All Who Wander

Every October we take our kids to the pumpkin patch, which as most parents know isn’t as basic as it sounds. Pumpkin patches are now a full-on experience. There are petting zoos, hayrides slides three stories high, inflatable jumping pillows, and of course, the dreaded corn maze. I hate those things. (Yes, even in the daytime. You’d have to drag me kicking and screaming to get me in one after sunset.) Voluntarily walking into a giant field of corn without a map, empty bladder, water or snacks is every Enneagram One’s worst nightmare. You could literally be wandering in there for hours. What kind of person TRIES to get lost? Yet every year I see dozens of families (mine included) hurry excitedly into a corn maze without a care in the world. I never want to be a party pooper so I put on my big girl pants, smear a brave smile across my face, and venture boldly into the field of horrors. Within minutes though I’m contemplating leaving the marked path and pushing through the walls of corn stalks until I see the exit, just to get the whole “memorable experience” over with. When I was in college I got so turned around in a parking garage after dark that it took me thirty minutes to find the way out. All I had in my car was a granola bar and I’d never been so afraid. You’ll never convince me that being lost is fun. 

I recently wrote a devotional on the parable of The Lost Son, (found in Luke 15: 11-30), for a friend’s ministry. I had trouble keeping it concise. I realized I had so much more to say about it I decided to adapt it into a blog post. Jesus tells a lot of parables in his three years of ministry, but this one is by far my favorite. At different points in my life, I’ve been able to relate to each of the characters in this story Jesus shares. I’ve understood the lost son, repentant of my choices, and humbly accepting of the undeserved forgiveness God offers. I’ve connected with the older brother, filled with jealousy and judgment, questioning why I’m not being given the blessings I feel I deserve (v.28-29). In small ways I’ve even empathized with the father, waiting patiently for my child to return to me, to return to Jesus (v. 20).

We’ve probably all heard this story before. Most of us know it as the story of the “prodigal” son, which by definition means he was the wastefully extravagant son, (and that’s fair because that’s exactly what he was). But while he certainly was selfish, impatient, and obscenely impetuous, those were all just symptoms of what he really was, and what he really was, was lost. Have you ever been legitimately lost? I have. A lot. I would need all ten fingers and at least eight toes to count up the number of times I wandered away from the safety of my parents as a young girl, (and that’s only the times I can vividly remember). I made such a habit out of it my mother attached jingle bells to the laces of my shoes so she could find me easily. Sometimes a kind stranger would help redirect me back to my family, (like the time I was found riding my tricycle half a mile from home on a busy city street). Once my brother was with me and he had the presence of mind to have our mother paged over the store’s loudspeaker. I’m very familiar with being lost. But my being lost didn’t just happen; it was the result of disobedience, lack of wisdom, and plain old poor decision-making.

The young man in the parable took an early inheritance from his father, too impatient to come by it traditionally, and “set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living,” (v.13). Today we may call him entitled, a prime example of the younger generation who doesn’t understand the value of a hard-earned paycheck. We may call him a typical 20-something, taking a “gap year,” to travel, experiment, and wander until he finds his true passion. But Jesus calls him lost, and those who are lost don’t set out to lose their way, do they? They have a plan, a purpose, and a mission to find something, but something happens and eventually, they find themselves in unfamiliar territory. It’s happened to all of us, in one way or another. We think we know what we’re doing until we realize we were dead wrong, and like the lost son, we come to our senses and set out to fix our mistakes (v.17). I’ve walked that long, lonely road back home, quietly practicing exactly what I’m going to say to get back in my parents’ good graces. I’ve shouldered the guilt and shame. I’ve kicked myself for making a series of prideful decisions. I’ve braced myself for the well-deserved consequences. I’ve also been stunned at the forgiveness that awaited me when I came up over that hill. 

Not everyone who’s been lost has a redemption story like the prodigal son though. Sometimes I think the older brother, the one who stayed and served his father faithfully, was a little lost too. After his little brother’s return, the story continues: “Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing,” (v. 25). When he discovered what the party was for, he “became angry and refused to go in,” (v.28.) “Look!” he screamed at his father. “All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours, who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!” (v. 29-30). Can’t you just hear it in his voice? Anger, jealousy, entitlement. I hear it in my voice too sometimes. Each one takes me a few steps away from the safety of my Father. It can happen before we even know it. The older brother didn’t physically GO anywhere, but his heart had wandered. I doubt he even knew how far.

J.R.R. Tolkien’s famous quote, “Not all those who wander are lost,” reminds me of the time my six-year-old son went missing at a beach party just a few months ago. My husband nor I had seen him for several minutes. We asked the boys he’d been playing with, our friends, even strangers nearby. No one remembered when they’d seen him last. We fanned out and combed the beach, looking across the street, behind cars, and even wading into the ocean. The minutes ticked by and my mind went to all the worst places. I asked our friend to call out for my son over the microphone. He did, but Justice was nowhere. My heart went into my throat and I had my hand on my phone, ready to dial 9-1-1 when I heard my husband call out, “He’s here! Annie! I found him!” Sure enough, there was my son, calmly walking across the pier, totally unaware of the panic he’d incited. I hugged him fiercely and through my sobs asked him, “Where were you? You can’t do that! You can’t just wander off! We thought we lost you!” He stared blankly at me and said, “I just took a walk.” You see, sometimes we don’t know we’re lost until we’ve been found. 

Jesus shares this parable immediately after two others, one about a lost sheep, the other about a lost coin, (Luke 15:3-10), to clearly show how God responds to those who have lost their way. Each one ends the same, with a celebration. What hope this offers to those who are sitting in the shame of their wayward choices! The reassurance of God’s love is in the details of the father’s story: “But while [the son] was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him,” (v.20). It sounds like one of those viral YouTube videos of a parent reuniting with their child after a long journey, doesn’t it? I don’t know about you, but I always get a lump in my throat watching those. I get one reading this part of the parable too. The father was watching for his son, and when he finally saw him still a long way off, he RAN. He ran and threw his arms around his son. This reaction implies the father’s relief, rejoicing, and love for his child. There is no condemnation, only love. Next, he gives him the ring off his finger and his finest robe, and he prepares a feast to celebrate. Later the father explains his reaction to his other son, the one who stayed: “But we had to celebrate and be glad because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found” (v. 32). “We had to,” he says. As if there was no other choice. It is the same with God. His love for us is so deep, so unconditional, that the only way He can respond to our repentance is with a compassionate, enthusiastic embrace. And, a really great party. 

“I tell you, there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”

Luke 15:10