Luke 15:4–32

God, in the person of the Lord Jesus, had come so very near to the sinner that the legalism of the scribes and Pharisees took offence at it. "This man receives sinners, and eats with them." That was the charge laid against divine grace in the court of man's legal, proud, self-righteous heart. But it was the very glory of God — God manifest in the flesh — God come down to earth to receive sinners. He left His Father's throne not to search for righteous people; why would He search for them? Who would think of going to look for anything but what was lost?

The parable of the lost sheep pictures the work of the Son. The parable of the lost coin shows the work of the Spirit. The parable of the prodigal son paints in vivid colours the warmth of love with which the Father welcomes the wanderer home.

The first thing the Lord Jesus does is to justify God in being good to sinners. He appeals at once to the natural heart of man. "What man of you, having a hundred sheep?" The shepherd puts the sheep on his shoulder and brings it home rejoicing. Have I not a right to seek lost sinners? Is it not a right thing for God to come among tax collectors and sinners? This may not suit a moral man, but it suits God. It is His privilege to come where sin is, and to come near to ruined sinners, because He can deliver them out of it.

With us it is not a question of our going in search of Christ. It is the man Christ Jesus, the good Shepherd, going after us — after what was lost… It was He who came, and He who took on the labour. It was His to endure the suffering unto death, even the death of the cross. It was He who found and saves the lost sheep… No doubt the sheep does reap the benefit. Yet it was not the sheep that sought the Shepherd, but the Shepherd the sheep.

And oh, what tireless grace breathes in the words "until he finds it"! Jesus, our gracious Shepherd, would not let anything defeat Him in the work He had taken up. He came ready to meet every obstacle in His way. He knew all that lay before Him before He could lay His hand on the lost one. He knew He had to face all the malicious opposition of Satan, who would dispute every step of the way with Him.

The ninety-nine stand for the Pharisee and scribe class. They were left not in the fold but in the wilderness — a place of barrenness and death. The one lost sheep stands for the tax collector and sinner class: those who are lost, and know it.

The mistake is in treating as real what is only an image in a mirror. The Lord holds that mirror before His audience so that they may recognise themselves. So He must picture them as they themselves think they are — and He uses that estimate at once to convict the one side and to encourage the other.

Luke has, "Having found"; Matthew has, "if it should come to pass that he find." The simple explanation is this. Luke's record views the matter from the standpoint of grace. Matthew's views it from that of responsibility.

The sheep showed its activity in wandering, and in wandering far away. The shepherd showed his activity in going after it to bring it back. No effort was too great, no distance too far for him to go... All that we read of the sheep is its wandering, not a word of its feelings when found. The One who had come to seek and to save the lost draws attention only to the shepherd's feelings. The murmuring Pharisees did not understand what was going on. They did not see why the tax collectors and sinners were drawn to the Lord. They did not share His joy when such people found their way to Him.

He no sooner finds the sheep than he puts it in the most secure place — "he lays it on his shoulders." How? Complaining of the weight, or the trouble? Oh, no: he lays it on his shoulders "rejoicing." How little the sheep knew of the deep feelings of joy filling the shepherd's soul. It would probably add to his trouble by kicking, plunging, and struggling to tumble off its place of safety and rest. But no matter for that: the shepherd had hold of it, and in that he rejoiced. A loving heart and a powerful shoulder could overcome every obstacle.

In the fifteenth chapter of Luke's Gospel the shepherd has the once lost sheep upon his shoulders. It is his "shoulders," mark, not his shoulder only. Christ is that shepherd, and the Christian is the sheep. The future government of the world is going to rest upon "His shoulder." "His shoulders" are beneath the helpless sheep (Isaiah 9:6; Luke 15:5). The shoulder is the symbol of strength. "All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me," Christ says.

As sheep, our security is the responsibility of our Shepherd (1 Peter 2:25). Of each saved sheep it is written, "When He has found it, He lays it on His shoulders, rejoicing." The sheep's struggles would not be to stay on, but to get off. We are not saved by our "holding on," for sheep have no hands to hold on by. The rejoicing Shepherd now carries all the Lord's sheep along on His shoulders, and so all are equally saved. The Shepherd will see to it that not one shall slip off His shoulders.

In Luke 15 the great principle set out is that it is God's happiness when we are brought back to Him. Of course the joy of the restored one comes in, but it is not the primary thing. The object of all three parables is not to show our joy, but the joy of God in our restoration. The three parables all teach the same grace, but we get, I believe, the joy of the Son, of the Spirit, and of the Father.

The shepherd could not bear to let the sheep off his shoulders until he got home. He knew there was no one in the desert who could share his joy... He had to wait until he and his precious charge were inside the quiet walls of his happy home. Then came the outburst of real joy.

Finally, notice the words, "when he comes home." This is the high point of the story. There could be no calling together of friends and neighbours in the wilderness. The wilderness is the place that draws out Divine love in seeking and Divine power in saving the lost. It has to be the scene of the shepherd's worry and hard work, because it is a place of danger to the sheep. The shepherd could not bear to let the sheep off his shoulders until he got home. He knew there was no one in the desert who could share his joy. There were wolves there, but that was all.

One word stands out in this three-part story: "I have FOUND." The Shepherd found the sheep. The woman found the silver. The Father found the son. The sheep, the silver and the son were saved, and no one will question that. But that is not what the Lord is showing here. He is showing that they were lost and found. They were lost — to whom were they lost? To the Shepherd, the woman and the Father. But we do not talk of a thing as lost that has no value. We do not seek what is worth nothing; and when we have found what we had lost, the joy is ours.

Some suppose this is only about the sinner's need to be saved, or his joy when he is saved. That forgets the fullness of love in God and in Christ Jesus our Lord. There is a far deeper joy, and this is the foundation of all true worship. Our joy is not just the feeling of our own rescue. It is our appreciation of His delight in rescuing us, His joy in our salvation. This is communion, and there can be no worship in the Spirit without it.

The Shepherd shares His joy with His friends and neighbours. He says to them, "Rejoice with Me, for I have found My sheep that was lost." Those who live in close communion with the Son of God know what this means, and are blessed by it. His interests are theirs. What He achieves in saving grace gives them material for holy triumph and delight. But where did these religious men stand with Him? Instead of rejoicing in His joy, they could only offer cold criticism of His goodness to the needy and lost.

Then the reception, the gathering together of the friends, the angels, to tell them all to rejoice with Him!

Only think of that! Ask the Lord God for a reason for His ways of salvation with you and me, and He says that He takes delight in them. They make Him and His glorious dwelling rejoice. Would his neighbours complain at the shepherd's joy over his lost sheep now found? Would the woman's friends begrudge her pleasure? So it is with God. It is His own joy in the salvation of sinners that Jesus offers as His warrant. Let us hold this thought in our hearts: our God has done nothing less than make our salvation the scene of His own happiness.

One writer has suggested that in verse 6 "Rejoice with me" may be the Father and the Holy Spirit rejoicing in the work of the Son. In verse 9 it would be the Father and the Son rejoicing in the work of the Spirit. And "let us eat and be merry" in verse 23 would be the Father, Son and Holy Spirit rejoicing together. No doubt we are brought into this joy too. But these verses seem to point to the joy that belongs to the Persons in the Godhead as They recover man for Their pleasure.

There is a drawing power in the person of Christ that brings tax collectors and sinners to hear Him. The Pharisees and scribes resented this. In proud self-righteousness they condemned Him for receiving and eating with sinners. Sad indeed that they can discern the sin of others while blind to the sin of their own hearts.

He was rejoicing. The Pharisees were murmuring. But others would share His joy. The inhabitants of heaven could understand it, and they all will have part in it. … It is enough for now to call attention to the untiring love of the true Shepherd in seeking, and to His unceasing joy at finding. The Lord was telling out secrets of His own heart.

The ninety-nine who need no repentance never know they are lost, so they will never be debtors to God's mere mercy. Such were those Pharisees who were finding fault with grace… What is the definition, then, that the Lord gives of a repenting sinner? A "lost sheep." You see, He was speaking to the heart — not mere doctrine. He spoke this way to lay hold of the souls around Him. These poor sinners, at least, would know that the lost sheep meant them. And these Pharisees would know that the ninety-nine who needed no repentance were themselves. In fact, there were no such persons.

On earth you cannot find the "ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance." But it is sadly easy to find ninety-nine who imagine themselves to be such. Yet even if they existed, there is more joy in heaven over one repentant sinner than over them. All the countless holy angels in heaven have never caused such joy as one repentant sinner. What astounding grace this is!

Notice, finally, that it is joy "over one sinner who repents," not exactly over his salvation. It is joy over a soul brought to confess its sin, judge itself, and vindicate God. We tend to be more occupied with the deliverance from immediate danger. In short, we tend to feel for the human side far more than we enter into God's moral glory or His grace. The joy in heaven is over the repenting sinner.

Some say it is sorrow for sin. Some say it is a change of mind, resting on the literal meaning of the word. Others say it includes the decision to forsake sin and to do the will of God in the future. In truth it is none of these, nor all of them combined… Scriptural repentance is nothing less than our siding with God in His judgment of our sins. It is taking His part against ourselves, and so bowing in the dust before Him in true self-judgment.

Empires may rise and fall. Kings may step down or be crowned. These things shake the world and fill the front pages of our newspapers, but they do not move heaven. Yet if one sinner repents and turns to God, if the Shepherd finds one sheep, there is joy in heaven. Incredible! Yes, we would say that, if Jesus had not told us — but He surely knows what heaven values.

But man as such does not rejoice when his fellow turns in sorrow and self-judgment to God. This is not the feeling of the earth, where sin and selfishness reign. But it is certainly the mind of heaven… The Lord here assures us that a repentant sinner sets the keynote of joy on high. There are no murmurers there; it is universal delight in love. Is it so with us?

This time a sheep does not stand for the lost creature. A sheep has life of a certain sort, but it has that life only to go astray. In this parable the lost piece of money is a lifeless thing, and that best expresses what a lost sinner is in the mind of the Spirit of God. He not only slipped aside... but meanwhile the soul is only a dead thing spiritually, with no more power to return than the missing piece of silver.

Here that which is lost is lifeless, in contrast with the first parable, which represents a living thing as going astray (the lost sheep). The letters to the Romans and to the Ephesians view the sinner from these two points of view. Activity in sin is the point in Romans; death — spiritual death — is the point in Ephesians.

Some, including Stier and Alford, have followed Bengel in treating the woman as a symbol of the Holy Spirit, since the Hebrew word for spirit is feminine. Maclaren, however, on this verse and on verse 4, says that "the owner should be the seeker … Jesus." The mention of "friends and neighbours" (verses 5, 9) seems to support this.

Unlike the sheep, which had strayed upon the mountains, the piece of silver was lost in the house. 2 Timothy 2:20 compares the great professing mass called Christendom to "a great house" holding a mixed collection of the precious and the vile. So it is not only the immoral and the wicked who are lost, but many religious people too. You may find perishing souls in both the tavern and the "place of worship."

The lamp being lit speaks of testimony. Sweeping the house reminds us of spreading the gospel of grace far and wide. The diligent search is the special care of personal concern for individual souls. How wonderful that the living God gives the Church the great privilege of sharing His care for souls.

So it fits that we now hear of a lamp lit for the search. The lamp is, of course, the Word of God shining in the darkness of the world. Yet the Spirit of God must light it if it is to show where the lost soul is. That soul often lies in corners dark and secret enough, covered with the dust and grime of sin. You would not recognise it at all as having the value it has for God. A lost piece of silver speaks of that value. A lost soul may easily outweigh the whole world gained. In Israel the atonement money was paid in silver, and it is atonement that shows the true value of a soul gained for God — regained, for He is the owner of it all through.

There is another thing in the second parable: the hard work of this love. It searches eagerly, determined to succeed in finding what was lost. She does everything to get the money. The woman lights the lamp and sweeps the house. She could not stop this task of love — diligent, active love — until she found the piece. It was her affair and her interest again, because the money was hers.

What diligence and hard work for one coin worth eightpence! In ordinary life the shepherd could care that much for his sheep, and the woman that much for her coin — called in the original a drachma. If they could be so concerned, was it surprising that the Lord should care for sinners? They are immortal creatures, of far more value than a drachma or a sheep.

Would his neighbours, do you think, complain at the shepherd's joy over his lost sheep now found by him? Or would the woman's friends resent her pleasure as she swept her piece of money into her lap? So it is with God. It is His own joy in the salvation of sinners that Jesus offers as His warrant and His defence. Hold this thought deeply: the gospel of our peace is a spring of joy to Him Who planned and accomplished it. Our God has done nothing less than lay the scene of His own happiness in our salvation, as these parables show us.

The piece of money, like the sheep, could do nothing. It was the joy of those who had lost them to get them back again, because they valued them. Worthless in one sense, yet to God's love the sinner is immensely valuable.

Stier and Alford have followed Bengel in treating the woman as a symbol of the Holy Spirit, the Hebrew word for which is feminine. Maclaren, however, observes that "the owner should be the seeker … Jesus." The mention of "friends and neighbors" seems to support this.

The woman is not a picture of the Spirit, but of the Church of God, in which the power of the Spirit works to seek the lost. It is wonderful that the Church has the great privilege of sharing with the living God in His care for souls, and in His joy over the repentance of the lost… The woman also expected others to rejoice with her in finding the silver.

In every case — whether it is the Son, or the Father, or the Holy Spirit — there is communion. Here that joy spreads to everyone who enters into the mind of God. So there is real delight on every side. Each Person of the Godhead has His own fitting place and part in the wonderful work of redemption. Beyond that, there is deep divine joy in the result of redemption.

One has suggested that this may refer to the Father and the Holy Spirit rejoicing in the work of the Son in verse 6. In verse 9 the Father and the Son rejoice in the work of the Spirit. "Let us eat and celebrate" (verse 23) would be Father, Son and Holy Spirit rejoicing together. God does bring us into a joy of our own. But these verses seem to point to the distinct joy of the Persons in the Godhead over the recovery of man for Their pleasure.

And the joy of the Holy Spirit — will He not make it felt in the hearts of His people? He must have "friends" to share it with. It spreads, multiplying itself as it travels from heart to heart, the way a fire grows with fresh fuel.

The Saviour adds a third parable to complete and confirm the truth of God's grace in saving the lost who repent. The first showed the sinner carelessly straying by his own act. The second showed him dead and unfeeling until the Spirit works through the living word. The third uses the figure, not of a sheep or a coin, but of a man. It points to a work done inside the conscience, and to the welcome the returning soul finds in the Father's love and in the privileges of grace.

But in blessed contrast with man's awful condition, we get the activity of God — the Son, the Spirit, and the Father. The Son seeks the lost sheep. The Spirit frees the wanderer from the death that lies upon him. The Father receives the lost one when he comes back. We have there not three parables, but one. "He told them this parable," it says. Why? Because He was bringing out the activity of the love of God to man, the lost sinner.

Now in the third parable we have the effect produced. The work is not only conversion or pardon. Nothing done in this way would be enough without the full bringing of the soul to God, and into fellowship with Him too — the new and close relationship of a son by grace. This is what the third parable sets forth. And so it is no longer a sheep or a coin, but a man. It is there that we find intelligence and conscience, and so much the more guilt.

So the parable of the lost son takes man from the very start. It traces the beginning of his leaving, then the course and character of a sinner's misery on the earth, then his repentance, then his final peace and joy in the presence of God — who Himself rejoices as truly as man objects. In practice this is true of every sinner. It begins with a little yielding to sin, or a wish to be independent of God, and in every person's history the evil goes deeper and deeper.

In verse 11 the two sons of a certain man do not picture true believers as sons of God. They picture those who by creation are God's offspring (Acts 17:28). In the younger son we see the tax collectors and sinners of verse 1. In the elder son we see the self-righteous Pharisees... The elder son's nearness to his father was only outward, just as was that of the Pharisees in relation to God.

The Saviour now pictures two sons — one wasteful, the other self-righteous (Luke 15:11-32). These represent the lawless and the religious classes... In the same way most men live with no regard at all for Him whose offspring they are. They squander His rich gifts — health, money, and abilities — on their own desires. The first man aimed at independence of God, and the love of this has marked all his descendants since.

This is man, all men, without exception. Every man desires to have his own way. In this the self-righteous Pharisee is quite as determined as the sinner. The elder son disputes his father's right to receive the repentant prodigal. God's ways, whether in grace or in judgment, never please the natural man.

A third parable is necessary. We need not only a strayed sheep and a lost, lifeless piece of money, but also the moral history of man away from the presence of God, and coming to Him again. So the parable of the lost son takes man from the very first. It traces the beginning of his departure. It follows the course and character of a sinner's misery on the earth, his repentance, and his final peace and joy in the presence of God... In other words, there is a little yielding to sin, or a desire to be independent of God. Then comes a further and further depth of evil in every person's history.

It is the principle of distrust in God, and it results in every form of self-will. I like my own way and not God's. I am determined to have my own will and my own way, whether God wills it or not... This is the very essence of sin, and the root of all other sins. It comes from the unbelieving thought that we can do better for ourselves than God is willing to do for us. So we do not count on Him, we do not wait for Him, but take things into our own hands and follow our own way. "Give me the share of property that is coming to me" is the language of self-will — the worst sin of the prodigal son.

He is not content that his father should keep his portion, but will have it to enjoy himself, independent of the hand from which it comes. It is no surprise that in a little while he would be freer still. The far country is for him an escape from his father's eye, just as the independent portion had been an escape from his father's hand.

"And he divided his property between them." Man is tested — he is responsible; but in fact he is not stopped from having his way, God only keeping the upper hand for the carrying out of His own gracious purposes. Still, as far as appearances go, God allows a man to do what he pleases. This alone will tell what sin means, what the heart seeks, and what man is with all his pretensions — and the worse the more he pretends.

His father richly endowed him with goods. He gave him enough to enable him to make a great and honourable success in life. But he had other plans, and as soon as he got possession he turned his back on his father.

In the younger son we see the tax collectors and sinners of verse 1, and in the elder son the self-righteous Pharisees. The younger son demanded what he could get, and went far from the father to enjoy it. Yet notice that the father divided his property between the two sons. The elder received his full share, but stayed close to his father, where that share would not be wasted. Yet he had no real heart for his father, let alone for his brother. His nearness to his father was only outward.

This is simply our history, as men. Whether living in vice or not, we have all turned our backs on God. The son here was far happier, as a man, going from home than returning; he was doing his own will. This is the secret of all sin. The prodigal was just as completely a sinner when he stepped, rich, across his father's doorway. He was no more a sinner later, feeding with the pigs in the far country.

There was eagerness to get away from his father. As far as his will was concerned, it was a complete abandoning of his father to do his own pleasure. He wished to be so far away that he could act according to his own heart without restraint. There, in a far country, he squanders his property in reckless living. It is the picture of a man left to himself, doing his own will in this world, with ruinous results for the next world as well as this one.

He is not content to let his father keep his portion. He will have it for himself, to enjoy independently of the hand it comes from. You do not wonder to learn that in a little while he would be freer still. The far country is his escape from his father's eye, just as the portion in his own hands was an escape from his father's hand.

The "property" that he gets and squanders is his portion in natural things. God has in fact divided it among people. They may use it as answerable to Him who gave it, or perhaps abuse it in complete forgetfulness of Him. The far-off country he seeks puts him at once among the many who habitually turn their backs on God.

"And there," having reached the far country, he went on cheerfully in his own will as long as he could. He "squandered his property in reckless living." Anyone who lives beyond his means looks rich for a time. In the same way the sinner, wasting his soul, seems happy. But if he thinks himself happy, it is because he has got to a distance from God, where nothing restrains his will. Yet after all he is in the devil's country, and enslaved to him. Liberty of will is just slavery to the devil.

So it is with a sinner. You will see one wasting health, talents and energies chasing some bubble that long escapes his grasp. When he reaches it at last, it vanishes from his sight and gives no satisfaction to his craving heart.

It was not the "reckless living" that made this younger son a prodigal, but the heart that was in him, and God looks at the heart. He asked his father for his share of the property, and his father gave him goods in plenty. He gave him enough to make a great and honourable success of life. But he had other plans. As soon as he had possession, he turned his back on his father. He broke loose from all restraint, travelled far from home, and lived for his own pleasure without any reference to his father's will.

When the prodigal left his father's house, he was as wicked as he was later. He was glad to get away from his father and do his own will... When he crossed his father's doorstep he was as guilty as when he was eating husks in the far country — only not as degraded.

It is the picture of a man left to himself, doing his own will in this world. The ruin runs on into the next world as well as this one. "And when he had spent everything, a severe famine arose in that country, and he began to be in need." Again this is the picture. It shows not only the active course of sin, but its bitter results. Sin indulged in brings misery and want. There is a void that nothing can satisfy, and the selfish waste of all means only makes this felt more in the end.

He had left the only place where all his need could be supplied — his father's house. He had treated his portion and his father's as two separate things. So he had to learn that his own could run out. We can get to the bottom of all human circumstances and resources. Every cup of human or earthly happiness, however deep and however full of good things, can be drained to the bottom.

He has spent everything, and then a severe famine arises in the land. It is not only that his own resources are at an end; the whole land of his choice is stripped and empty. This comes true for us when we have not only lost what was our own. We also come to find that in all the world there is nothing to supply ourselves from. This is not just our own experience, unusual as ours might seem; the cry of want is everywhere. How can we even beg from beggars?

There is in many a heart the sense that there is a famine in the world. Why are there so many concerts and great exhibitions? Because of the famine. They try to keep their spirits up, to do without God, but it is all in vain; they cannot. They would not have to take such pains to make themselves happy if they really were happy.

He "began to be in need," but his will was not touched yet, as we shall see shortly. Many a heart is uneasy in the world, but that alone never brings anyone back to God... A man of the world says you must have everything the world holds to know that the world can never satisfy you. But knowing that the whole world cannot satisfy would never turn a man to God. He must know more — that he is perishing; not merely unsatisfied, but ruined.

Take the prodigal, for instance. When he was brought to his last penny and began to be in want, he came to himself. This was the beginning of the compelling, when the poor prodigal opened his eyes to his condition... The Holy Spirit makes you willing when He makes you see your need.

"He began to be in need" — the experience sooner or later of every sinner... It is a blessed beginning when it throws us on the boundless love and infinite resources of the God of all grace... This parable does not tell us how all this is done in righteousness. We learn that elsewhere. Christ suffered, the Just for the unjust, to bring us to God. The forgiveness of sins and eternal blessing are for His sake and in Him.

When the famine came, he began to be in want. That never turns the heart to God. Instead he joined himself to a citizen of that country, and was sent into his fields to feed pigs. Drinking and pleasure and excitement did not satisfy, and no one gave to him. There is no giving there; there is selling oneself. When the heart is away from God, want never turns it to Him, but to whatever satisfies the flesh.

But the prodigal "began to be in want." And what then? Did he think of the father? No. As long as he had any other resource, he would not think of returning home. So he joined himself to a citizen of that country instead. This was terrible. This is how Satan crushes those who serve him.

Then he goes and joins himself to a citizen of that far-off land — one who belongs to it as, in this story, even the prodigal did not. Men have come into this condition, but they are not looked on as hopelessly caught in it. Elsewhere there is a Father's heart that travels after them; there is the step of One who goes after what is lost. But the citizen of that far-off land has no ties — not even, one may say, broken ties elsewhere. The devil is certainly such a citizen. The herd he is feeding and fattening for destruction speaks plainly about him.

That certain citizen is the devil. Who ever found any pity in the devil's heart? He disguises himself as an angel of light, as the Bible says he does, but there is no mercy in him. He is "a murderer from the beginning." Yet as surely as a man runs from God, he runs into the arms of the devil.

Now we see the sinner's degradation, because love is not there; self is. The citizen does not treat him as a fellow citizen, but as a slave. There is no slavery so deep or so degrading as the slavery of our own desires. So he is treated as a slave: sent into the fields to feed pigs. How must that have sounded to a Jewish ear?

Everyone who is not walking in communion with God and in subjection to the gospel of Christ is serving Satan in this way. There is no middle ground. Reader, who are you serving? Are you serving Christ or Satan?

He was brought to a sense of his guilt; and what was it? Feeding with the pigs? No, that was the fruit of it. His guilt was in leaving his father's house, turning away from God.

A sad picture of Satan's service: waiting on men who are wholly given up to their own desires, longing even to be as they are. Thank God, it is all in vain. That failure is simply His mercy and the door of hope.

The pigs had food — the fruit of the carob, or locust tree. It was food for pigs, and only the poorest people ate it. The pigs had enough; he had not. He could not even add the husks, or pods, of that tree to his own small share, much as he wanted to. The reason given is this: no one gave him anything. The pigs had everything they needed, but no one cared for him.

He went and joined himself to one of the citizens of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed pigs. Now we find the sinner's degradation; for love is not there, but self is. The citizen does not treat him as a fellow-citizen, but as a slave. There is no slavery so deep or degrading as that of our own lusts.

There is no giving in the "far country," not even of husks. Satan sells all, and dearly — our souls are the price. You must buy everything. The world's principle is "nothing for nothing"; everything must bring its price. Your gratifications there must be bought at the cost of reputation and soul. If you sell yourself to the devil, you will get husks: he will never give you anything. If you want to find a giver, you must come to God.

He has sunk to the lowest depth of want and misery; yet no one gives to him. God is the giver, man grudgingly pays his debts, if he pays them: never to God, only half-heartedly to man. But no one gives: so the prodigal found.

He "began to be in want"; but his will was not touched yet. Many a heart is not easy in the world; but that alone never brings anyone back to God. Very few people reach a certain age without having "begun to be in want." But then they go looking for satisfaction in pleasure or in vice — in one thing or another, it does not matter what — and last of all in God. A man of the world says you must have everything the world offers to know that the world can never satisfy you. But knowing that the whole world cannot satisfy would never turn a man to God. He must know more — that he is perishing; not merely unsatisfied, but ruined.

A sad picture of Satan's service — waiting on men who are wholly given up to their own lusts, and longing even to be like them. Thank God, that longing is in vain. This is simply His mercy, and the door of hope.

In this last of the three parables the Lord follows the sinner all the way down to his lowest degradation: eating husks with the pigs. We should remember here what pigs meant to the people He was speaking to. And he is there by his own choice. Why was the picture drawn like this? To show that nothing could put the sinner beyond the reach of grace.

Oh, the dreadful slavery of sin! What wretchedness! And no man can give relief. And yet this very wretchedness and self-loathing is what God is using to bring this poor prodigal to himself. He came to himself. Yes — is not the slavery of sin, rushing wilfully, madly, to certain everlasting misery, is it not madness?

The prodigal had shown quite a few signs of an unsound mind. First, he was a servant of swine; yet, being a Jew, he should have despised swine as unclean. God has passed His sentence on swine. This insane young man was setting his own opinion against God's, in a practical way.

Following the work of Christ seen in the shepherd, we have the work of the woman, which pictures the movements of the Spirit of God. The words in verse 17 — "when he came to himself" — would point to the inward effect of the Spirit's work in the heart of the believer. The first movement in any one of us towards God was not from ourselves; there was a complete change from the moment when "he came to himself".

Now the work of God's goodness begins. He comes to himself, before he comes to God. It is God giving him the conviction of his state. So he feels that even those with the lowest place in his father's house are well, even amply, provided for compared with him.

When he comes to himself, he says the servants have more than enough bread, while he perishes with hunger. There is goodness in God, and badness in me. However wise and clever a man may be, no work of conscience has begun until he reaches that point. And without that, there is no real work at all: There is goodness in God, and badness in me.

"When he came to himself," there is a total change. He was like a madman before, identified with the place where the famine was. The goodness of God comes into his heart. It is not, I shall get it, or, How will I be received? But the sense of goodness is awakened in the soul, and this produces a want of another kind — a sense of the blessedness of God!

Wisdom and philosophy never found out God. He makes Himself known to us through our need; necessity finds Him out. Who is it that really discovers the value of bread? The chemist? No; a hungry man. The sinner's heart — yes, and the saint's heart too — is put in its right place in this way.

He says, "How many of my father's hired servants have more than enough bread!" And there is not even one hired servant in his father's house!... But in His house He has only children at His table: as it was said of the passover-feast, the type of it, "No foreigner or hired servant may eat of it." (Ex. 12:45.)

He is brought to a sense of his guilt; and what was it? Feeding with the swine? No, that was the fruit of it; his guilt was in leaving his father's house, turning away from God... But the father does not give him time for that. We hear nothing more about hired servants.

His conscience wakes up, but his heart is drawn: "I will arise and go to my father." That is everything. He had turned his back on his father and left God behind him. He has not reached his father yet. But he has turned his face towards him, and his heart too, and that is an immense thing! He has not peace yet; but it is an immense thing when God and the soul meet.

Repentance is the sinner's return to the Father. … Faith makes the return possible.

Heaven is God's throne, and earth is His footstool. So we can easily see why that highest place of divine glory is tied to every thought of purity, love, and worship. But heaven is not the same as God. The son names heaven as the spotless seat of His honour, set against this earth that man's will and sin and lusts have defiled. Then he names someone else: "you," "Father."

Who would have thought that our salvation would come from heaven? That is the last place we would have expected it from, because heaven is what we had sinned against. "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you," cried the repentant prodigal, and that is true of us all. Our sins were an insult to God's majesty, a challenge to His supremacy, and a proof that we hated Him. We might have expected judgment from heaven — wrath, fire, and brimstone — but not love and salvation.

Repentance implies self-judgment in the presence of God. It is a change of mind about myself, about others, and about God. It is a change that humbles me in the dust and puts me in my true and proper place before Him. I say then, like the prodigal, "I have sinned against heaven and before you, and am no more worthy to be called your son."

"I have sinned," said the prodigal. Have you known the moment when you found that you have sinned? When you found that you were undone, and lost, and naked? When you went down before God with the words, "Father, I have sinned"? I call this the grandest moment of a sinner's experience on earth, when he gets before God, and finds out — what? That the One he has offended and sinned against, the One he thought was against him, is for him. He is waiting in grace to receive him. He is on his side.

He knew that there was goodness there, and that it was all over with him where he was. His need, everything, told him he must get back. But he did not yet know how great that goodness was. We see the same thing in Peter (Luke 5); he goes and falls at the feet of Jesus, and says, "Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord!" What an inconsistency! at the knees of Jesus, and yet telling Him to go away!

"I will arise and go to my father, and I will say to him, Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you" — that is confession. "And am no longer worthy to be called your son" — that is repentance. He judges himself. That causes joy in heaven, for when man repents heaven rejoices.

Hired servants were different from the house servants, who were usually slaves. They worked by the day and received their pay at the end of the day. A priest's hired servant did not count as one of the family, and could not eat the holy things. The slaves, though, counted as part of the family.

The last words betray the usual legal state. It is one who thinks God must act according to his condition. Grace never does this. He had wronged his father. He had been guilty of folly, excess, and lewdness. The most he could imagine was his father giving him the lowest place — if he received him at all. He felt that he deserved humiliation. Had he judged more rightly, he would have seen that he deserved much worse.

The prodigal son no doubt thought it would be very humble of him to say, "Make me as one of your hired servants." But this was pride and legality still left in his heart, not humility... The prodigal had no more right to a servant's place than to a son's. He had forfeited all claim on the ground of righteousness. He had only one plea to offer: his pressing need. Only grace could receive him.

This "make me as one of your hired servants" will not do for the father, even if it would do for the son. To receive him and treat him like this would be constant misery to the father's heart, and degradation to the son. His very place in the house would be a constant reminder of his sin! Nor would it be a testimony to the servants in the house about the father's love. The father cannot have sons in his house as servants.

The prodigal had not yet come to feel that it must be grace or nothing. But the father did not give him time to say, "Make me as one of your hired servants." He let him tell out the confession of his sin, but no more — his father was on his neck, kissing him! How could he say, "Make me a hired servant," when his father was on his neck, making him conscious that he was still a son? The prodigal drew his judgment about his father's heart from what the father actually was to him, and not from any abstract reasoning about it.

"I will arise and go to my father." Many times he may have said, "I ought to go to my father," or, "I must go to my father." But he never reached his father until he actually got up. It took the energy of faith to arise.

There was certainly repentance in the prodigal. He says, "Make me as one of your hired servants." But there was no such thought in God's heart at all, though it is what the prodigal's experiences bring him to. But his father meets him in all his rags. The proofs of his reckless living are on him. Until he met his father, he did not know his father's heart.

"While he was still a long way off" — the word is the same as the far country — "his father saw him." How keen are the eyes of love! "And felt compassion" — How tender is the heart of love! "and ran" — How swift are the feet of love! "and embraced him and kissed him." Love cannot be held back. He covered him with kisses, for that is the word.

The father's heart had kept his image. That is why he could recognise him in the distance, coming home so different from the way he had set out. He seems to have been watching for him too. When he saw him, he forgot everything except that this was his son returned... This is a picture of God Himself!

The word translated compassion only occurs in Matthew, Mark and Luke. There are twelve references. It refers eight times to the Lord (Matt. 9:36; Matt. 14:14; Matt. 15:32; Matt. 20:34; Mark 1:41; Mark 6:34; Mark 8:2; Luke 7:13), once in a request made to Him (Mark 9:22), and twice in parables that speak of Him (Matt. 18:27; Luke 10:33). The only other reference is in Luke 15:20, where it refers to the Father.

But his father saw him coming from a great distance and ran to meet him. He embraced him and covered him with kisses before the son had said a word. This is the only indication in Scripture of God running.

He does not send out a servant to tell the son who went astray to turn aside into one of the outbuildings. He does not send him off to the kitchen, or even shut him up in his own room. No; he himself runs. He lays aside, you might say, his fatherly dignity to show his fatherly love. He is not satisfied with simply taking the wanderer back. He must prove that his whole heart is in the reception.

It is not the son who runs. Even though the son was still a long way off, the father saw him. It was the father who ran, embraced him and kissed him. The son would not have dared to do that, still less would he have expected his father to do so. But grace always surprises the thoughts of men... Not a word about his wicked ways! And yet the father was the one who had worked in secret. He produced in the son the conviction of his own evil and the longing to be in his father's presence.

The prodigal had no more right to be received as a servant than as a son. He had forfeited all claim on the ground of righteousness. He had only one plea to offer: his pressing need. He could only be met in grace. Had he been met in righteousness, he would have been condemned for ever. But grace reigns; there is no mention of his sins. The question of sin was settled between God and Christ on the cross... Grace steps in first; the Father ran to meet him, embraced him and kissed him. Reconciliation is expressed and accomplished the moment they meet. He receives the kiss of peace at once; grace is free.

Heaven is Jehovah's throne, and earth is His footstool. So we can easily see how that highest region of divine glory is linked with every thought of purity, love, and worship. But heaven is not the same as God Himself. On the contrary, the prodigal names heaven as the unstained seat of His honour, in contrast with this wholly defiled earth of man's will and sin and lusts. Then he marks out someone distinct: "you," "Father."

Who would have thought that our salvation would come from heaven? That would be the last place we would expect it from, because it was against heaven that we had sinned. "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you," cried the penitent prodigal, and that is true of us all. Our sins were a slur on God's majesty, a challenge to His supremacy, and a proof that we hated Him. We might have expected judgment from heaven — wrath, fire, and burning sulfur — but not love and salvation.

Now it was time for the prodigal to speak. His own need and his father's love made his words direct and short… Here was sincerity and true repentance. He made no excuses; he did not cast the blame on others; he did not even plead for mercy. In that sacred, solemn hour he forgot everyone else. Only his father and himself were left — his sin and his father's love. This is how the sinner comes to God, and love greater than his sin welcomes him.

He was not yet in the full liberty of grace, so he says to himself, "make me as one of your hired servants." He is brought to a sense of his guilt. And what was that guilt? Feeding with the pigs? No, that was the fruit of it. His guilt was in leaving his father's house, turning away from God… But the father does not give him time for that. We hear nothing more about hired servants… He could not have been a servant with the father's arms round his neck.

The prodigal comes back to his father, and there is not a word about "Make me as one of your hired servants." What made the difference? His idea of his position now flowed from his father's thoughts, not his own. Why? The father was on his neck, kissing him. It was not a question of what would be, but the settled awareness of what already was.

It was the father who made the son feel all that was in himself far more deeply, now that the prodigal had come to him. Our Lord leaves the evil unmentioned here. That does not mean the father was indifferent to it… "I have sinned against heaven and before you" was right without question. But it would have been better still if he had said nothing at all about anything he could be worthy or unworthy of. The sad truth was that he was worthy of nothing but chains or death.

Many men in Scripture take the place of saying, "I have sinned." It is very remarkable that not all of them get cleansing. David, Nehemiah, Job, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Daniel, Micah, the prodigal son, and the thief on the cross all took the place of sinners. They all received cleansing or blessing. But look at Pharaoh, Balaam, Achan, Saul, Shimei, and Judas. These all confess they have sinned, yet they perish… There was no hatred of the sin. There was no desire to turn from it and give it up. There was no true repentance.

Now, in a different spirit from the one that first prompted it, he can pour out his confession. "Make me a hired servant," he cannot say, for shame. And his rightful admission of unworthiness is cut short by the father's insistent joy. The father orders the best robe brought out and put on him, with a ring for his hand and sandals for his feet. He could never have claimed this, even if he had never wandered. It is his now, because the father delights to have him back.

God shows His love towards us as wretched sinners, but then clothes us with Christ. His love welcomes us while we are still in our rags, but here the same love acts in another way. He brings us into the house as He would have us be there, with His mind expressed about the value of a son. The father's mind was that a son of his was worth it all, and that it was worthy of him to give it. How little worthy it would have been of a father acting in grace to keep him as a servant in the house!

It has been well said that the best robe put on the prodigal was ready in the Father's house before he ever got there. He did not add a single stitch to it. It wrapped him in its folds and gave him entry, fit for the Father's house.

God makes coats of skin and clothes them. Life had to be given up to provide those skins. So from Eden we may hear the gospel preached: "Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him." The best, the most costly robe, comes through the Lord Jesus Christ giving up His life.

He is clothed in "the best robe." Like Joshua the priest in Zechariah 3, off come the filthy garments and on go festival robes. The ring would suggest status and relationship, but lasting for ever: "He chose us in Him before the foundation of the world." The shoes (or sandals) show the full privileges and rights of sonship: "And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of His Son into our hearts, crying, 'Abba! Father!' So you are no longer a slave, but a son, and if a son, then an heir through God."

The ring joins the working hand to God for ever, and the feet are given shoes for the whole road ahead, whatever it may be.

When the prodigal walked into the father's house at his father's side, nothing in that house was more splendid than he was. He was dressed in the best the house could produce. What servant in the house could say he was not fit to be there? But who can tell all that the Father has done, and will yet do, for everyone who believes?

"Bring quickly the best robe," He says to the servants — and that is my part of the work. That is the evangelist's work: to tell you of Christ, and to try to show you how attractive He is. It is to tell you that you have nothing to do, and that Christ has done it all for you. Christ Himself is the best robe. There is the best robe for the worst sinner.

Rich people kept a calf ready for any special meal. Abraham presented such a calf, tender and good, to the angels, Genesis 18:7. It is also described as "the fatted calf" in the parable of the Prodigal Son. Luke 15:23.

The fatted calf — the thing reserved. The greater the depth to which God goes down in mercy, the greater the height to which His grace will rise. If God has cleared the ground, He occupies it.

They killed the fatted calf to satisfy his hunger, and so that others too might eat in fellowship with him. The calf pictures Christ, the perfect sacrifice on whom we are privileged to feed, the solid food that gives sustenance and strength. The whole house rejoiced that the son was restored. But the food of that rejoicing is a picture of Christ and Him crucified, for this is the basis of all blessing to mankind.

The fatted calf would perhaps suggest a peace offering, which, as we know, is the fellowship offering. For the remarkable thing is that we can actually enjoy fellowship with the Father and with the Son, and so enter this circle of holy joy that the words "Let us eat, and be merry" would suggest.

Who are the "us" here invited to "eat and celebrate"? It is the Father and the returned prodigal son. God says, "I have found My delight in Him, and now you come and find your delight in Him too." So at His own invitation I feed on what the Father feeds on.

No doubt it is joy to the sinner to be received, but it is the joy of God to receive him. "It was fitting to celebrate and be glad" — and not merely fitting that the child should be glad to be back in the house. The father is the happy one. The return of the prodigal is joy to heaven, whatever men, whatever Pharisees may think about it.

It sets out the joy of God reproducing itself in all who are there. It is not a sketch of what we shall taste when we go to heaven. It is the spirit of heaven made real now on earth, in the worship of those who are brought to God. It is not at all a question of what we were, except to heighten what grace gives and makes us. Everything turns on the excellent efficacy of Christ and the Father's own joy.

Feasting had to take place, so the fatted calf was to be killed; and throughout the house gladness was to reign. "They began to be merry." But there was no end to it. We learn what caused it, and when it began, but never when it ceased.

It may help to see what "dead" really means. The father was not saying that his son had been physically dead and buried, but had been dead to him all the time he was in the far country. So it was with us. We were very much alive in this world — Scripture says we "walked" in it — but quite dead in relation to God, without one movement in our souls towards Him.

But who, and what are such? The lost and dead (Luke 15:24). That is the description given us by Him who came to seek and to save the lost (Luke 19:10). How many answer to this? All of Adam's race. By nature, none of his children are morally in any other class. God offers a share in His favour to such people. On the lost and dead He can freely bestow it.

Verse 24 proves that this case is one of a lost and ruined soul being brought to God and saved. He was dead, having no spiritual life, but now alive. He was lost, totally away from God, but now found. You could not say these things of a believer who simply needed restoration. "And they began to celebrate." Such joy begins with conversion and goes on for eternity. Eight points describe the conversion of the young man: revived, remembering, resolved, repentant, returning, received, restored, and feasted.

Grace brings us into the nearer and better relationship of "sons of God by faith in Christ Jesus" (Gal. 3:26). The prodigal only enters this state when he finally comes back to his father, confessing his sins and casting himself upon divine grace. The best robe, the ring on his hand, the shoes on his feet, the fatted calf — all these belong to the relationship of grace, and to nothing else. They belong to the person who is born of God by believing in the name of Jesus. It is God magnifying Himself to the lost.

Christ is the fatted calf of Luke 15. God says, "Bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate." Who are the "us" here invited to "eat and celebrate"? It is the Father and the returned prodigal son. God says, I have found my delight in Him, and now do you come and find your delight in Him too. So at His own invitation I feed on what the Father feeds on.

When the son comes to the father, you never hear a word about the son — plenty about him while he is coming, but now you hear about the father and his joy in having him. The poor prodigal was happy enough. Yet it is not said to be "fitting to make him happy" — he already had the best robe. What is fitting is to celebrate and be glad, for this son of mine was lost and is found. He tells it to us so that we should know it.

The wayward and repentant son pictures both in one — he was lost and found, dead and alive again! In the third part we see fullness of joy reached. The once repentant sinner, now clothed in the best robe, stands in his Father's presence and calls Him "Father" in a new way. We are then told, "They began to celebrate!" Earlier it says, "He began to be in need!" That beginning ended when he came to his father, but the other knows no ending.

"His elder son was in the field." There was joy inside, and he was outside it. "The field" is the place of work. The sincere religious man is always a hard worker. He has a zeal for God, but it is not based on knowledge. He sets out to build a righteousness of his own, so he does not submit to the righteousness of God (Rom. 10:2-3). Like the elder son, he is "near" to the Father's house, but he never gets inside, and he never feels the warmth of the Father's heart.

The word there translated "dancing" is the plural of "Choros", which is where our word "Chorus" comes from. It means "a choir, or a band of singers." The Father's heart was so full of joy at receiving back his son, who was lost and is found, that He had to have an abundant, lavish supply of singers. Not one band, but "bands of singers," gathered to sound out the Welcome Home!

The joy of true Christian worship, of living fellowship in grace, makes no sense to the natural heart. This was the sound that grated on the ears of the elder son... He could grasp debt. He could press a claim of right. He could see failure and pass judgment on it. But he did not hesitate to judge God Himself... His heart was outside his father's home. He did not share the spirit of the love his father was showing to the son who had come back. He was a stranger to grace, so he had no part in all this joy.

It is not that he has heard yet of the return of his brother. It is not that he is simply a stranger to grace. But the sounds themselves are strange to him: "he called one of the servants and asked what these things meant." He is the picture of that joyless, cheerless service which finds nothing in God. Where faith and love are, the soul works surrounded by music, and is never outside the Father's presence.

He is not a self-righteous Christian, any more than the prodigal stands for a believer caught in a sin... But here it is one who would not come in. Every Christian is brought to God. He may not fully enjoy or understand his privileges. But he knows keenly where he falls short, he feels his need of God's mercy, and he is glad when others receive it. Would the Lord describe the Christian as outside the presence of God? So the elder brother here, I have no doubt, stands for those who condemned Jesus for eating with sinners.

Some will no doubt exclaim, "That is heaven." Not at all. It is here, it is now. It is true of the Christian in this world... But I deny that this scene of joy in the parable means heaven, and I will tell you why. The eldest son was in the field; and when he came to the house, he did not understand the reason of such joy.

The day is coming when we will have "music and dancing" (Luke 15:25), but it is not down here.

The joy of true Christian worship, of living fellowship in grace, is unintelligible to the natural heart. This was what struck the elder son's ears as something repugnant. "And he called one of the servants and asked what these things meant." He could have understood debt. He could have argued for what was right. He could see failure and pass sentence on it. But he did not hesitate to judge God Himself, as we shall see.

The elder son spoiled everything for himself by his self-importance. He came back from the field. The field is a picture of the world, and the world can have a religious side too, standing close to God on the outside. He heard music and dancing in the house. He had not been near enough to know the father's joy, so he asked a servant (v.26).

"The field" is the place of labour. The sincere religionist is always a hard worker. He has a zeal for God, but not according to knowledge... Like the elder son, he is "near" to the Father's house, but he never gets inside, and he never experiences the warmth of the Father's heart.

παῖς, 'a child,' regardless of age, and so used for a servant... Luke 15:26.

The sound of joy reached the elder son's ears. The natural conclusion would have been that he should share in his Father's joy. If his Father was joyful, some blessed thing must have happened. But there was NO real union or sympathy between his Father's heart and his. A selfish mind is not made for joy. The workings of grace are unintelligible to it. He asks a servant boy (pais) what made his Father's house happy, and he was told — told in terms that ought to have awakened every sympathy and every feeling... For the servant boy had caught, and to some degree entered into, the joy of the house.

It is not that he has heard yet of his brother's return. It is not that he is simply a stranger to grace. The sounds in themselves are unfamiliar to him. He is the picture of that joyless, cheerless service which finds nothing in God... There is work of a certain kind perhaps in plenty, but it is work in the field only — far off. Such work is no test of piety... And where faith and love are, the soul works surrounded by music, and is never outside the Father's presence.

In the elder son the Lord vividly portrays the self-righteous, those who murmur against grace, such as the Pharisees and scribes. They are many in every age, especially where Scripture is widely available and people boast of religion.

Every Christian is brought to God. He may not fully enjoy or understand his privileges. But he has a keen sense of his shortcomings. He feels his need of divine mercy, and rejoices in that mercy for others. Would the Lord describe the Christian as outside the presence of God?

The natural heart cannot understand the joy of true Christian worship, of living fellowship in grace. That joy struck the elder son's ear as something offensive. "And having called one of the servants, he inquired what these things might be." He could have understood debt. He could have pressed a claim of right. He could see failure and pass judgment on it. But he did not hesitate to judge God Himself... He was a stranger to grace, so he had no part in all this joy. He was pursuing his own things. No doubt he was active and intelligent "in the field," in the world, away from the scene of divine mercy and spiritual joy.

The servant told him, "Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fattened calf, because he has received him back safe and sound." "Your brother," "your father" — these words should have drawn gentle and kindly feelings from him. Instead, they stirred up opposition at once. He did not care at all about his brother's welfare. He had no part in the shared joy.

He asks a servant boy what has made his Father's house happy. The servant tells him — and tells him in words that ought to have awakened every sympathy and every feeling. The words give him a double motive: what he should have felt himself, and what the Father felt, if the Father's mind had been his... For the servant boy had caught, and in some measure entered into, the joy of the house.

John expressed his desire for Gaius's well-being. The word translated "be in health" is found in Luke 7:10 and 15:27, where the King James translation renders it "whole" and "safe and sound."

Christ is the fattened calf of Luke 15. God says, "Bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate." Who are the "us" invited here to "eat and celebrate"? It is the Father and the returned prodigal son. God says, "I have found my delight in Him, and now you come and find your delight in Him too." So at His own invitation I feed on what the Father feeds on.

The servants he would have joined were the servants and instruments of God's grace, goodness and bounty. He could not take a place among them as a hired man. This shows how the Father receives the sinner. The welcome does not follow the thoughts awakened in the sinner's heart when he comes to himself. It follows the thoughts of the Father, which rest on His own joy... His shame and his time away were no secret. They were known as the occasion of the Father's joy at his return. The Father goes out to him. First He puts all the honour of His acceptance and joy on him. Then He brings him into the house.

In the elder son the Lord paints a sharp picture of the self-righteous, those who murmur against grace, such as the Pharisees and scribes. There are many of them in every age, above all where Scripture is widely known and people boast of religion.

The elder brother (the self-righteous person) was angry, and would not go in. God had shown what He was in Himself, by His Son, in receiving the lost son. Now He would show what they were in themselves. The elder brother had no communion with his father — for if the father was happy, why was he not happy too? If such a vile person as the tax collector gets in, that makes my righteousness count for nothing! And it is truly so, for where God's happiness is, self-righteousness cannot come.

Angry with whom? Angry with his father. Why was he so angry with his father? Because he had received back his repentant brother and had not said a word about his sins. He had shown grace and mercy instead of judgment. He may have meant to insult his brother, but in reality it was his father whom he insulted.

For thelo see John 6:67, "Will you also go away?" It is not simply the act, but the will to do it: "Is it your will or disposition?" "Are you also disposed to go away?" In Luke 15:28, "he was angry, and would not go in."

The one was hungry and went in; the other was angry and stayed out. The arrival of grace always divides men into these two classes. Some know they are worthy of nothing. Others imagine they are worthy of more than they have got.

The joy of grace is unbearable to the self-righteous man. He has no heart for God's goodness to the lost. The scene of joyful communion with the Father stirs up in him fierce opposition to God's way and will... But here it is one who would not come in, while every Christian is brought to God... The elder brother here, I have no doubt, represents those who condemned Jesus for eating with sinners. He stands for the self-righteousness of the Jew in particular, and of anyone who denies grace.

The Pharisee thinks he has righteousness for God. The elder brother pictures him. You do not need to be a Jew to be a Pharisee. The elder brother is the Pharisee in every age... A Pharisee has no sense of sin, or else he would know he was a sinner; no sense of holiness, or of love.

Luke 15:28 — "Besought," or "kept beseeching" (imperfect). Adeney: "There is a Gospel even for the Pharisees."

This elder brother had no door closed in his face. "He was angry, and would not go in." There was no indifference toward him either — quite the opposite: "his father came out and entreated him."

Take care that your heart is not turning the love and grace God shows to a fellow sinner into something sour. "He would not go in." The father reasoned with him. He said, "It is your brother come back" — not "my son", but "your brother" (love is high enough for anything). It was all in vain. He could not share the spirit that moved everyone in the house, from the father down to the lowest servant. "He remained outside," and had none of the happiness and none of the joy.

The Father went out even to this Pharisee, but nothing could win the self-righteous man.

"Serve." The verb is δουλεύειν, "to serve as a slave." Compare Hebrews 2:15, which speaks of people held in slavery all their lives.

His father comes out in the fullness of love and pleads with him. The son answers with an indignation against divine love that looks pious but is really impious. That kind of feeling belongs to the natural mind and does not shock it. "Look, these many years I have served you" — hollow and wretched service! "And I never disobeyed your command" — the unhappy sinner had no sense of sin! "Yet you never gave me a young goat, that I might celebrate with my friends." So he was bold enough to judge his father, just as the self-righteous man does not shrink from judging God.

Enough, enough — "I never disobeyed." Could a man with a grain of conscience speak like this? Elder son, loveless brother, stranger to the joys of the Father's house.

If the younger son pictures the repentant sinner, the elder son is a true picture of the spirit of the Pharisee. The one was hungry and went in; the other was angry and stayed out. When grace arrives it always divides people into these two classes. Some know they are worthy of nothing. Others imagine they are worthy of more than they have got. The elder son said, "You never gave me a young goat, that I might celebrate with my friends." So he too found his company and his pleasure in a circle of friends outside his father's circle. Only the character of the friends differed: the younger son's had a bad name, and his own, we may suppose, were respectable.

The younger son had addressed his father, and had done it in a respectful way, saying, "Father." The elder brother spoke to him as well, but in words of reproach, and with no recognition that he was speaking to his father. Surely the contrast between a calf and a young goat was deliberate. A young goat is smaller, and worth far less. He had never had even that, though he said he could count up years of unbroken, faithful service.

Man's ruin magnifies God's grace. The more deeply a man feels his ruin, the more he values that grace. The elder brother never got a young goat so that he might celebrate with his friends — and why? Because he imagined he had earned it. "Look," he says, "these many years I have served you, and I never disobeyed your command." Vain man! How could he expect the ring, the robe, or the fattened calf? If he had received them, they would have been only the trappings of self-righteousness. They would not have been the ornaments that grace puts on the believing sinner.

The Pharisee thinks he has righteousness for God; we have that described in the elder brother. You do not need to be a Jew to be a Pharisee — what the Lord calls a whitewashed tomb, full of all uncleanness. The elder brother is the Pharisee in every age; it is the most hateful thing that exists. A Pharisee has no sense of sin, or else he would know he was a sinner; no sense of holiness, or of love. It is the most thorough selfishness, with no thought for anything else. "You never gave me a young goat, that I might celebrate with my friends."

He does not call the prodigal his brother, but tauntingly "this son of yours." And though it was what the father had given, he calls it "your property." Every time, he puts the worst side forward.

The Pharisee thinks he has righteousness for God; we have that described in the elder brother. You do not need to be a Jew to be a Pharisee — what the Lord speaks of as a whitewashed tomb, full of all uncleanness. The elder brother is the Pharisee in every age; it is the most hateful thing that exists. A Pharisee has no sense of sin, or else he would know that he was a sinner; no sense of holiness, or of love.

The contrast between a calf and a young goat must have been deliberate — the goat is smaller and worth far less. He had never had even that, though he said he had served for years without a break.

The elder brother never got a young goat so that he might celebrate with his friends; and why? Because he imagined he had earned it. "Look," he says, "these many years I have served you, and I never disobeyed your command." Vain man! How could he expect the ring, the robe, or the fatted calf? If he had got them, they would have been only the trappings of self-righteousness. They would not have been the ornaments that grace puts on the believing sinner.

If the younger son pictures the repentant sinner, the elder son shows the spirit of the Pharisee. The one was hungry and went in; the other was angry and stayed out. The arrival of grace always divides men into two classes. Some know they are worthy of nothing. Others imagine they are worthy of more than they have got. The elder son said, "You never gave me a young goat, that I might celebrate with my friends." So he too found his company and pleasure among friends outside his father's circle. The only difference was in the character of the friends.

Is there anyone who would say that divine grace approves of sin? Let him read his own verdict in the spirit of the elder brother here. Yet let even such a person see how grace speaks to him. "His father came out and entreated him." We see the patience of love toward this wretched man. Love was patient not just with a poor prodigal, but with this one who did not share in the general joy.

The result is that he "would not go in"; he has no part in the Father's joy of grace. He has only satisfaction in himself. He has reproaches for the saved sinner, and insult for the God of all grace and His boundless goodness to "this son of yours."

The father now speaks, passing over, however, all reference to the claim of unfailing and devoted service. Had the elder brother really done all that he declared, he had only done his duty — nothing more. The silence of the father, therefore, on that point, may be understood. But he speaks — and what does he say? He would make known the proper place and portion of a child. "Child," he said, reminding him of the birth tie, "you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours." To be with the father is the proper place of the child. All that the father has is his.

Truly the patience of God is as wonderful as His love. So the father keeps on: "But he said to him, Child, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours." Nothing can exceed the tender mercy of the father, even toward the unthankful and the evil, the ungrateful and rebellious son.

The joy of grace is intolerable to the self-righteous man; he has no heart for God's goodness to the lost... Would the Lord describe the Christian as outside the presence of God? So the elder brother here, I have no doubt, represents those who condemned Jesus for eating with sinners. It is the self-righteousness of the Jew in particular, and indeed of anyone who denies grace.

The father replies, "Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours." God gave the oracles, the covenants and the promises to the Jews. But He will not give up the right to show His grace to sinners, because of the self-righteous selfishness of the Jews, or of anyone else.

Heavenly grace, when it gives the best robe, does not thereby give back lost health, wasted substance, the natural things that may be gone forever. These things still belong to the careful, sensible person, such as the elder son was. The meaning here should be very plain. God would appeal in this way to those who receive daily from His hand, yet are content to live at a practical distance from Him.

His nearness to his father had been external only. His work had come from some motive other than love. His idea of real happiness was to be away from the father, in the company of his friends. A terrible exposure of the religious man's true state of heart in relation to God.

There was no real nearness to the father, then, in this elder son... What remains for us? Surely, as to the younger, so to the elder, it was the father's heart that spoke. From his side, "You are always near me" tells of One who is not distant from His creatures, in whose heart they live near indeed.

Is there anyone who would say that divine grace approves of sin? Let him read his own judgment in the spirit of the elder brother here. Yet let even such a man see how grace speaks to him. "So his father came out and entreated him." We see the patience of love toward this wretched man. He is not merely a poor prodigal. He is the one man who had no share in the general joy.

This word is often translated "must" and "ought." The father was bound to celebrate when the prodigal son came home.

It is logically necessary that Heaven should celebrate and be glad when the son who was lost comes home. Yes — if the weeping and wailing of hell are a logical necessity, then the music and gladness of Heaven are just as necessary.

"Let us eat and celebrate." It is not, "Let him eat and celebrate." Again he says, "It was fitting that we should celebrate and be glad." There was only one exception to the delight in the house. The elder brother (the self-righteous person) was angry, and would not go in… if the father was happy, why was he not happy too?… If such a vile person as the tax collector gets in, this makes my righteousness go for nothing! It is truly so; for where God's happiness is, self-righteousness cannot come.

"It was fitting to celebrate and be glad." Wonderful thought! God Himself delighting in the joy of grace and putting Himself in it along with others.

Notice again: "this your brother was dead, and is alive." The words "your brother" matter. God will not in any way allow anyone to deny a proper relationship.

A brother stays a brother, whatever the ups and downs of his affairs, and whatever his ways are like. In the parable, the father reminds the elder son that the prodigal was his brother.

The father was not saying that his son had been physically dead and buried. His son had been dead to him all the time he was in the far country. So it was with us. We were very much alive in this world… but quite dead in relation to God, with no movement in our souls towards Him.

He was dead, having no spiritual life, but now alive. He was lost, totally away from God, but now found. You could not say this about a believer who simply needed restoring.

If the younger son pictures the repentant sinner, the elder son accurately represents the spirit of the Pharisee. The one was hungry and went in; the other was angry and stayed out. The arrival of grace always divides people into two classes. Some know they are worthy of nothing. Others imagine they are worthy of more than they have.

If people in this life would take back someone who had gone wrong — and who could doubt it? — should God be denied the joy of welcoming someone who repents? Here, then, the parable ends. The elder brother is never seen to enter the house; he shuts himself out of it. The prodigal had entered it, never to leave it. Self-righteous people, like the elder brother, were in danger of shutting themselves out of the Father's house. They did not understand how God could show favour to those who truly repent, and delight in them.