A Tale of Two Sons

After exposing the vile nature of the Prodigal's sin, MacArthur turns to our sin, and removes any distinction between the prodigal and us.

The Prodigal Son is a living symbol of every sinner who has ever lived—including you and me. And therefore we need to pay careful attention to the warning Jesus gives us in this part of the parable.

All sin involves precisely this kind of irrational rebellion against a loving heavenly Father. Sin’s greatest evil lies not in the fact that it is a transgression of the Law—although it most certainly is that (1 John 3:4). But the real wickedness of sin stems from its nature as a personal affront to a good and gracious Lawgiver. Our sin is a calculated, deliberate violation of the relationship we have with our Creator. . . .

When we sin, we show disdain for God’s fatherly love as well as His holy authority. We spurn not merely His law, but also His very person. To sin is to deny God His place. It is an expression of hatred against God. It is tantamount to wishing He were dead. It is dishonoring to Him. And since all sin has at its heart this element of contempt for God, even the smallest sin has enough evil to unleash an eternity full of mischief, misfortune, and misery. The fact that the entire world of human evil all stemmed from Adam’s simple act of disobedience is vivid proof of that (Romans 5:12, 19; 1 Corinthians 15:21–22).

Moreover, sin always bears evil fruit. We cannot take the good gifts God has surrounded us with, barter them away as if they were nothing, and then not expect to reap the consequences of spiritual poverty that are the inevitable result.

Here’s a shocking reality: the Prodigal Son is not merely a picture of the worst of sinners; he is a symbol of every unredeemed sinner-alienated from God and without a hope in the world (Ephesians 2:12). He is a precise and living effigy of the entire human race—fallen, sinful, and rebellious. Worse yet, his character reflects not only the state of our fallen race as a whole but also the natural condition of every individual ever conceived by a human father since the fall of Adam. We all begin this life with our backs turned against God; desiring to flee far from Him, with no regard for His love, no appreciation of His generosity, and no respect for His honor.

It’s true: the evil motives that drove the Prodigal are the natural tendencies of every fallen human heart. “The carnal mind is enmity against God; for it is not subject to the law of God, nor indeed can be. So then, those who are in the flesh cannot please God” (Romans 8:7–8). We are “by nature children of wrath,” born with a sinful nature and helplessly dominated by fleshly desires (Ephesians 2:2–3).

In other words, we are all prodigal sons and daughters. Every one of us is guilty of self-indulgence, dissipation, and unrestrained lust. We have been heedless to the consequences of sin and reckless in the pursuit of evil. Apart from God’s restraining grace, every one of us would have long ago sold our birthright, wasted our lives, and squandered every blessing God has given us-trading away His bountiful, daily goodness in exchange for a brief moment of cheap self-gratification.

—John MacArthur, A Tale of Two Sons (Thomas Nelson, 2008), 78–79.

But when he came to his senses, he said, “How many of my father’s hired men have more than enough bread, but I am dying here with hunger!”

—Luke 15:17

Here, I am convinced, is where true repentance always begins: with an accurate assessment of one's own condition. Everyone-from the profligate sinner who is a complete wastrel (such as this young man) to the most fastidious, patronizing Pharisee-needs to face the reality that the sinfulness we have inherited from Adam has made us spiritual paupers. No sinner has the means to atone for his or her own sin or the ability to overcome the power of sin that holds us. Our sin has put us in a desperate situation.

—John MacArthur, A Tale of Two Sons (Thomas Nelson, 2008), 89–90.

Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy holy spirit from me.

—Psalm 51:11

Martyn Lloyd-Jones on the nature of genuine repentance, as seen in Psalm 51:

I do not hesitate to assert that this is perhaps the most subtle and delicate test as to whether we have repented, or where we are: our attitude towards God. Have you noticed it in the psalm? The one against whom David has sinned is God, and yet the one he desires above all is God. That is the difference between remorse and repentance. The man who has not repented, but who is only experiencing remorse, when he realizes he has done something against God, avoids God. . . . The man who has not been dealt with by the Spirit of God and has not been convinced and convicted, tries to get away from God, to avoid him at all costs. He does not think, he does not read the Bible, he does not pray; he does everything he can not to think about these things. But the extraordinary thing about the man who is convicted of sin by the Holy Spirit is that though he knows he has sinned against God, it is God he wants—“Be merciful to me, O God.” He wants to be with God—that is the peculiar paradox of repentance, wanting the one I have offended!

—quoted by John MacArthur, A Tale of Two Sons (Thomas Nelson, 2008), 97–98.

This is possibly the most potent single sentence, outside of Scripture, that I’ve ever read:

Consider this: of all the iniquities the Prodigal had indulged in, the one sin with the most potential for evil was the great distance he had put between him and his father.

—John MacArthur, A Tale of Two Sons (Thomas Nelson, 2008), 102.

But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion for him, and ran and embraced him and kissed him.

—Luke 15:20

The prodigal’s father was so anxious for his son’s return that, when he saw him, he ran to meet him. This indicates a great deal more than joyful haste to meet his long-awaited son. It indicates a profound humility on the part of the father. Even today, in our hurried western culture, adults do not run under normal circumstances. We normally run only in emergencies or in controlled contexts in which running is appropriate, such as sporting events. We don’t normally see a man dressed in business attire, briefcase in hand, running down the sidewalk. That would be undignified. Yet, we can imagine a loving father running to meet a long lost son, and so we must enter the world in which this story was told to grasp the significance of the father’s race to greet his returning son. John MacArthur writes:

And make no mistake: in the context of that culture, the father’s action of running to the boy and embracing him before he even came all the way home was seen as a shameful breech of decorum. In the jaded perspective of the scribes and Pharisees, this was just one more thing that added to the father’s shame. For one thing, noblemen in that culture did not run. Running was for little boys and servants. Grown men did not run—especially men of dignity and importance. They walked magisterially, with a slow gait and deliberate steps. But Jesus says “his father . . . ran” (v. 20; emphasis added). He did not send a servant or a messenger ahead to intercept his son. And it was not merely that he quickened his pace. He himself ran. The text uses a word that speaks of sprinting, as if he were in an athletic competition. The father gathered up the hem of his robe and took off in a most undignified manner.

The image of a respectable, wealthy, honorable man such as this running seems so out of place in Middle Eastern culture that Arabic Bible translators have traditionally been reluctant to translate the phrase without resorting to a euphemism such as “he hurried,” or “he presented himself.” Kenneth E. Bailey, an evangelical Bible commentator who lived in the Middle East and made careful studies of the language and culture there, wrote:

The reluctance on the part of the Arabic versions to let the father run is amazing. . . . For a thousand years a wide range of such phrases were employed (almost as if there was a conspiracy) to avoid the humiliating truth of the text—the father ran! The explanation for all of this is simple. The tradition identified the father with God, and running in public is too humiliating to attribute to a person who symbolizes God. Not until 1860, with the appearance of the Bustani–Van Dyck Arabic Bible, does the father appear running. The work sheets of the translators are available to me and even in that great version the first rendition of the Greek was “he hurried,” and only in the second round of the translation process does rakada (he ran) appear. The Hebrew of Prov. 19:2 reads, “He that hastens with his feet sins” (my translation). The father represents God. How could he run? He does.’

The father was humbling himself, even though the Prodigal Son was the one who should have been doing so.

—John MacArthur, A Tale of Two Sons (Thomas Nelson, 2008), 113–114.

And the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and in your sight; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his slaves, ‘Quickly bring out the best robe and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand and sandals on his feet; and bring the fattened calf, kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found.’ And they began to celebrate.

—Luke 15:21–24

[The parable of the Prodigal Son] reminds us that Christ receives sinners who are in exactly the same situation as the Prodigal Son—unclean, clothed in filthy rags, utterly bereft of any assets, with nothing whatsoever to commend themselves to Christ. He receives them with the same kind of gladness seen in this parable—and infinitely more. In the words of Romans 4:5, Christ “justifies the ungodly.” If that thought doesn't make you want to weep with gratitude, then you have probably never felt yourself in the place of the Prodigal Son, and you need to pray for repentance.

—John MacArthur, A Tale of Two Sons (Thomas Nelson, 2008), 131.

John MacArthur’s subtitle of A Tale of Two Sons hints at a different story than the one we learned in Sunday School: “The Inside Story of a Father, His Sons, and a Shocking Murder.” Murder? I don’t remember that part. But you will remember that the story seems unfinished, with the elder brother angrily standing outside. A proper happy ending would have him repenting of his bitter resentment, begging his father’s forgiveness, and being welcomed into the celebration. The family would have been united in joy. But that ending is missing. The real ending, left untold, was finished in real life.

Don’t forget that Jesus told this parable—including the abrupt ending—chiefly for the benefit of the scribes and Pharisees. It was really a story about them. The elder brother represented them. The hanging resolution underscored the truth that the next move was theirs. The father’s final tender plea was Jesus’ own gentle appeal to them. If they had demanded to know the end of the parable on the spot, Jesus might well have said to them, “That is up to you.” The Pharisees’ ultimate response to Jesus would write the end of the story in real-life.

We therefore know how the tale really ended, then, don’t we? It is not a happy ending. Instead, it’s another shocking plot turn. In fact, it is the greatest shock and outrage of all time.

They killed Him.

Since the father figure in the parable represents Christ and the elder brother is a symbol of Israel’s religious elite, in effect, the true ending to the story, as written by the scribes and Pharisees themselves, ought to read something like this: “The elder son was outraged at his father. He picked up a piece of lumber and beat him to death in front of everyone.”

—John MacArthur, A Tale of Two Sons (Thomas Nelson, 2008), 194–195.

We also have a story. Whether we are the prodigal or the elder brother, the ending to our story depends upon our response to Christ.

The invitation to be part of the great celebratory banquet is still open to all. It extends even to you, dear reader. And it doesn’t matter whether you are an open sinner like the Prodigal Son, a secret one like his elder brother, or someone with characteristics from each type. If you are someone who is still estranged from God, Christ urges you to acknowledge your guilt, admit your own spiritual poverty, embrace your heavenly Father, and be reconciled to Him (2 Corinthians 5:20).

And the Spirit and the bride say, “Come!” And let him who hears say, “Come!” And let him who thirsts come. Whoever desires, let him take the water of life freely. (Revelation 22:17)

Now, enjoy the celebration.

—Ibid., 198.