Introduction – Who’s Who
After the Good Samaritan, this is maybe one of the most well-known parables. Generally speaking, most Church people can remember most of the story in a holistic sense and some can remember very specific details. But more so than that, this parable elicits pretty strong feelings from folks.
One of the remarkable aspects of this parable is how easily different people identify with its characters. Some resonate with the younger son—those who have made mistakes, wandered away, and found themselves in desperate circumstances. Others identify with the older brother—those who have remained dutiful and find it difficult to celebrate the return of someone they see as undeserving. Some see themselves in the father, striving to extend grace while mediating between competing claims of fairness and mercy or just more literally identify in the parent role and know what it’s like to have two (or more) feuding or opposite children.
Just ask people to raise their hand during your sermon and you will see a room divided (in a helpful way). We can always preach on any of those avenues—being the wasteful son, the elder brother, or the gracious father. But because this parable raises these strong feelings, sometimes we can lose the forest for the trees.
While we can go that route, what the pericope does well, is point us to the central theme of the three consecutive parables of chapter 15 (we’re missing the lost coin and lost sheep).
But Really, Who’s in and Who’s out
But the chapter begins with the religious leaders grumbling about Jesus welcoming and eating with tax collectors and sinners. They are concerned over who should be considered worthy, who should be counted as “in” and who should be cast away. And in seeing this, Jesus responds not with direct argument, but with parables. The lost sheep, the lost coin, and finally, the lost son(s).
And that’s really what makes this parable so beautiful. The parable of the “prodigal son” (as it is traditionally known) is not simply a story of one wayward individual but two. And they are the two the reflect humanity’s viewpoints so well.
The younger son’s rebellion is the obvious understanding of rebellion. He represents those of us who are wandering souls. Sometimes referred to as the “black sheep” of the family. We are the ones who cause the trouble or at least get into it frequently. We are the ones who keep their parents up at night wondering where we are and who we’re with. We are the ones who can’t see past ourselves long enough to know who we’re hurting.
But then there is the older son. He represents those of us who are the responsible rule following sort. He represents those of us who worked hard at everything we did (school, work, chores, and athletics) not for ourselves but because our parents or elders told us to. We believe (or were told to believe) that our hard work would be valued, our discipline would be rewarded, our faithfulness would make them proud. We are the ones who can’t see past our hope to achieve righteousness especially in contrast to those we see as inferior or lazy.
The genius of this parable is that the elder son’s resentment at the end distances him from his father as well. Both sons are lost in their own way, and the father’s radical welcome extends to both.
As Jesus eats with sinners with religious leaders looking on, he reframes the conversation. It is not about determining who belongs and who does not, but about recognizing that all have turned away and all are in need of grace. The father in the parable (the true prodigal, in the sense of being lavish and extravagant) demonstrates the heart of God. The father does not withhold love based on merit but runs toward the lost, whether they are rebellious or self-righteous.
In this way, Jesus exposes the religious leaders’ misunderstanding. But then there will be those disciples who do the very same in the whole arc of Luke-Acts. Those who don’t want to include Zaccheaus the tax collector. Those who look down on Saul/Paul. Those who don’t want to include the Roman centurion. Those who don’t want to include the gentiles.
We, like the religious leaders and the disciples, will want to maintain clear lines of separation, but God’s kingdom is about relentless restoration. The invitation is to recognize our own turning, to see God’s extravagant grace at work, and to join in the celebration rather than stand outside in judgment.
This parable is not just about one lost son, it is about all of us. It is about the prodigal father whose love transcends our attempts to exclude, whose grace refuses to be measured, and whose joy is in the return of all who are lost, no matter how they have wandered.
The Heart of the Parable: The Prodigal Father
Often, this story is referred to as “The Prodigal Son,” with “prodigal” meaning “recklessly or wastefully extravagant.” While this certainly describes the younger son’s actions, it is even more fitting to describe the actions of the father. The father runs to embrace his wayward son, clothing him with dignity, throwing a feast, demonstrating a reckless extravagance of love. This grace is not cautious or calculated. It is freely given, even before the son can fully articulate his repentance.
Likewise, the father’s response to the older son is marked by the same generosity. He goes out to meet him, listens to his frustration, and assures him of his enduring place in the household. This is a love that seeks to bring everyone into the celebration, regardless of their sense of deserving it.
Preaching Possibilities
Unworldly Grace
This parable defies worldly expectations. The world tells us that people should earn their place, that actions have consequences, and that justice must be satisfied. But Jesus presents a different vision. Jesus offers a possibility where love is reckless, grace is prodigal, and celebration is at the heart of God’s kingdom. The question is not whether we deserve it, but whether we will enter the feast.
The external voices of this world will try to convince us otherwise. We will all hear from around us that those others are “undeserving” or “unworthy.” External sources will try to establish who is superior and who is inferior. Both external and internal will try to convince us that we are not enough. But this Lenten season is trying to breakthrough that worldly noise. Throughout this Lenten season, we continue to hear how God responds to us. How God sees us. How God loves us.
God, the prodigal parent, who shows us love no matter where we’ve been or what we’ve done, runs out to meet us and claim us. Or from last week, God the gardener who asks the owner to hold off one more year before cutting down the fig tree so that we might have time to grow. Or God as the mother hen, who spreads her wings wide to protect all her children—putting her own life on the line to ensure our safety.
Joining the Feast of Love and Grace
The only question that remains is: Will we step into the celebration? Will we rejoice in the mercy that makes room for others as well as for ourselves? Or will we stand outside, clinging to our own sense of justice, missing the joy of God’s kingdom?
Lent invites us to wrestle with these questions. To see ourselves not as arbiters of who belongs, but as those in need of grace. To recognize that at different moments, we have been both children (wayward and resentful) and that the parent’s love meets us in both places.
The table is set. The music is playing. The celebration has begun. Will we join the feast?
Micah Krey 
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