The Father Runs
1 Corinthians 4:18-21 - “Some are arrogant, as though I were not coming to you. But I will come to you soon, if the Lord wills, and I will find out not the talk of these arrogant people but their power. For the kingdom of God does not consist in talk but in power. What do you wish? Shall I come to you with a rod, or with love in a spirit of gentleness?”
Near the end of his life, after bankruptcy and the loss of many of the people dearest to him, Rembrandt painted one of the most beautiful depictions of grace ever put on canvas: The Return of the Prodigal Son. It hangs now in the Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg. A ragged son kneels before his father. His head is shaved, his clothes are ruined, and his face is buried against the old man’s chest. And the father bends over him, both hands pressed to his back, receiving him as though this filthy, ruined child were still the most precious thing in the world.
Henri Nouwen famously said to look closely at those hands, as they don’t seem to match. One appears stronger, broader, more muscular. The other seems softer, gentler, almost like a mother’s hand. Whether Rembrandt intended all of that symbolism or not, Nouwen saw in those hands a window into the love of God: strength and tenderness, authority and mercy, fatherly welcome and motherlike compassion, all resting on the back of a child who came home with nothing but need. The whole gospel is in those hands.
But there is another figure in the painting, standing off to the side, half in shadow. A tall man watches from a distance. He’s dressed respectably, upright and composed, but his posture feels cold. Many have seen in him the older brother from Jesus’ parable. In Jesus’ story, the older brother is the son who never left. He stayed home, worked the fields, and obeyed the rules. He did everything right. But when his wayward brother is welcomed home with a feast, he stands outside, seething, and says the thing that gives it away: “All these years I have served you.” Served you. Like a hired hand. He’d lived in his father’s house his entire life and never once known himself as a son.
Both brothers, it turns out, were performing; they had just chosen different stages. The younger son performed for the far country and the bright lights, until the money and the friends ran out together. The older son performed for the father himself, serving dutifully and keeping a record, quietly expecting to be paid. This is the very nerve Paul has been pressing all chapter. He warns the arrogant Corinthians that when he comes he will look past their talk to their actual power, because “the kingdom of God does not consist in talk but in power.” Then he ends with a strange question: “Shall I come to you with a rod, or with love in a spirit of gentleness?” Because only a father loves you enough to carry a rod.
In the parable, the younger son trudges home rehearsing his speech, “make me a hired servant,” still trying to earn a place. But while he is still a long way off, the father sees him (he’s been watching the road). And this dignified old man hikes up his robe and runs, throws his arms around his filthy son, and cuts the rehearsed speech off before the boy can finish it. No audition or probation. He calls for the robe, the ring, the sandals, every sign of full sonship, and gives them before the boy can earn a thing. We come home to a Father who has already run down the road to meet us!
Maybe you’re the younger son, worn out from chasing a crowd that was never going to fill you; you can stop, and come home. Maybe you’re the older son, faithful for years but secretly serving like a hired hand, still trying to earn what was already yours; you can come home too, out of the duty and into the welcome. There was never a job to audition for in your Father’s house; you were a son all along, a daughter all along, already loved. And it’s people who finally know that, who have stopped performing and started resting in their Father’s delight, who become free at last to live, and love, and give like Jesus. Your Father has been in the seat the whole time, watching the road, and He’s already running.
Today: In a couple hours you’ll gather with your church, and the Father who ran to meet you has a whole table of sons and daughters waiting there. So come home this morning to Him and to His family. Walk into worship with nothing left to prove, free to sing as a beloved child among siblings. Lift your voice this morning as one of His children, home at last.
Prayer: “Father, while I was still a long way off, You saw me, and You ran. I adore You and I thank You; the robe, the ring, the welcome, all of it is grace, all of it already mine in Christ. As I gather with Your family this morning, put down in me the speech I keep rehearsing, and let me worship You as the beloved child I already am, home at last in our Father’s house. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”
-PK