THE PRODIGAL SON.—LUKE XV.
By C. Monroe
THE history of the two sons has been regarded, primarily, as a parable of two nations, Jews and Gentiles, there being, in this view, many points of resemblance; but for our better instruction we shall treat of the younger son according to the letter of the text, as an individual. The story of the prodigal son is a type of human nature; and his call for the portion of goods that fell to him, and the haste he made to throw off the yoke of parental restraint and be gone, is characteristic of youthful folly, and of our poor, blind, fallen nature. After the division of the property, he gathered all together, and, full of pride and promise, took his journey into a far country. He meant to be well out of the sight and call of his father, that is so disagreeable to an unruly son. This shows also our proneness to wander from God, our heavenly Father, far, far away. Many wander, few return. There the prodigal son lived as he listed, having no parental, watchful eye to look after, molest, or make him afraid—unsuspecting that he himself was his own, worst enemy. As all by nature are blind to the right, so he, in his blindness, became the dupe of a mad and ruinous philosophy. Though enslaved to licentiousness, to him it was boasted liberty. Such has always been the philosophy of libertines; and in these last days especially of abounding iniquity. Having full confidence in themselves, they despise the counsel of others, especially of age and experience. "He that trusteth in his own heart is a fool." Facts go to prove that blind mortals, unfit to act wisely, are sure to err. Their very wishes often ruin them for time and for eternity. The prodigal did not improve nor enjoy—he was incapable of this—but wasted his substance with riotous living. Many know how to waste the gifts of God, and abuse themselves; but few know how to enjoy, or improve them to his glory and their own best good. All are prodigals by nature. They waste and destroy, or corrupt, the earth in their march through it. The track of their footsteps is everywhere seen. Even the miser ranks with prodigals; for, besides keeping his gold in a napkin, he is lavish of what is far better than gold or silver—the day and means of grace allotted and sacred to salvation. These are trampled under foot, the soul neglected and undone. “And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land.” Sin is a land of famine—mighty famine—a dreary waste—no living green, nor flowers, nor fruits, nor rivers of delight. It sweeps all, it reduces its inhabitants to starvation, wretchedness, and ruin. And yet how large and populous a region it is! For its numbers and vices, it is alike famous. The monarch of this region is supposed to say after his expulsion, "Better reign in hell than serve in heaven." This solves the mystery of its popularity. The wicked, that are of no esteem in the kingdom of God, can there find promotion. So they flock together there, where pride and wickedness is the order of the day. “And he began to be in want.” We should think so. His eyes begin to open. The results of his folly and madness now begin to stare him full in the face. He spent all—saved nothing—nothing for his future wants—presuming, "to-morrow shall be as to-day, and much more abundant." He practiced no economy, no self-denial. It would require an unlimited estate long to survive such a course. He plunged headlong—leaped at stars, and fastened in the mud—the horrible pit and the miry clay. Thus poor sinners throw themselves away, where none but God himself can find or save them. The results of such paroxysms proclaim in terms not to be misunderstood, the desperateness of the disease of sin and wickedness. No wonder the conversion of such sinners should produce joy in the family of God, both in heaven and earth. “And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country.” A drowning man will catch at a straw—anything to save life. Being worthless, he sold himself for nought. But who is this citizen to whom he joined himself? Plainly the Devil, the prince of this world, the prince of darkness. He is the author of sin. The land of sin is his territory, his element, his home. Here stands his throne. Here are found his numerous, faithful subjects, prodigals and all. Here he sways his mighty scepter. “He is monarch of all he surveys,
His right there is none to dispute.”
He is lord of the rake and the brute, and of all he is proud. “And he sent him into his fields to feed swine.” Being poor, he must needs go and come at the bidding of his adopted master. Feeding swine shows the low and degrading employment of poor sinners. Their apostate master calls them to the performance of no dignified or ennobling service, for he has no such service to perform. All is in keeping with his character and kingdom—mean and disgraceful. He sent the prodigal into his fields—using the plural number. This shows, as above, that the Devil is a great land-holder, as he told the Saviour, claiming all the kingdoms of the world. This shows he has ample room, and ample employ, for a world of prodigals, and they are kept snug to it, doing up all his work as fast as possible, knowing he hath but a short time. “And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat, and no man gave unto him.” This shows the hard fare of sinners, and the melancholy results of their folly and madness; also that Satan is a poor paymaster and provider; for good wages and good economy make a good living; but with him and his subjects there are neither. The prodigal, therefore, was reduced to a level with the swine. Like brutes they live, like brutes they die. They feed on trash—eat voraciously, but are never filled, never satisfied. A soul of vast desires, the trash of earth can never fill. “And when he came to himself.” This shows that he went off, as all sinners go, insane, and so lived till now. It is spiritual insanity, the worst kind of insanity, incurred to all by the advent of Satan, and the great apostasy, and incurable to all but God. As insanity induced the prodigal to ramble from his Father's house, so it induces all sinners to ramble from God and the fullness of his house, far away into a land of famine, where most of them stay, starve, and die. The few that do return, return by a sound conversion to God—repentance, faith, love, and obedience, through our Lord Jesus Christ—the only way they can return. “And when he came to himself” he began to talk rational. “How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare.” His eyes are still opening to a clear view of things. Experience is a dear school, and fools will learn in no other, and hardly in that. But the prodigal learned in it what he failed to learn at home—the value of a father's house and its numerous blessings. How blessings brighten as they take their flight—all blessings, temporal or spiritual. Thus brightened his gold when gone; and the palace—home of his youth, when now confined to the sty of a noisy, filthy race of animals, and dying with hunger! In the hour of his pride his property went like the dew, or chaff in the wind. He saw too late his mistake. He learned the value of his estate by its loss. Thus it is with sinners generally; they learn the value of the heavenly inheritance, if at all, by its loss. Like the prodigal with his gold, they can see the golden sands of their probationary time fast falling, without emotion or regret; but when, like a certain queen, they come to die, it is then—“millions of money for an inch of time” to prepare to meet their God. But with their last, falling sands, they fall short of heaven, and never reach the celestial fields, nor walk the golden streets. They return not to the Father's house, but perish in the land of the enemy—die in their sins and sink to rise no more. “I perish!” said the prodigal in his extremity.50Sin is no trifle. Its wages is death. After a headlong career of riotous living, in which he spent all, he was obliged to stay and consider. He had got to the end of his case. He is now sober-minded, and awake to his perilous condition. "I perish!" Here is his crisis—the turning point with the prodigal, or of the awakened sinner. It is life or death—death to remain where he was—but a single hope of life remained. This he saw, and was decided. "I will arise and go to my father." Well said! This was his last hope. He did so, and was saved. Let every prodigal do likewise. Never, till the sinner sees himself perishing, will he take this decided, humiliating step; for no slight conviction of sin will ever produce this saving effect. Till he feels deeply he will never act wisely, and flee the wrath to come. The prodigal is now ready to make his confession, free and full, which no one will ever do with a heart full of pride and arrogance. Humility and broken-heartedness are essential to confession. This is attended with the fear of God, which is the beginning of wisdom, and a departure from evil, which is understanding. “And he arose and came to his father, and said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son; make me as one of thy hired servants.” The penitent, returning sinner, stripped of his pride and self-esteem, is no longer difficult. He feels no more worthy. If loaded with proud, flattering titles of men, he throws them off at once, as worthless, and seeks the honor that comes from God only. He aspires to no proud distinction, nor even to be great but as he is good. Any place now is good enough; yea, too good for him in the family of God. He aspires to the precious feet that once for him were by rude iron torn—his safe, best place. Thus with the prodigal; he came at once upon gospel ground, where he covered himself as it were with dust and ashes of penitence—the last ground that sinners will take—for it is here, and here only, the heart breaks, stubbornness yields, and they submit to its claims. The prodigal therefore confessed, forsook, and found mercy. The meeting of the father and son was cordial, sweet, and melting, as in the case of every penitent, returning sinner to the Father of mercies. The father met him with no reproaches for the past. His safe return was satisfactory. It silenced all his complaints. Thus our heavenly Father receives penitent, returning sinners. He freely forgives all, and remembers their sins and their iniquities no more. Blessed be his name! “No more worthy,” said the prodigal. So important a declaration claims additional consideration. However high he stood before in his own esteem, he now finds himself low enough. His race of pride is run. He now walks with God. “Before honor is humility.” Till now, he knew nothing but the name of honor—all that sinners generally know. The most moral, self-approving, unconverted individual, when convicted, feels deeply, as do others, his sins; and when soundly converted to God, feels like the reformed prodigal—“no more worthy.” All is gone. Christ is now his righteousness, sanctification, and redemption—his all in all forever. “But the father said to his servants, Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet.” Very good. The Christian panoply in part is here recognized. The filthy rags of his reproach and ignominy are stripped off, and he is clad in the best robe—typical of the robe of Christ's righteousness, the best of all robes, and the most honorable. The ring and shoes were ornaments, as well as tokens of the father's love and affection. The latter, needful to the pilgrim, as he journeys to his heavenly home—the former, a lasting memorial of his salvation. As the children of a king have their family ornaments, or tokens of distinction, so have the children of the King Eternal. They are known by a profusion of ornaments, among which is "the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price," though of little esteem by a world of prodigals. “And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it, and let us eat and be merry.” The fatted calf is a type of the gospel feast, rich and costly, to which poor sinners are invited, that they may eat and live forever. "Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of man," says Christ, "and drink his blood, ye have no life in you." Those who do this have eternal life, and he will raise them up at the last day. “And they began to be merry.” There is a beginning, but no end, to the joys of heaven. The guilty joys of earth commence in lunacy and end in wailing and in death. “Now his elder son was in the field; and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard music and dancing.” Not the frothy song of the drunkard, or libertine, nor the giddy dance of fops and flirts, but the sweet music, the dance, of sober, sensible, grateful souls. “And he called one of the servants, and asked what these things meant.” This was reasonable and proper—to inquire into the cause, or basis, of this joyful scene. All scenes of merriment will not bear inquiry; for it would be attended with sadness, or pity for the actors, being found senseless, or ill-founded. The wicked, as such, are incapable of real joy. There is no true joy in the loudest laugh of hell, so to speak. The criminal on his way to the place of execution, if capable of music, would be incapable of real joy; for the errand on which he goes is death to his joy as well as to himself. Hence no sinner, in the journey of life, is capable of true joy, because his errand is bad; and his joy, having no root in God, or goodness, dies like a rootless plant. Carpet, if you please, or scatter his path with flowers, it matters not. His errand is death! It bids defiance to joy, flowers, or flattery. All is absorbed in the scene that awaits him. Not so of the returned prodigal. His case will bear inquiry, and reward the inquirer, if he is a friend of virtue or reform; for here is a sinner converted from the error of his way—a son, a brother, that was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found. O, how glad and joyful must have been that father, like the father of Joseph in Egypt, thus to receive as from the grave a long-buried son. With sweet surprise he saw him at a distance, coming, and knew him. His heart was touched, his tears flowed like rain, he ran as with the feet of youth, met, fell on his neck, and, amid a shower of joyful tears, embraced and kissed that long-lost, new-born son. “Likewise I say unto you, There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth.” Thus we have both the type and the antitype of the story. It is fraught, as we are about to see, with lessons deeply instructive to all. If there is anything here below that can produce joy in heaven, or among the saints of earth, it is a change like this—the conversion of a sinner—the more the better—to see a prodigal return, to see an heir of glory born. It is the Lord's doing, and marvelous in our eyes. Blessed be his name! “It was meet,” said the over-joyed father, “that we should make merry, and be glad; for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found.” This was enough. It silenced the complaints of the elder brother. He bowed to the hand of a merciful God, that was seen in the return of his brother, and was won to submission by the moving eloquence of a father's love and gratitude for the salvation of a long-lost, beloved son and brother. How many pious fathers or mothers, whose eye falls upon this article, can tell of a dear son or daughter, whose wanderings and captivity in sin have been terminated by a sound conversion to God and the Lamb. “This my son, my daughter, was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found!” Language like this is worthy to be written in letters of gold, upon the canopy of heaven, as well as the book of life, that both angels and men might read, and adore the glorious God of the great salvation. But few such sons or daughters now, we fear, thus gladden heaven or earth, angels or men; while many are doomed to anguish as they look upon their dear children lost, or dead in sin, and, as they greatly fear, never to be found, or live again. But as God's long-suffering is salvation to some, they will cry mightily to him while life or breath remain, for their salvation, that when called to their last account, they may if possible, be prepared to say, “Here, Lord, are we, and the children thou hast given us.” The story of the prodigal son is an important story. It is full of interest, full of instruction to all. It teaches the following lessons: 1. The blindness and depravity of our poor, fallen nature. It teaches by actions that speak louder than words, and is as mournful and mortifying as it is sad and ruinous. It should silence the infidel plaudits of human virtue, and place beyond controversy the fact of our native depravity. 2. It teaches the folly and madness of discontent when doing well, or in good and comfortable circumstances. Leaving such a position is like a refusal to let well enough alone. The object is gain—health, wealth, honor, or felicity—but in most cases proves hurtful or ruinous, as in the fall of Adam, the root of every fall. The calamities attending such a course are a just rebuke of divine Providence for thus underrating and abusing his mercies. Discontented and unthankful for what we have, and still for more we crave—more than we deserve, or can enjoy! This, again, is proof of our poor, blind, fallen nature. 3. It teaches the injury and expensiveness of sin. We pay dear for our vices, while virtue may be had at a cheap rate. It costs us more to make us miserable than would make us truly happy—happy as virtue can make us here. Were it costly, it should be sought at any price. As of truth, “buy and sell it not.” As the merchantman sold all he had and bought the pearl of great price, so must we to gain the pearl of life eternal—the best bargain ever made by man. 4. It teaches the necessity of a reform. It is plain to see what would have become of the prodigal in case of no reform, or return to his father's house. Death was inevitable. This he saw, and felt deeply. “I perish,” said he. Thus with all sinners. They must repent or perish. As the prodigal could not have been received home with all his vices, and his heart full of pride as he went off, neither can the proud, impenitent sinner be received to the Father's house on high without a reform. Heaven is a prepared place for a prepared people. No others enter there. 5. It holds out encouragement to penitent, returning sinners. As the father received his prodigal son kindly and affectionately, so the Father of all receives penitent, returning sinners, as with open arms and a parent's heart. His house is full of blessings. There is enough and to spare. The fountain is full—enough for all. None need perish for lack of bread, or any good thing. Would that every prodigal could feel his perishing condition, and return to God before it is too late. 6. Lastly, it shows a season of reform. As a reform is essential to salvation, God has granted to all a season sacred thereto. The prodigal had a season, though all but lost, and he improved it. A little longer delay and it would have been too late. A little longer delay and it will be too late for the reader, if yet in his sins. Let him lose no more time, but say at once with the prodigal, “I will arise and go to my Father”—my heavenly Father—rise by repentance, faith, and obedience, and secure a home in that blessed world where there is enough and to spare of all that is rich and precious, and none perish with hunger. Amen.
C. MONROE.
Waldo, Me.