This past Sunday, on Mother’s Day, we stepped deeper into Jesus’ parable of the prodigal son—a story so rich and layered that it speaks across generations. We focused on the younger son and his “turning point”—the moment when, broken and hungry, he came to his senses and turned toward home. It was not pride or confidence that brought him back, but desperation, hunger, and a faint memory of grace.

We imagined not just the father waiting on the horizon, but also the mother—silent in the parable, but perhaps present in Rembrandt’s painting. A faint image in the background, maybe she’s the one who set a place at the table each night, lit a lamp in the window, and wept the tears that only a mother can know. Her presence, though unspoken, reminds us of the unseen prayers and steadfast love that so often pave the way for prodigals to find their path home.

And there, at the crossroads of regret and hope, the son remembered home—not just the place, but the people, the warmth, the bread. Most importantly, he remembered who he was: a son. That memory gave him just enough courage to rise and return.

Grace met him before he could even finish his apology. A robe was wrapped around his shoulders. Sandals were placed on his feet. A feast was prepared, not because he had earned it, but because he had come home. That is the good news of the Gospel:

Grace doesn’t wait for our perfection. It runs to meet us!

But the story doesn’t end there. This coming Sunday, we will meet the other son—the older brother. He’s the one who stayed, who obeyed, who worked the fields. Yet when he sees the celebration for his younger brother, his heart is hardened. We’ll explore how resentment and self-righteousness can keep us just as far from the Father as rebellion does.

This Sunday, we ask:
What does it mean to come home when you’ve never physically left, but your heart has grown distant?
Can grace reach us even when we feel we’ve done all the right things?

I hope you’ll join us as we continue our series, Coming Home: A Journey with the Prodigal Son.

And until then, may grace meet you wherever you find yourself this week—whether on the road of return or at the edge of bitterness.

You are always being called “Beloved.” Don’t forget that.

Grace and peace,