Sometimes Grace Smells Bad
The audience was full of prodigals. The unfaithful spouses in the wake of infidelity; the addicted parents drinking to numb the pain; the reckless gamblers racking up debt; the deceitful professionals committing fraud; the selfish gluttons, absorbed in decadence; the self-righteous pastors/teachers whose faith in God was shaken if it didn’t fit inside a box… And they’re all receiving the same message: ya’ll are a hot mess!
The power of a good story.
Jesus knew the power of a good story. In the book of Luke, Chapter 15, we find Him using several stories to reveal difficult realities to an agitated audience.
My favorite of the three stories is the parable about the Lost (Prodigal) Son. It’s about an older brother and a younger brother, and their father. In short, the younger brother asks for his inheritance early (essentially telling his father he wishes him dead), leaves home (deserting his responsibilities and relationships), and squanders his life (partying) AND his father’s money (we can only imagine what he bought). Eventually, he became so broke that he found a lowly job feeding pigs and ended up so close to starving that he craved the pods he fed the pigs.
Home is where the heart drama is.
If I’m the prodigal craving piggy pods, I long for home. The warmth and refuge…the familiar aroma, the customary meals, 🥧 celebrations…the friendly faces of family… Oh, home, sweet home!
Well, but wait a minute… Home is also the place I took for granted and abandoned; the place that represented relationships and obligations to my father. Home, that place that intimately connected me to my brother, who now tends to the relatives I abandoned, the flocks I deserted, the work I unloaded when I took my inheritance and split… That place sheltering the people and the values I blatantly betrayed. Home… 🫣
How could I, the prodigal, return home? My arrogance is unforgivable. It looks like my only option is to settle into the filth I’ve created with the pigs I feed. And that’s no small thing for me. There is nothing lower than caring for a gentile’s swine. Plus, the odor… The smell is awful!”
Desperate enough to be a slave.
“Perhaps Father will show mercy and accept me as a slave. Of course, a slave in Father’s house has no rights – – another owns him; he receives no pay; no hospitality; no comfort… Nevertheless, I would have food. I’ll do almost anything for food…
What am I saying? It doesn’t matter! Even becoming Father’s servant is a long shot. It’s not logical for Father to forgive me.”
The prodigal is in all of us.
Most theologians believe the characters in the parable of the prodigal son represent different groups of Jesus’ first-century audience. For instance, the prodigal represents the sinners in the crowd, the older brother represents the religious elite, and the father represents God. Although I agree, I also think every person encompasses the two brothers and their father. In other words, there is no “they”; it’s all “us.”
I mean, let’s be honest: everyone has the potential to be the prodigal – the self-centered, wreckless brat; the older brother – the unforgiving, self-righteous jerk; or the father – the merciful leader who shows abundant grace. Shucks, my kids and husband might say I am all three in a day! 😳 And I can’t say they’d be lying!
We’ve made a hot mess.
But back to the prodigal… I started today’s blog from that point of view. Our point of view. Can you see yourself in the audience? Here it is again:
We are the unfaithful spouses in the wake of infidelity; the addicted parents drinking to numb the pain; the reckless gamblers racking up debt; the deceitful professionals committing fraud; the bruised friends, plotting revenge; the selfish gluttons, absorbed in decadence; the hypocrites, pretending to be fine; the self-righteous pastors/teachers whose faith in God is shaken when questioned… And we’re all receiving the same message from Jesus: we’ve made a hot, muddy mess of our lives.
Now what?
So here we are, friends. Rolling in the dung with the 🐷pigs, wishing we could fill our stomachs with the nasty pods we get paid to feed them. What to do; what to do…
Ahh. But perhaps we are at a crossroads. ⚠️ We can take a right on Desperation Avenue or keep going on the highway to Destruction. Decisions, decisions!
The prodigal in the parable took a right on Desperation Ave. Desperately, he crawled back to his father, but with a different attitude… “I deserve nothing. Can I be your slave?”
And therein lies the crucial reality for the prodigal: I deserve nothing.
We deserve nothing! We are standing before the father, caked in mud, smelling like swine, desperate for mercy. And our only hope for mercy is God’s grace. And…He eagerly offers it!
Our older brother…not so much. But we can talk about him another day.
Sometimes grace smells bad.
Welcome home, fellow prodigals! The fatted calf is on the grill and we’re about to celebrate your return.
However, just so you know… Sometimes grace is gritty and smells bad. That’s because occasionally, dirt follows you, and the disgusting scent of swine 🐖 shows up out of nowhere. But recalling the filth and putrid smell is a good reminder of the grace your Father showed when He welcomed you home. So breathe it in, whisper a thank you, dust yourself off, and enjoy the party!
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