There was once a priest who carried the burden of a secret sin committed long ago during his time in Bible College.  He had repented, but he never truly felt forgiven. In his church was a woman who claimed to have visions in which  she spoke with Christ. The priest, still skeptical, decided to test her.  

“Next time when you speak with Christ,” he said, “ask him what sin I committed back in Bible College.”  She agreed.  

A few days later, the priest asked her, “Did Christ visit you in your dream?” 

“Yes,” she replied. 

“And did you ask him what sin I committed?” 

“Yes, I did!” 

“Well then, what did he say?” 

“He said, ‘I don’t remember.’”

This story beautifully captures the heart of the Gospel: the assurance of God’s complete and unconditional  forgiveness. It wasn’t God who held onto the sin – it was the priest. And like him, many of us struggle to fully  believe we are forgiven. We hesitate to embrace the overwhelming depth of God’s love, just like the younger son in  today’s parable.In Luke 15, the younger son demands his inheritance from his father, spends recklessly, and ends  up with nothing. But then, he “comes to himself” and returns home, prepared to beg for mercy: “Father, I have  sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Treat me like one of your hired  hands.”

But instead of punishment or cold distance, what greets him is utterly unexpected: embrace, kisses, a robe, a ring,  sandals, and a feast. Full restoration. His father doesn’t wait for a perfect apology. He is not seeking punishment  or payback. The father runs to his son – not because the son is deserving but simply because he is his son.It didn’t  matter whether the younger son had the right words or sufficient remorse. What mattered was the father’s heart.  And this is where many of us start to feel uncomfortable. 

Many of those who, like the elder son, have followed the rules, worked hard, served faithfully, and upheld tradition may ask, “What about us?” What about those who have kept the Sabbath, remained steady in their commitments,  maintained relationships, cared for their families, and done their best to live rightly? Why does it often seem that  the reckless ones receive all the attention?The elder son is bewildered. Hurt. Angry. “All these years,” he says,  “I’ve served you like a slave! I’ve never disobeyed – and yet you never gave me even a young goat to celebrate with  my friends. But when this son of yours comes home after wasting everything, you throw him a feast?”

This is the scandal of grace. By its very nature, grace is not fair. It disrupts our expectations, ignores our systems of  merit, and overturns the justice we so carefully construct. In a world built on competition, fairness, and darning  our way, grace unsettles us. It offends our deeply held sense of what people deserve.The parables in Luke 15, the  lost sheep, the lost coin, and the lost son, are not lessons in moral behaviour. They are not about what we must do but about who God is: the one who rejoices more over the one who was lost and returns than over ninety-nine who  never wandered. 

It sounds impractical, maybe even irresponsible. Bad shepherding, poor economics, questionable theology. But  Jesus is intentionally pushing the boundaries of our understanding of love.At the beginning of Luke 15, the  Pharisees are once again grumbling – this time because Jesus is eating with t sinners: tax collectors, lepers, and women of the night. He’s breaking dietary laws, crossing purity boundaries, and inviting scandal. In response,  Jesus tells three parables to redefine what the kingdom of God truly looks like. 

The problem for the elder son – and for the Pharisees he represents – is that the father’s love is not based on merit  or performance. He loves because he is love. And that is what upsets the elder son. He cannot bear a love that  cannot be earned, controlled, or limited.Jesus pleads with the elder sons, then and now, to open their hearts. To  embrace their sisters and brothers, not because they have earned it, but because love makes them family. The  father never tires of pouring out grace. His love for one son never diminishes his love for another. 

The father says to the elder son, “This brother of yours” – not my son, but your brother – “was dead and is alive  again; he was lost and now is found. How could we not celebrate?” And that’s where Jesus ends the story – open ended. We don’t know if the elder son ever joined the party. We don’t know if he stayed outside, clinging to his  sense of fairness, or walked inside to receive the same grace that welcomed his brother.

The story is ours to finish. Will we remain outside, isolated by resentment and self-righteousness? Or will we come  in and share a table with the broken and the blessed, the saints and the sinners, the righteous and the reckless – our sisters and brothers, all loved by the same generous father?  

Throughout history, this parable has never been easy for the Church to fully embrace. We have debated its  meaning for centuries – and perhaps we always will. But scripture reminds us: God makes his sun rise on the bad  and the good and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. God’s love does not discriminate. And God’s  forgiveness does not wait for our approval.The father loved both sons. Just like he ran to embrace the younger, he  also came out to meet the older son. God’s love is not separating love – rather, it is embracing love.

Let me share a story from the time of the Exodus. The Israelites are trapped – the Red Sea before them, the  Egyptian army behind them. Moses strikes the water, the Red Sea opens and the Israelites pass through. Pharaoh  orders his chariots to pursue them, but the sea collapses around them, drowning the Egyptian army. The Israelites have finally been freed from their oppressors! A dramatic story in which justice triumphs over oppression.

But what is happening in heaven? A Hasidic story tells of angels rejoicing in Israel’s victory. But then they notice  God is not among them. “Where’s God?” one angel asks. The archangel Michael replies, “God is off there alone,  weeping, because thousands of God’s children were drowned today!” This is the heart of God – a God who rejoices  when the lost are found but also grieves for those who are still missing.  

Jesus comes for all of us. He comes “for those caught up in pathetic choices and failed dreams. He comes for  corporate executives, street people, superstars, farmers, hookers, addicts, AIDS victims, and even used car  dealers.” He comes not because we’ve earned it but because we are loved. 

And here is the beauty: it wasn’t the younger son’s confession that triggered the father’s love. It was the father’s  love that made the confession possible. God’s grace moves first. God’s embrace is already extended. Whether we  are far off or close by, running wild or working hard, God is waiting – waiting with sandals, a robe, and a feast  already prepared.The younger son entered the celebration. The elder son- perhaps he is still hesitating. But the  door remains open, and the father is still standing outside, watching and waiting. 

Whether we see ourselves in the younger son, the elder son, or somewhere in between, may we hold fast to this  truth: there is room at the table for every one of us.Grace invites. Love waits. The feast is already underway. Will  you come in? Let it be so.