Lost & Found: Luke 15:1-3a, 11b-32

Lost & Found

Luke 15:1-3a, 11b-32

Rev. Dr. Rhonda Blevins

March 31, 2025

Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. 2 And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” 3 So he told them this parable:

“There was a man who had two sons. 12 The younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of the wealth that will belong to me.’ So he divided his assets between them. 13 A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant region, and there he squandered his wealth in dissolute living. 14 When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that region, and he began to be in need. 15 So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that region, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. 16 He would gladly have filled his stomach[b] with the pods that the pigs were eating, and no one gave him anything. 17 But when he came to his senses he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! 18 I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; 19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.” ‘ 20 So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. 21 Then the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’[c] 22 But the father said to his slaves, ‘Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. 23 And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate, 24 for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!’ And they began to celebrate.

25 ”Now his elder son was in the field, and as he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. 26 He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. 27 He replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf because he has got him back safe and sound.’ 28 Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. 29 But he answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command, yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. 30 But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your assets with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!’ 31 Then the father[d] said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. 32 But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.’ “

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Imagine, if you will, arriving at the gates of heaven. There’s a pretty long line to get in the pearly gates, and you notice that everyone else in line is holding a piece of paper, but you’re empty-handed. You ask the gentleman in front of you, “Excuse me. I see you and everyone else here has a piece of paper. May I ask what it is?” The man says, “Oh, this is my resume. A list of all the reasons I deserve to be let in. You don’t have a resume?” Your eyes grow wide, as you suddenly feel ill-prepared and frantic that you aren’t quite ready to meet Saint Peter without a proper resume.

You look around and notice an attendant stationed at a kiosk, a heavenly usher if you will. You run up to the attendant and say, “Everyone here has a resume, but I don’t have one. Can you help me?” The attendant says, “Absolutely! What would you like?” And you say, “I want a sharp-looking resume naming all the reasons I deserve in!”

The attendant says, “I can help you with that! Tell me the reasons you want listed.”

You stammer and stutter, searching for all the reasons you deserve in. “Well, I was always faithful to my spouse.” The attendant types on the heavenly laptop and mutters “mmm-hmmmm” approvingly. “I was kind to my neighbors. I was honest in my business dealings.” “Go on,” said the attendant. “I went to church regularly and even served on a committee once.”  “Wonderful, what else?” the attendant pressed. “I volunteered at a food pantry and gave some money to charity.” “Fantastic,” said the attendant. “I was a good parent, and generous with my kids and others.” “Excellent! Anything else?” “Uhhhh . . . that’s all I can think of,” you confess. “Do you think that’s enough?” “I guess we’ll find out!” says the attendant, a little flippantly for your liking. The attendant presses a button, and prints out a stunning resume. You take it, and thank the attendant, hoping that what the resume lacks in content is concealed by the beautiful graphic design of the document. You get back in line, a little nervous that your resume is lacking the requisite goodness.

After arriving at the front of the line, you finally see Saint Peter. With a big smile on his face (Peter is a gregarious sort, you know), he says to you, “Welcome friend! I’m so glad you’re here. What do you have there?” You sheepishly hand him your resume, hot off the press.

Peter holds up the paper and begins to read: “Faithful to your spouse, kind to your neighbors, honest in business. Good. Church attendance, committee work, volunteerism and gifts to charity. Good. Good parent, generous. Excellent.” Peter looks up at you and says, “These are all good things. Worthy of recognition. Valuable contributions.”

Then he takes your resume, holds it right in front of your face, and rips it in half.

“These are all good things, friend. But this is heaven! We operate a little differently here. You are welcome here not for what you’ve done, but simply because you are a child of God! Welcome home!” He gives you a big hug and tells you where to pick up the key to your new, heavenly mansion.

Now, this story is a little silly, but I shared it with you to set the stage for one of the most discussed but least understood concepts in the Christian faith . . . grace. And when it comes to grace, there’s probably no better teaching on the subject than what Jesus offered to the Pharisees one day when they complained about him eating with tax collectors and sinners.

In response to these complaints, Jesus launches into this story that has become known as the parable of the “Prodigal Son.” Jesus crafts a story about a son who goes to his father and demands his inheritance, basically telling dear old dad that he wishes he was dead. The father divides the property between this younger “prodigal” and his dutiful older brother. Then the younger brother goes off and lives like a Kardashian. In due time (this is the predictable part of the story) he squanders his entire inheritance in “dissolute living.” So he finds a job feeding pigs (an unfortunate turn for a Jewish boy), and becomes so hungry that he longs to eat the pig slop. He comes to his senses and realizes he would have a better life as a hired hand on his father’s estate. So he makes his way home.

My favorite part of the story is what comes next: “while he was still far off” his father sees him, runs to him, and throws his arms around his prodigal son. Despite the emotional pain the father has experienced—despite the rejection—despite the hardship the father experiences because of his son’s reckless behavior—none of that matters in the moment. The father runs to the son—he doesn’t walk, he doesn’t saunter, he doesn’t wait with arms folded demanding the son to grovel. The father runs to the son.

That’s called “grace” my friends.

What self-respecting man would run to greet a son who has treated him the way the “prodigal” has? Yet there were no questions asked. No apologies demanded. Just pure, unadulterated welcome upon seeing the lost son come home.

“Kill the fatted calf! Bring out the best robe! Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet! Today we celebrate! My son who was lost has been found!”

So the kitchen gets busy preparing a feast. The musicians strike a chord. Dad pulls out the most expensive bottle of champagne and pops the cork. The party is ON!

But there’s one problem . . . no one has told the older brother.

As big brother draws near and discovers there’s a party no one has bothered to tell him about, he asks about the hullabaloo. When he’s told that his younger brother has returned, and the celebration is for him, the older brother is livid. He refuses to go in, and when Daddy comes out, he explains: “For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!”

The father defends his decision to celebrate saying, “All that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.’”

This parable is the perfect story to teach about the radical nature of God’s economy . . . the economy of grace.

The concept of grace is so counter-cultural, and often, so difficult for us to accept. You see, we all carry spiritual resumes with us. Some are thick portfolios, carefully curated over decades of religious activity. Others are thin, hastily assembled like our friend at heaven’s gate. But we all have them. And we all, to some degree, believe they matter.

The prodigal son in Jesus’ parable had a resume too. But his was stained, tattered, and essentially worthless. He knew it. When he “came to himself” in the pigpen, he began drafting a new resume in his mind:

“I will arise and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Treat me as one of your hired servants.’”

Did you catch that? Even in his moment of clarity, he couldn’t fully grasp grace. He was still thinking in transactional terms: “I’ve blown my chance at sonship, but perhaps I can earn a spot as a servant.” He was preparing a speech, rehearsing his lines, trying to figure out what minimum qualifications might earn him a place back in his father’s household.

How often do we approach God the same way?

“God, I know I’ve messed up, but look at all the good I’ve done too.” “Lord, I’ll do better next time, I promise.” “God, if you just help me through this situation, I’ll start going to church more regularly.”

We’re constantly trying to balance the ledger, to make up for our shortcomings, to earn what can only be given freely.

But the father in Jesus’ parable does something remarkable. When he sees his son coming from a distance, he doesn’t wait to hear the carefully rehearsed speech. He doesn’t sit on his porch, arms folded, waiting for a proper apology. He doesn’t convene a family meeting to discuss terms of reinstatement.

He runs.

In Middle Eastern culture of Jesus’ day, dignified men did not run. It was considered undignified, beneath their station. Yet this father hitches up his robes and sprints toward his wayward son. Before that prepared speech can be delivered, the father embraces him, kisses him, and begins calling for the celebration.

Like Saint Peter in our opening story, the loving father effectively tears up the resume before his son can even finish presenting it.

That’s grace. Grace doesn’t look at qualifications. Grace doesn’t calculate worthiness. Grace doesn’t keep score. Grace simply loves and restores.

But there’s another character in this story who has a very different kind of resume, isn’t there? The elder brother.

His resume is impressive: years of faithful service, never disobeyed a command, dutiful, responsible, hardworking. And he’s holding tight to that resume, believing it entitles him to certain privileges and recognition.

When the celebration for his wayward brother begins, he’s indignant. “Look!” he says to his father, “For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends.”

Do you hear what he’s saying? “I’ve earned better treatment than this! My resume demands it!”

And here’s the painful truth: sometimes the longer we walk with God, the more we become like the elder brother. The thicker our spiritual resumes get, the more entitled we feel. The more we serve, give, attend, and obey, the more we expect preferential treatment.

We develop a subtle but dangerous theology: “God must be more pleased with me than with those who haven’t been as faithful.”

But the father responds to the elder son with the same grace he showed the younger: “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.”

Notice he doesn’t say, “You’re right, you do deserve better.” He reminds the elder son of the relationship they share and the inheritance that is already his. The father isn’t more excited about the younger son returning than he is about the elder son’s presence. He loves them both fully, completely, and without condition.

This is perhaps the most difficult aspect of grace for many of us to accept: that God doesn’t love us more when our spiritual resume improves, and He doesn’t love us less when it’s lacking.

So what does this mean for us, friends? It means we have a choice to make. We can continue clutching our resumes, hoping they’ll earn us God’s favor, or we can let them go.

·         We can stop thinking of our relationship with God as transactional—where we do certain things to get certain benefits.

·         We can stop comparing our spiritual achievements with others, thinking God grades on a curve.

·         We can stop believing that our failures disqualify us from God’s embrace.

·         And perhaps most challenging of all, we can stop resenting when God extends the same grace to others that God has extended to us.

The truth is, God doesn’t need our resumes. God does not hire based on qualifications. God adopts us based on love.

Romans 5:8 reminds us that “God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Before we had anything to put on our spiritual resumes, God had already determined our worth.

Ephesians 2:8-9 makes it even clearer: “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast.”

Our spiritual resumes—our works—are not the basis of our salvation. They never were, and they never will be.

So what does it look like to live without our spiritual resumes? To fully embrace grace?

·         First, it means approaching God with empty hands. Coming before God not with a list of our accomplishments or even our promises to do better, but simply with our need for God’s love and mercy.

·         Second, it means extending the same grace to others that God has extended to us. When we truly understand that our standing with God is not based on our performance, we stop expecting others to perform for our approval.

·         Third, it means celebrating when the lost are found, no matter who they are or what they’ve done. Like the father in the parable, we learn to rejoice when anyone returns to God, without questioning whether they deserve a second chance.

·         And finally, it means freedom. Freedom from the exhausting work of trying to earn what has already been freely given. Freedom from the fear that we’re not measuring up. Freedom from comparing our spiritual journey to anyone else’s.

C.S. Lewis once wrote, “To be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you.” That’s grace.

Friends, I don’t know what kind of spiritual resume you came in with today. Maybe it’s lengthy and impressive. Maybe it’s sparse or spotted with failures. Maybe you feel like the prodigal, far from home. Maybe you feel like the elder brother, underappreciated for your faithfulness.

But I know this: God isn’t interested in your resume. God is interested in you. God is not waiting for you to earn love. God is running toward you to give it freely.

Like Saint Peter in our opening story, God takes whatever resume we present, whatever qualifications we think matter, and God tears our resume in half. Not because our efforts are meaningless, but because our relationship with God was never meant to be based on performance.

So today, I invite you to let go of that resume you’ve been clinging to. Stop trying to earn what can only be freely given. Stop fearing that you’ll never be good enough. Stop resenting when others receive the same grace you’ve received.

Instead, simply receive the embrace of the Father who sees you coming from a distance and runs to meet you. Receive the robe, the ring, the sandals—the full restoration of relationship that comes not through your efforts, but through God’s free gift of love.

And then, celebrate! Because that’s what grace does. It celebrates. It rejoices. Once you were lost; now you are found. And that deserves a party!