“And who is my neighbor?” Ah! This will get him. This will draw him into a trap. This will entangle him in all manner of racial, theological, and cultural weeds. But Jesus pivots. He avoids legal exposition and argument and turns instead to a practical illustration.

Jesus answers with a story. In doing this, the Lord reminds us that the Bible is the world’s greatest storybook, and he is its greatest storyteller. The parable he tells is one of history’s most poignant and memorable. Its descriptions are riveting, its principle timeless.

Is your heart at home? Your true home? Your true heart?

This world is a mess. It is saturated in chaos, riveted by war and violence, tarnished by greed and dishonesty, and shrouded in hate and confusion. Rampant immorality has made a mockery of God and goodness. Truth is dismissed as an inconvenience, and pride promoted as the way of success. 

Then somehow, somewhere, she came across a poem. Reading it, she prayed to God that its powerful message might have an impact on the undecided boy she loved. So, one night she placed the poem gently on the piano she knew he would play. When he read it the next morning, he was so struck he decided to put music to its words.

We are never so weak and dependent on Omnipotence than in the midst of the storm. Whether it be physical, spiritual, financial, or moral, we reach to the heavens for hope and strength. We seek God’s protection and deliverance. In crisis, we learn to pray, whether we are religious or not. We do not decorate our prayers in times of trouble. We do not write them out in advance.

The first recorded words God spoke were a command: “Let there be light.” And there was light. God separated the light from the darkness when he made night and day. From the moment of man’s first sin in Eden, spiritual darkness and light have been at cosmic war with each other. The struggle has been unrelenting, fierce, and irreconcilable. It has been manifest at a million different points of conflict throughout human history.

A Roman centurion comes up to Jesus as he is teaching. A murmur ripples through the crowd—perhaps a gasp or two. This soldier of Rome represents Caesar and all that the Jewish people resent in his oppressive rule. For years they have longed for a Messiah to set them free from this cruel and arrogant yoke. 

Here is their arch-enemy, symbolized in this one man who stands now before the Rabbi.

Our pressures and problems have often blinded us to the mercy, kindness, and grace of God in our lives. In place of gratitude comes a sense of entitlement. We presume upon the mercies he gives us every moment of every day. We may even think subconsciously we are owed this; we come to expect it.

Our despairing world knows so little of grace and mercy. The seeds of kindness often struggle to grow in the harsh soil of recrimination, retribution, and revenge. Being the beneficiaries of grace, should we not also be its benefactors? The fallen race of man yearns to find forgiveness, acceptance, and new life. It may not act like it, but it does, desperately.

The nation would eventually once again become the United States. But the path to reunion would be more difficult and filled with recriminations. Lincoln wanted the South restored. He never believed the confederate states had truly left the Union.

Then, in 1864, while the blood still flowed across America’s fields, with no end in sight, a change appeared on the two-cent coin, ordered by the Secretary of the Treasury, Salmon P. Chase. It would be a new national motto. Simple but profound. Clear and incontrovertible, an unchanging and ancient belief that would supersede even this war.

It would be a declaration of hope. A summons to unity. While America’s original motto focused on man’s ability to create a united nation from human diversity, this new motto, expressed in plain English, anchored the nation’s confidence in divine sovereignty. It would appear on all coins.

Satan pulled back the curtain of deception, “and revealed to him all the kingdoms of the world in a moment of time.” He whispered in his ear. He hissed into his soul. “I will give you the glory of these kingdoms and authority over them,” he said, “because they are mine to give to anyone I please.” (Luke 4:5-6)

I’m powerful. You can be powerful too.

They liked that. They swallowed the deception of the serpent. And the hoary tentacles of sin, with its coming millennia of destruction and grief, bringing death in its wake, infected the human race. Jesus had no such intention. Instead, he invoked the Torah:

“The scriptures say, ‘You must worship the Lord your God and serve only him.’” (Luke 4:8) God first, always, and only—not power.

Throughout the stormy centuries, for the Christian Church, the tension has remained—to be in the world but not of it. Jesus knew this.

Jesus did not pray that you and I would somehow find a way to escape this world, with all its troubles and pain. He asked God to give us the wisdom and courage to live faithful to him in this world.

Being faithful in hard times isn’t easy. We must not let the world squeeze us into its mold. “Be not conformed,” Paul told the Christians living under brutal Roman reign. Instead, they must be transformed. How? Through the renewal of their minds. (Romans 12:1-2)

Who doesn’t love a good party? He doesn’t.

See him? He’s the slouched solitary figure trudging across the open field. He’s been supervising field hands all day. He’s done and headed for home. He’s tired.

“And as he came and drew near to the house, he heard music and dancing. So he called one of the servants and asked what these things meant.” (Luke 15: 25-26)

This father never stopped looking. He never stopped loving. He held deep in his broken heart a quiet confidence that in time—if nothing had happened to him—his son would again walk through that gate at the end of the road.

“Filled with love and compassion, he ran to his son, embraced him, and kissed him.” (Luke 15:20) Surprised by joy, the dad engulfed his son in love. 

“My son.” Here is the climax of Jesus’ story. This is why we love it more than any other. It’s about us. We are God’s sons and daughters.

“And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want.” (Luke 15:14)

Jesus tells us this younger son left his family—especially his loving but compliant father—and "took his journey into a far country" (Luke 15:13, emphasis added). This kid wasn't taking any chances with a retreat or return. Where he was headed dad wouldn't know and couldn't possibly find him.

Freedom meant being far away from all the cramping restraint and boring familiarity. Distant meant exotic and exciting.

With this simple and direct understatement Jesus begins the story that has moved hearts and impacted the world for more than two thousand years. In art, literature, film, and in pulpits around the world the Parable of the Prodigal Son has been told thousands of times.

It’s a story that will never grow old because its truths and lessons are timeless…It is the story of all of us and of each of us. It is the story of every sinner.

It is the story of humankind.

The tongue is like a tiny spark, James said, that sets a forest on fire. “It is a world of wickedness. . . it can set your whole life on fire, for it is set on fire by hell itself. . . It is restless and evil, full of deadly poison” (James 3: 5-8).

You and I must be careful what we say. And how we say it. The mouth that praises God on Sunday must not be the mouth that curses candidates on Monday…

They gathered in the small boarding house on Market Street. They sat down in high-backed wooden chairs around a simple wooden table. There was no air-conditioning to sooth the summer heat. In the descending rays of late afternoon, a candle was their light. To them was given the awesome responsibility to craft a declaration; the “power to begin the world over again.”

Our Unfinished Work