“And he got up and went to his father. But while he was still far away, his father saw him and was moved with pity for him and went quickly and took him in his arms and gave him a kiss.”

–First century parable from the lips of Jesus

Long about noon on Saturday a father and son will meet in a giant bear hug far from the horizon that once separated them.  And Mom will be there too, just the right touch needed to make a three-corded strand.  Perceptive onlookers might catch a glimpse of something arcane and otherworldly in this simple tapestry: a family wrapped, cinched and secured in the keeping power of the Strong-Armed One.  I’d call that an unbreakable family bond.

The son is, at long last, coming home.  Gone will be the rags and fetters of the far country and, though the memories of depravity and hellishness will linger, the air will be gloriously cleared of the demons that enslaved and harrassed. 

I noticed a subtle nuance about that story this afternoon.  I found in my Bible, the NASB’s translation of Luke 15:32 to be, “this brother of yours was dead and has begun to live…”  The translators took the verb anazoo and made the distinction in it’s aorist tense that a process or action has begun that, if it continues, will certainly end in a completed action or effect. 

That’s pretty technical sounding so let me dumb it down for you and me.  When I have told others of our son’s return, I (a) do not refer to Graham as a “prodigal” because he no longer wears that moniker by the grace of our Lord, and (b) advise them not to expect our boy to exude an ethereal glow and matching halo.  The boy has begun to breathe again the new air of the liberty by which Christ has set him free.  He is just now beginning to lay hold of that for which Christ has taken hold of him. 

Like me (and you), he will not have “arrived”.  He might break our hearts again.  (I sure wish there was a verse 33 in that chapter so we could see how it plays out six weeks, six months or six years from the banquet!)  He might revert.  I pray not, for the scriptural phrase “a dog returning to its vomit” is not such a good thing.  It’s deadly, in fact. 

All we have is today. 

And 15:20.

And verse 32.

And that’s got Mom and me giddy from the word go.

And go we will.  To meet our son on a hillside of grace, restoration, reconciliation and…


Finally, let me end with this captivating story found in Philip Yancey’s book, What’s So Amazing About Grace?  The details might not mirror ours exactly and while it is about a young girl rather than a teenaged boy, you’ll see why I’ve done it.

A young girl grows up on a cherry orchard just above Traverse City, Michigan. Her parents, a bit old- fashioned, tend to overreact to her nose ring, the music she listens to, and the length of her skirts. They ground her a few times, and she seethes inside. “I hate you!” she screams at her father when he knocks on the door of her room after an argument, and that night she acts on a plan she has mentally rehearsed scores of times. She runs away.

She has visited Detroit only once before, on a bus trip with her church youth group to watch the Tigers play. Because newspapers in Traverse City report in lurid detail the gangs, the drugs, and the violence in downtown Detroit, she concludes that is probably the last place her parents will look for her. California, maybe, or Florida, but not Detroit.

Her second day there she meets a man who drives the biggest car she’s ever seen. He offers her a ride, buys her lunch, arranges a place for her to stay. He gives her some pills that make her feel better than she’s ever felt before. She was right all along, she decides: her parents were keeping her from all the fun.

The good life continues for a month, two months, a year. The man with the big car–she calls him “Boss”– teaches her a few things that men like. She lives in a penthouse, and orders room service whenever she wants. Occasionally she thinks about the folks back home, but their lives now seem so boring and provincial that she can hardly believe she grew up there.

She has a brief scare when she sees her picture printed on the back of a milk carton with the headline “Have you seen this child?” But by now she has blond hair, and with all the makeup and body-piercing jewelry she wears, nobody would mistake her for a child. Besides, most of her friends are runaways, and nobody squeals in Detroit.

After a year the first sallow signs of illness appear, and it amazes her how fast the boss turns mean. “These days, we can’t mess around,” he growls, and before she knows it she’s out on the street without a penny to her name. When winter blows in she finds herself sleeping on metal grates outside the big department stores. “Sleeping” is the wrong word–a teenage girl at night in down town Detroit can never relax her guard. Dark bands circle her eyes. Her cough worsens.

One night as she lies awake listening for footsteps, all of a sudden everything about her life looks different. She no longer feels like a woman of the world. She feels like a little girl, lost in a cold and frightening city. She begins to whimper. Her pockets are empty and she’s hungry. She needs a fix. She pulls her legs tight underneath her and shivers under the newspapers she’s piled atop her coat. Something jolts a synapse of memory and a single image fills her mind: of May in Traverse City, when a million cherry trees bloom at once, with her golden retriever dashing through the rows and rows of blossomy trees in chase of a tennis ball.

God, why did I leave, she says to herself, and pain stabs at her heart. My dog back home eats better than I do now. She’s sobbing, and she knows in a flash that more than anything else in the world she wants to go home.Three straight phone calls, three straight connections with the answering machine. She hangs up without leaving a message the first two times, but the third time she says, “Dad, Mom, it’s me. I was wondering about maybe coming home. I’m catching a bus up your way, and it’ll get there about midnight tomorrow. If you’re not there, well, I guess I’ll just stay on the bus until it hits Canada.”

It takes about seven hours for a bus to make all the stops between Detroit and Traverse City, and during that time she realizes the flaws in her plan. What if her parents are out of town and miss the message? Shouldn’t she have waited another day or so until she could talk to them? And even if they are home, they probably wrote her off as dead long ago. She should have given them some time to overcome the shock.

Her thoughts bounce back and forth between those worries and the speech she is preparing for her father. “Dad, I’m sorry. I know I was wrong. It’s not your fault; it’s all mine. Dad, can you forgive me?” She says the words over and over, her throat tightening even as she rehearses them. She hasn’t apologized to anyone in years.

The bus has been driving with the lights on since Bay City. Tiny snowflakes hit the pavement rubbed worn by thousands of tires, and the asphalt steams. She’s forgotten how dark it gets at night out here. A deer darts across the road and the bus swerves. Every so often, a billboard. A sign posting the mileage to Traverse City. Oh, God.

When the bus finally rolls into the station, its air brakes hissing in protest, the driver announces in a crackly voice over the microphone, “Fifteen minutes, folks. That’s all we have here.” Fifteen minutes to decide her life. She checks herself in a compact mirror, smoothes her hair, and licks the lipstick off her teeth. She looks at the tobacco stains on her fingertips, and wonders if her parents will notice. If they’re there.

She walks into the terminal not knowing what to expect. Not one of the thousand scenes that have played out in her mind prepare her for what she sees. There, in the concrete-walls-and-plastic-chairs bus terminal in Traverse City, Michigan, stands a group of forty brothers and sisters and great-aunts and uncles and cousins and a grandmother and great-grandmother to boot. They’re all wearing goofy party hats and blowing noise-makers, and taped across the entire wall of the terminal is a computer-generated banner that reads “Welcome home!”

Out of the crowd of well-wishers breaks her dad. She stares out through the tears quivering in her eyes like hot mercury and begins the memorized speech, “Dad, I’m sorry. I know…”

He interrupts her. “Hush, child. We’ve got no time for that. No time for apologies. You’ll be late for the party. A banquet’s waiting for you at home.”  

Here’s to new beginnings, new hope (thanks, New Hope Academy!) and 15:20


16 thoughts on “15:20

  1. KaKa says:

    Praise you Jesus. Rush of Fools sings it so great in their song Undo, “You’re the only One who can undo what (he’s) become. My thoughts and prayers are with you this weekend.


  2. chaos-jamie says:

    I’m so happy for you! praying all goes well (6 minutes, 6 days, 6 weeks, 6 months, 6 years….and beyond)


  3. pasturescott says:

    Love you, KaKa. I’ve heard the song and it’s just as you said to me earlier today, “It was God who has done the work.” And, don’t you know, He does quality work!

    Ecclesiastes 3:11,14


  4. pasturescott says:

    Bless you Jamie! We’re agreeing with you in prayer about that “beyond” you spoke of…

    Thanking God for you and all our brothers and sisters who stand with us (and sometimes even for us!)


  5. brotherjohnny says:

    Scott, I’m so pleased to hear this good news.

    Our Lord is Good.
    Here we are, in Him, right now, and your son…
    and now he is also your little brother.

    Oh my, how wonderful is the Lord our God?!


  6. marie says:

    Rejoicing with you and Sandy and praying the LORD’s protection over you as you travel. LORD, give Graham the strength to put his hands to the plow and not look back!


  7. pasturescott says:

    Bless you for these sentiments, JT, and for keeping this small community encouraged always in the Lord. Your praises to the High God resound!


  8. pasturescott says:

    Marie, you were on my heart today in the context of, “Man, how long has it been since I’ve even spoken to her?” and found myself miserably surprised. Imagine, going to the same weekly fellowship and having to converse over the web! Something about that seems foreign to me…

    BTW, are you ready for Maybell?

    She’s sure ready for you guys!

    Love to you!


  9. marie says:

    Hi Pastor! I actually saw you at the Post Office today and would have honked at you but was afraid I would cause you to wreck!!!

    Yes we are ready for Maybell! Went and bought her a toy she can destroy while whe is here. She adds a lot of happy energy to the house as we are all pretty lazy around here.

    Glad you are feeling better and I look forward to seeing you next week with your entire family about you!!!


  10. pasturescott says:


    Yes, I probably would’ve run into the mailbox!

    P.S. Don’t teach Maybell too many bad habits…



  11. Mandy Houk says:

    Scott – Your family will be on my heart all weekend (and after!). Thank you for sharing the Yancey passage. That book’s been collecting dust on my “to be read” stack for far too long.


  12. Lana G! says:

    This post has brought tears of joy to my eyes!

    May your “look what He “has begun” bring sweet consolation and I pray that in the years to come you can look back and say, “Praise God!Look what He has done!”

    Bless you and your family this weekend!


  13. brotherjohnny says:

    He who has begun a good work in him will complete it until the day of Christ Jesus!

    I think I understand why it is called the ‘good’ news, ya know?
    The Lord is revealing Himself more and more…, may we all continue to receive and apprehend!
    Praise our heavenly Father!!!


  14. Evelyn says:

    Truly a look into the wonders of our great God. Truly some time spent on stormy seas -but held in a safe place where the Lord watched, worked, taught, brought forth a miracle in the midst of it all. We believe with your family that the Lord is faithful to complete the good work that has begun. Pray that the Lord will use him as a voice to his peers and in what the Lord is doing in and through this generation. We rejoice with you all and thank God for all that He has and will continue to uphold and work through for His namesake. Love from on HIGH-The Huth Family


  15. pasturescott says:

    Thank you Mandy, Lana, JT and Evelyn…we are home, a family, some settling and adjusting of course, but the enemy is sporting a black eye and lost this round. We know something of him, though, don’t we? He is a relentless foe and will keep answering the bell (boy, am I on a metaphoric roll or what?) until Jesus grounds and grinds him under foot…thank you for your prayers. The evil one has reared his head on us more than once in the past 24-36 hours but God is covering, carrying, brooding, delivering and triumphing! Praise be to His eternal Name!


  16. brotherjohnny says:

    I trust that I speak for us all, here:

    We stand with you and your family, Scott.
    Greater is HE…!

    I know that you won’t lose heart.
    Man oh man am I glad that our Father doesn’t!!!

    The Spirit has begun a good work, brother, and He is faithful.

    You know, I am seeing more and more reality everywhere I turn.
    Brothers and sisters are opening up, sharing burdens, being there for one another, praying for one another, and even doing for one another.
    We are all in the midst of some kind of trial, some tribulation…
    There are gruntings and groanings going on within all of us, I believe…
    intercession, pleadings, working…
    The Spirit of our Lord is moving and shaking, emptying out and filling up, getting His house in order.

    He is so good,…through it all, He is good.


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