Is God's love reckless?

Look at the prodigal as he arises from the swine field to go to his father; his burdened conscience and the load of shame that weighs upon his soul make the going heavy; his need drives him homeward but he does not run, and often he hesitates, for he has gone so far away that it seems impossible that he should ever reach his father's house again. It would be impossible if it depended on his efforts, or even upon the sincerity of his repentance, but another and a greater factor enters the story, it is the father's love. "When he was yet a great way off" — the word is the same as the far country — "his father saw him," — How keen are the eyes of love! "And had compassion on him" — How tender is the heart of love! "and ran," — How swift are the feet of love! "and fell on his neck and kissed him." Love cannot be restrained. He covered him with kisses, for that is the word. Consider well the activity and extravagance of the father's love

And now for the last of the seven. “But when he was yet a great way off his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran and fell upon his neck and kissed him” (Luke 15:20). The climax of all! How transcendent! See the prodigal, the “young man” who had taken his fill, and now returned empty, who had taken his own way and had been reduced to want, see him retracing his wilful way—slowly and humbly and just as he was—filthy and forlorn and fearful—at a distance indeed “but when he was yet a great way off his father saw him!” How was this? Ah! the father was on the outlook—love is always hopeful—and what then? “He had compassion!” and then? “He ran!” love is always energetic; and then? “he fell upon his neck!” Oh! that embrace! Distance, sin, self-will, prodigality, everything of the kind overcome! and then he “kissed him”—love is always intimate—a kiss is the emblem of nearest and dearest affection—the lovers token—and then? In the stillness of profound self-abhorrence, solemnly, fervently, irresistibly says the prodigal “Father, I have sinned … and am no more worthy …” Enough! love has won the day! and its happy prisoner is clothed and feasted amid the music of the Father’s house. Ah reader, leave God out, and what then? Let God have His way, and then? “God is love?’

It is not the son who runs; but, even though a long way off, the father saw him. It was the father ran and fell on his neck and kissed him. The son would not have dared to have done so, still less would he have expected his father to do so. But grace always surprises the thoughts of men, and therefore reason can never find it out, but rather denies and opposes and enfeebles it, qualifying it, putting clogs and fetters on it, which only dishonour God, and do not alter the truth, but most surely injure the man. The father, then ran389 and fell on his neck and kissed him. Not a word about his wicked ways! and yet the father it was who had wrought secretly, producing the conviction of his own evil and the yearning after his own presence.

The prodigal son, no doubt, thought that it would be very humble in him to say, "Make me as one of thy hired servants." But this was remaining pride and legality of heart, not humility. All such thoughts spring from the natural heart, which is essentially proud and legal, and utterly ignorant both of its own condition and of the grace of God. True humility is seen standing afar off, and confessing that it is not worthy to lift up so much as its eyes to heaven. (Luke 18) The prodigal had no more title to be received as a servant than as a son. He had forfeited all claim on the ground of righteousness. He had but one plea to offer; namely 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; nothing is said about his sins. He could not have answered for one of a thousand. The question of sin was settled between God and Christ on the cross. And now, grace shines, and shines in all its heavenly brightness. The Father's heart is the spring, and He has His own joy in it all. He acts from Himself, and as Himself. The prodigal's premeditated speech is interrupted: he never gets to the part which says, "Make me as one of thy hired servants." How could he? Grace prevents; the Father ran to meet him, fell on his neck and kissed him. Reconciliation is expressed and accomplished the moment they meet. He receives the kiss of peace at once; grace is free. God having received the atonement on the cross, we receive the reconciliation the moment we meet Him in Christ.

First the parable of the lost sheep. Here we see in the shepherd a picture of the Lord Himself. The ninety and nine, who represent the Pharisee and scribe class, were left not in the fold but in the wilderness — a place of barrenness and death. The one sheep that was lost represents the publican and sinner class; those who are lost, and know it — the "sinner that repents." The Shepherd finds the sheep; the labour and toil is His. Having found it, He secures it and brings it home. His shoulders become its security. He brings it home, and then His joy begins. Never does He have to say, "Sorrow with Me, for I have lost My sheep which was found."

The Lord answers in a parable — indeed, in three. But the first of them is that which we will look at now. He puts the case of a man — of themselves — having a hundred sheep. "If he loses one of them, doth he not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness381 and go after that which is lost until he find it?" He appeals to them: not one of them but would go after his lost sheep and seek to recover it. With us, indeed, it is not a question here of our going in quest of Christ, but of the man Christ Jesus, the good Shepherd, going after us — that which was lost. Supposing a man has ninety-nine that did not so urgently call on his energetic efforts, he can leave the sheep that abide in comparative safety. The one that is in danger is that which draws out his love until he finds it. "And having found382 it, he lays it upon his own shoulders rejoicing." It is evidently the work of the Lord Jesus that is set forth here. Who can fail to recognize in it the mighty manifestation of Divine love which characterized Jesus? It was He Who came, He Who undertook 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; it is He Who lays it on His shoulders rejoicing. Whose joy can be compared with His? No doubt the sheep does reap the benefit; yet assuredly it was not the sheep that sought the Shepherd, but the Shepherd the sheep. It was not the sheep that clambered on His shoulders, but He that laid it there with His own hand. And who shall pluck it thence? It was all, all His work. It was the sheep that strayed; and, the longer it was left to itself, the farther it got away from the Shepherd. It was the work of the Lord Jesus, then, both to seek and to save.

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 an hundred sheep?" etc. The shepherd puts the sheep upon 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 publicans and sinners? This may not suit a moral man, but it suits God; it is His privilege to come amidst sin - to come near to ruined sinners - because He can deliver out of it. The shepherd lays the sheep upon his shoulders and rejoices; he goes out to seek it, charges himself with it; he takes the whole toil of it. It was his own interest to do it, because he valued the sheep; it was his, and he brings it home again rejoicing. Thus He presents the shepherd here. And thus it is with "the Great Shepherd of the sheep." He presents it as His interest to "seek and to save that which is lost": He even makes it His interest in the sense of love; the sheep is His own, and He brings it home rejoicing, bidding others to rejoice with Him. There is the strength and power of salvation.

Now, in these verses that I have read for you, we find the shepherd presented to us in a deeply interesting stage of his gracious work; he is here seen in search of the sheep. The parable derives peculiar force from the fact that it was put forth, together with the parables of the lost piece of silver, and the lost son, as an argument in favour of God's gracious acting towards sinners. God, in the person of the Lord Jesus, had come so very near to the sinner, that legalism and Pharisaism, as represented by the scribes and Pharisees, took offence at it. "This man receives sinners, and eats with them." Here was the offence of which Divine grace stood charged at the bar 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 thus to receive sinners. It was for that He came down into a ruined world. He left not the throne of His Father to come down here to search for righteous people; for wherefore should He search for them? Who would think of going to look for anything but that which was "lost?" Surely the very presence of Christ in the world proved that he had come in search of something, and, moreover, that that something must have been "lost." "The Son of man came to seek and to save that which was lost." The soul should greatly rejoice in the fact that it was as a lost thing that it drew forth the grace and pity of the shepherd's heart. We may inquire what it was that could have drawn the heart of Jesus towards such as we are; yes, we may inquire, but eternity alone will unfold to us the answer to the inquiry. We might ask the shepherd in this parable why he thought more about the one solitary lost sheep than he did about the ninety and nine which were not lost at all. What would have been his answer? "The lost one is my object, it is valuable to me, and I must find it." So it was with the merchantman, who surely is no other than Jesus: he alone could see, in that which lay buried in the bowels of the earth, an object which was worth everything to him; Jesus alone could see, in a helpless sinner, an object for which He thought it worth stooping from His Father's bright throne to save: —

For, "when he was yet a long way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him." How it speaks of the way in which the father's heart had retained his image that he could recognize him in the distance, returning in such a different manner from that in which he had set out. Watching for him too, as it would seem and when he saw him, forgetting all but that this was his son returned, in the impetuosity of irresistible affection, as if he might escape him yet, and he must secure him and hold him fast, running, and, in a love too great for words, falling upon his neck and making himself over to him in that passionate kiss! It is GOD of whom this is the picture! What a surprise for this poor prodigal! What an overwhelming joy for those who are met thus, caught in the arms of unchanging, everlasting love, — held fast to the bosom of God, to be His forever!

Lastly, mark the style of the father in receiving the poor returning prodigal. "When he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him." He does not send out a servant to tell the erring one to turn aside into one of the out-offices, or betake himself to the kitchen, or even to confine himself to his own room. No; he himself runs. He, as it were, lays aside his paternal dignity, in order to give expression to his fatherly affection. He is not satisfied with merely receiving the wanderer back. He must prove that his whole heart is in the reception; and this he does, not merely by the substance of the act, but by his style of doing it.