Returning to the Father: A Journey Through Renewal

We’re wrapping up a season of renewal, a time of reflection on what it means to worship with our whole hearts. This isn’t about going through the motions, checking a box, or fulfilling an obligation. It’s about renewal—of our hearts, minds, and souls—so that following Jesus remains a living, breathing relationship rather than a dry ritual.

A critical part of this renewal is how we engage with sin. That might sound strange at first. Why focus on sin when we’re talking about renewal? Because our relationship with sin often determines whether we find true renewal or remain stuck in cycles of avoidance or shame.

The Two Ways We Get Sin Wrong

Christians tend to fall into one of two camps when it comes to sin. Some take a casual approach: Jesus already died for my sins, so I don’t need to worry about them too much. It’s not that they openly abuse grace, but sin becomes abstract, something that doesn’t seem like a real problem.

Others go the opposite way. They take sin so seriously that they can’t bear to face it. It’s too overwhelming, too shameful. So they avoid it, pretending it’s not there, much like a child pulling a blanket over their head and thinking they’ve disappeared.

Both responses lead to spiritual dryness. One dismisses the gravity of sin; the other lets guilt and shame keep them from the presence of God. Neither allows for true renewal.

A Story About Sin, Grace, and Coming Home

Jesus tells a story in Luke 15 that speaks directly to these two attitudes. The parable of the prodigal son is familiar, maybe too familiar. Sometimes, the most dangerous thing in faith is thinking, I already know this story. But when we truly engage with it, we find something deeply personal—something that invites us to renewal.

The younger son starts with a request: Father, give me my share of the inheritance. This wasn’t just about money. In that culture, asking for an inheritance while the father was still alive was essentially saying, I wish you were dead. The son wasn’t just being reckless; he was severing his relationship with his father.

He takes his money and runs, chasing freedom and fulfillment on his own terms. But his plans unravel. The money runs out. A famine hits. He finds himself feeding pigs—an unthinkable situation for a Jewish man. He’s hungry, desperate, and alone.

Then comes a moment of clarity: He came to himself. He realizes that even his father’s servants live better than this. He decides to return, but with expectations set low. He’ll beg to be a servant, because surely he has forfeited his place as a son.

What We Expect vs. What God Gives

The younger son expects punishment, distance, or at best, reluctant acceptance. Instead, his father runs to meet him. In that culture, dignified men didn’t run. But this father, filled with compassion, doesn’t wait for his son to crawl back in shame. He embraces him, clothes him in the finest robe, places a ring on his hand, and throws a feast.

The son came home prepared to earn his way back, but the father never required it. His identity as a son was never up for negotiation.

This is the renewal we long for. Not just that God forgives us, but that He welcomes us back with open arms—before we even get the words out, before we can make our case, before we try to clean ourselves up.

The Other Lost Son

The older brother is just as lost, but in a different way. He has stayed, served, obeyed. But when his brother is welcomed back, he seethes with resentment. I’ve been here, doing everything right. Where’s my feast?

His struggle isn’t reckless rebellion, but self-righteousness. He believes he’s earned something, and it enrages him to see grace given so freely. But his father’s response is the same: You are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.

This story isn’t just about the younger brother’s return. It’s also about the older brother’s need to recognize that he, too, has always been invited into joy, into the feast, into grace.

Where Are You Running?
Both brothers ran—one away from home in open rebellion, the other away from grace in silent resentment. The difference is that one eventually turned back.

Sin always pulls us away from the presence of the Father. Sometimes it looks like rebellion, sometimes like bitterness. But renewal begins when we recognize where we are, when we acknowledge what we’re chasing, and when we turn back—not in shame, but in the confidence that we are still sons and daughters.

Where are you on your journey back to the Father? What are you running toward, and is it leading you closer to His presence or further away?

No matter how far you've gone, the Father sees you. He runs to meet you. And He’s already preparing a feast.

Come home.