Date: March 30, 2025
Festival: 4th Sunday in Lent
Text: Luke 15:1-3, 11-32
Preaching Occasion: Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church, Wellston, MI
Appointed Scriptures: Isaiah 12; 2 Corinthians 5:16-21; Luke 15:1-3, 11-32
Sermon Hymn: LSB #609 Jesus Sinners Doth Receive
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Tax collectors and sinners gather around Jesus to be near Him and hear from Him, and the scribes and Pharisees point fingers and complain, “This Man receives sinners and eats with them!” That’s the setup—the spark that lights the flame of one of the most beloved parables in all of Scripture: the Parable of the Prodigal Son—prodigal, which means “reckless” or “wastefully extravagant.” But before we rush to the ending, which we all know quite well, let’s sit with the scandal. Let’s feel the offense. “This Man receives sinners!”
Not just tolerates them. Not just permits them. He receives them! He eats with them. This might not seem like a big deal to us, but in Jesus’ day, Jewish theology defined sinners as not just those who commit sin, but also those who are outside God’s covenant. These sinners are the social outcasts of the Jewish community—of God’s chosen race. And also in their culture, to dine with someone meant to have fellowship and friendship with them—it was a social statement. So, Jesus was not only befriending people who break the Law of Moses, but also people outside the chosen people of God. That is unacceptable to the Pharisees.
And in response, Jesus doesn’t argue with them. He doesn’t lay out a theological treatise. Instead, He tells a story—a story meant to slice open the human heart with the scalpel of the Law and to pour in them the healing balm of the Gospel.
The Law: The Younger Son’s Wastefulness and the Older Son’s Resentment
Jesus begins, “There was a man who had two sons. And the younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of property that is coming to me.’” In the culture in which Jesus lived, this was unthinkable. The son is essentially saying, “Dad, I wish you were dead. Give me my inheritance now.” It’s not just selfish; it’s dehumanizing. He wants his father’s gifts without his father. He wants the benefits of sonship with none of the responsibilities and none of the relationship. And yet, his father gives it all to him. That’s crazy. That’s the scandal of the Gospel—God does things that make no sense.
The younger son then takes all that grace—all that unearned generosity—and squanders it. Prodigal living—reckless wastefulness. He travels to see the world. What young person wouldn’t love to do that? But then a famine comes, and Jesus tells us “he began to be in need.” Suddenly, the son’s illusions are shattered. His pride lies in the pigsty. Assuming he’s Jewish in this story—as Jesus was telling this to Jewish people—being around pigs is one thing, but eating from the pods of pigs? That is absolutely unthinkable for a self-respecting Jewish person to do. The younger son went looking for freedom but found a prison of his own making.
Beloved, isn’t that us? When we stray from God’s Word, when we chase our own desires, when we want God the Father’s gifts like health, pleasure, freedom, and fulfillment without the Father Himself, we too end up in a far country. That is, far from God’s kingdom. We were adopted into the Father’s house, but we often choose the world’s pigpens. We love God’s grace, yes, but we take it and squander it in wasteful living. We’ll say, “Oh, it’s okay that I do this sin; God will forgive me anyway.” We fundamentally misunderstand the Father’s grace and squander it with such prodigal thinking.
But the prodigal son isn’t the only one who offends his father. The older son rebels, too. He stays home, sure. He works hard, yes. But his heart is just as far from the father as his brother’s. When the feast begins and the music rises at his younger brother’s return, the older son refuses to enter. Why? “Look,” he says, “these many years I have served you, and I never disobeyed your command, yet you never gave me a young goat, that I might celebrate with my friends.” Just like his younger brother upon his repentant return, he sees himself as a servant, not a son. He doesn’t want communion with his father; he wants compensation. He’s saying, “I’ve earned it! I deserve it!” His obedience to his father is not born of love but of leverage.
And that’s precisely what’s so wrong with the Pharisees. The sinners and tax collectors are the younger son. Yes, they engaged in reckless living, but when they repent, God the Father welcomes them not as mere servants, but as His beloved children. And as His sons, He throws a feast for them. The Pharisees and scribes are the older brother. They’re thinking to themselves, “We’ve kept God’s Commandments our whole lives! As His chosen servants, we’re His firstborn sons! Where’s our feast?!”
Similarly, you and I can be like the younger or the older son. Again, like the younger, we’ll get lost in rebellion and licentiousness, thinking God’s grace gives us a license to sin recklessly. Like the older, we’ll get lost in our good works and piety because we’ve been “such good, faithful servants” for so many years. We’ll think, “That young man with tattoo sleeves can’t really be a true Christian because I don’t have any tattoos.” Or “I can’t believe they come to church dressed like that. I’m dressed more appropriately for the King.” Or “My sin is not as bad as that person’s sin.” And so on.
The Gospel: The Father Who Runs
But then comes the Gospel—suddenly and unexpectedly, like grace always does. “But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him.” Remember, the point of the parables is to describe what God’s kingdom is like, which is nothing like how human kingdoms work. No father in that culture would have run. It was beneath his dignity. He would have to lift up his robes and expose himself to embarrassment and ridicule. But this father runs. He runs toward the sinner—toward his wasteful son who rejected him, toward the one who reeks of pig filth and shame. Having dined with pigs, his son is not just physically unclean; he is also spiritually unclean. But still, he embraces him in his filth.
And as this is happening, the son begins to repent, but his father doesn’t even listen. He doesn’t want to interrogate him. He doesn’t want him to pay him back. He doesn’t want to take him in as a mere servant. Instead, he wants to bring him back in as his rightful son, so he commands his servants, “Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet.” With the robe, the son’s dignity is restored; with the ring, he becomes family again; and with the sandals, his father finishes the work of covering his filth and the evidence of his wasteful living. This is not a probationary welcome; it is a full restoration.
Beloved, this is the Gospel. Any parent of this world would demand he pay back everything he wasted. Or they’d put him on probation—“Get a job and we’ll see if we think of you as our son again. Who knows if we’ll ever trust you again?” And they certainly wouldn’t throw a party. But again, this is not how God’s kingdom works. When we get lost and return to the Father, He doesn’t put us on probation, or demand that we prove ourselves to Him, or to pay Him back with living a good life. Instead, He fully restores us into His house—no questions asked.
Even more, Jesus Christ is the Son who left His Father’s house—not to waste His inheritance, but to spend it on you. He is not the prodigal son, but the Prudent Son. Jesus went into the far country of our sin, He bore our filth and shame, and on the cross cried out, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me,” so that the Father would never forsake you, just as the younger son was not forsaken but embraced.
It doesn’t matter how dirty you are; the Father openly embraces you. Indeed, He opened Himself up to ridicule by doing so, because Christ was not only mocked on the cross, but still today unbelievers mock and ridicule God for sending His Son to die, calling it “child abuse.”
And Jesus is also the true Older Brother—the one who doesn’t stand outside the feast in self-righteousness, but who comes looking for us to bring us back home. He is the one who, as Paul wrote in our epistle reading this morning, “was made to be sin who knew no sin, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God” [2 Corinthians 5:21]. And because of Him, your heavenly Father sees you while you are still a long way off. He runs to you. He embraces you. He clothes you in the righteous robe of Christ, the ring of Baptism, and the sandals of His Gospel. He throws a feast for you in the Lord’s Supper and says, “This my son was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!”
The Invitation: Come to the Feast
But the parable doesn’t end with the feast; it ends on a cliffhanger. The older son is outside—angry, refusing to enter. And the father comes out to him, too. Think about that: the father doesn’t just run to the rebellious; he pleads with the resentful as well. He wants both sons at the table. Yes, the Father invites His chosen race—the scribes and Pharisees—into His kingdom, but He also invites prodigal sinners.
We don’t know if the older son ever goes in. Jesus leaves it open-ended because, again, He’s speaking to the Pharisees. He’s pleading with them, “Will you come to the feast? Will you rejoice that sinners are welcomed home? Will you stop trying to earn what can only be received?” That question still hangs in the air today.
Because again, we all play both roles. Some days, we’re the prodigal son—ashamed, dirty, fearful of coming home to God in His Church. Other days, we’re the older brother—self-righteous, angry, unwilling to forgive. But every day, the Father is the same. He still runs. He still pleads. He still welcomes. He still prepares a feast {motion the Lord’s Supper}.
As we heard from Isaiah earlier, “Therefore with joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation. And in that day you will say: ‘Praise the LORD, call upon His name!” [12:3-4a]. That is why God has sent His pastors—to extend Christ’s invitation to the Father’s feast. As we heard from Paul earlier, Jesus sends His pastors as His ambassadors, “as though God were pleading through us,” he says. Like the father who pleaded with his older son, we plead to you on Christ’s behalf to be reconciled to the Father [2 Corinthians 5:20], just as the prodigal son was reconciled.
Therefore, we point you to the robe of Christ and the ring of your inheritance in your Baptism, and the sandals of the Gospel in Absolution that announce to you the forgiveness of all your sins, which enables you to walk freely as God’s child. And we then prepare a feast for you in the Lord’s Supper for life and salvation—a feast for prodigal and miserly sons everywhere.
Whether you’ve wandered in open sin or have tried to earn God’s love through good behavior, the Father is calling. He requires neither probation nor proving yourself through keeping His Commandments; He merely opens His arms and embraces you. Therefore, come out of the pigsty. Come in from the field. The Table is set. The music is playing. The Lamb who was slain feeds you His body and blood in the Feast. And though you were lost, now you have been found.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
The Lutheran Column 