Behold
Along with the miracles, Jesus continued to teach.
Not in long lectures.
Not in abstract philosophy.
He taught in stories.
Parables.
Simple stories drawn from everyday life—seeds, shepherds, fishermen, vineyards, families.
Stories that anyone could see, anyone could understand.
Stories that revealed truths far deeper than words alone could hold.
A story of a shepherd leaving ninety-nine sheep to find one lost.
A story of a woman searching for a lost coin.
A story of a father waiting for a son who wandered far from home.
It is in this last story, the story of the prodigal son, that we glimpse something extraordinary.
Henri Nouwen, in his reflections, reminds us that this story is not just about a wayward son returning.
It is about the father who runs to meet him.
The younger son demands his inheritance, leaves home, and squanders it all.
Hunger, despair, and emptiness follow.
Finally, he returns—not sure if he will be welcomed.
And yet the father sees him from a distance.
Before he can speak.
Before the apology can be made.
He runs.
He embraces.
He restores.
He gives a robe.
A ring.
A feast.
No lectures.
No punishment.
Just love.
Overwhelming, unearned love.
And then there is the elder son.
Who stayed.
Who worked.
Who obeyed.
And he is angry.
Resentful.
Unable at first to understand.
The father’s response to him is just as radical:
“All that I have is yours. But we must celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.”
This is not merely a story about one family.
It is a story about God.
About His heart.
About His unrelenting, gracious love.
And it is a story about us.
We are sometimes the younger son, running away, squandering what we have been given, lost in our own choices.
We are sometimes the elder son, obeying, working, yet closed to joy and mercy because we cannot forgive.
And still, the Father waits.
Still, the Father runs.
Still, the Father celebrates.
Jesus taught these stories not to shame or confuse.
He taught them to reveal truth.
To reveal the heart of God.
To invite us into it.
The parables show us that the kingdom is often upside down.
That God’s ways are not our ways.
That love precedes merit.
That mercy outruns justice.
And the prodigal son reminds us, in a way that touches the soul, that God is always ready to welcome us home.
The question Jesus asks is simple.
Do we believe in a love like that?
Do we let it transform the way we live?
Do we run to others with that same grace?
Because the parables are not just stories to admire.
They are invitations.
Invitations to step into the kingdom of God here, now, in our hearts and in our world.