. A homeless beggar, unrecognizable beneath the scraggly beard. He stank of garbage cans and months-old perspiration. Open sores oozed his body's retribution for the abuse it had endured. With his hands, the young man smoothed his matted hair as best he could and started toward the house. "Dad, I've been so wrong...." Repeating it so he'd leave nothing out.
The sun was hot when the father ventured outside. It was a ritual by then. Stepping onto the sidewalk leading to the front door of his home and walking to its edge for a glance down the driveway. Always hope. On this day there was a man standing on the street, head down as if in thought. He was dressed in rags. A homeless beggar was what the father thought. And just then the man looked up. The concrete of the drive covered a quarter mile, but there was something about the way the homeless man moved. Something familiar. And the father's heart beat fast. Pounding recognition to his brain. "My son!" He screamed it. He screamed it over and over as his feet beat the concrete in an ever faster rhythm that took him closer to the boy with whom he collided in joy.
"Dad, I've been so wrong.." He couldn't say it for the kissing and hugging. Tears of joy had wet the father's face and washed his own in their embrace. "You've come home! Oh, my God! You're finally home!" That was all. The father didn't seem to smell the boy's rancid breath or notice his broken body. But embraced the boy's misery and traded it for joy.
It's just what happens. When we go astray. Strike out on our own in our rebellion against God. Well loved and divinely cared for. And it just isn't enough. What is left for the Father to do but let us get to the end of ourselves? In the prison of our pain, we sit. And sit. Scraping our open wounds and working off our addictions. And no one cares any more. We've used everyone up. Misery is a great teacher. It drives us to the edge. And if we're smart, we work our way back. Like the younger son, hoping in our groveling for God to help us out here. Covered in darkness, gloom hovering over us, we might be in an actual jail or one we've created that binds us just as surely. God doesn't care where we are when we say, "Jesus, help me." He just wants us to come to that. Many of us have gone a long way out. And for us, it will be a long way back. But worth the journey to hear our Father say, "My daughter! My daughter! You're home!"
Seems too easy. Someone needs to make it right. All this we've done wrong. Isn't the Father's mawkish greeting a mockery? I mean, the kid's been horrible to him. And then we truly understand. Someone had to pay. To put on clothes of punishment and wrap Himself in the coat of His strong love. And His own goodness gave Him the strength to do it. The embrace of the Father cost the Son Who said: "The Lord God has put His Spirit in Me, because the Lord has appointed me to tell the good news to the poor. He has sent me to comfort those whose hearts are broken, to tell the captives they are free, and to tell the prisoners they are released." Isaiah 61; Luke 4:18
When we were unable to help ourselves, at the moment of our need, Christ died for us, although we were living against God...But God showed His great love for us in this way: Christ died for us while we were still sinners. Romans 5:6;8
We can always go home.
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