Having grown up in church I've seen people come and go, choosing their sin, failures, victories, deceptions, perceptions or what not, over the redeeming gospel of Jesus Christ. Let me tell you, you never get used to watching a brother, or sister walk out on their family. It is terribly heart wrenching. Awfully, terribly so.
This feeling in my heart has led me to appreciate God's love and heart for man more than ever. And in the context of Luke 15, it makes me wonder how did the father respond to his son's betrayal? Was he shocked or knowing his son, had he seen it coming? Did he weep? How long did he mourn the loss of his son? Luke 15:20 says that "while he was still a long way off, his father saw him" it makes me believe that the father was on the lookout for his son. Kinda like he never gave up hope that the prodigal would return.
I like to believe that that is true for God the Father as well. He is so grieved when people choose to walk away from his love and the safety of his arms. He love us, and hates the sins and lies that ensnare us. That being said, I believe his desire is that all would return. It's never too late to come home. There is always room in the Father's house. As a matter of fact He'll even throw a party to celebrate your return.
This gives me hope. As I stand in the gap for friends, family, and others whom I love and cherish, I am reminded that God loves them more and is awaiting their return. That is the side of the story that fascinates me. I can imagine the prodigal's father standing on the balcony the morning his son left. He had been told the news a few days prior. Maybe he tried to haggle with his son, talk him down, convince to stay a little longer. One more week, month, year... And when he realised his son had made up his mind, I just see him bowing his head in resignation, letting out a little sigh and responding "As you wish." Right before heading to his office to do the leg work on splitting up his belongings.
Once all the paper work was done, lawyers called, will edited and the necessary properties liquidated, he handed his son his share. He might have even inputted a last ditch plea, tears welling up in his eyes. But his son, heart hardened, just took his money and headed to his room to finish the last of his packing. He had a big day tomorrow, he needed his beauty sleep.
The next morning, I can picture the father waking up from a listless sleep. he had spent most of the night in tears, praying for his son. Begging God to return him home safely, and seeking solace in the truth that God loved his son more than he ever could. So as the sun arose on this mournful, new dawn, he walked over to his balcony to watch his son go. Silently he hoped he would change his mind, or at least turn around to wave goodbye. But the son was determined and focused. Head high, he walked down the lonely road of their property towards what he felt was his destiny. Finally! Freedom had arrived. And as he turned the last corner, a single tear marked his father's face. The father stood for a second longer to take in the reality of this moment, and then went on with his day. But his heart stayed right there. Inside he had never left the balcony, and was waiting upon his son's return.
Hoping.
Praying.
Hard as it may be, this is the heart I want to have towards the lost, broken, and used to bes. I want death to be the only thing keeping me from believing in God's ability to transform a life. As long as they have breath in their lungs, and a heart that beats, and I am willing to stand, pray, and contend, there is hope. I have decided this year that when it comes to the fallen, I will be like the father "ever standing on the balcony of my heart."
This choice has already cost me a few tears, and inevitable heart ache. Choosing to trust, to stand, to believe despite all evidence against, is not easy but that is the call of love. The real kind. It bothers me when people walk out of the church and we as the body respond with a glance, petty thought or empty word, and move on with life. Now bear with me, I don't think the universe should stop every time a Christian leaves the faith. But it should cause us to pause, grieve, check our hearts and ask God some serious questions, like how we should pray for them.
Call me crazy, but I still believe deep down that prayer can change a thing, and that if I am diligent and persistent, and pray within God's will anything is possible. My heart is that we would see a generation leave their hearts on the balcony for their brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, friends, foes, lovers, haters, neighbours, husbands, wives, and others. That we wouldn't stand for the hemorrhaging of our body, but be the hands of healing calling them home.
May we see the battle as a spiritual one, and take up the right arms. May we echo David's heart in 1 Samuel 30 when he surveyed the kidnapping of a generation and asked his God, "Shall I pursue?" and with the Lord's blessing he and his men, worn, and grieved as they were, went out and fought to rescue their loved ones. It may be one fought on our knees, but it is a battle nonetheless, let us not let it pass us by. Let us stand on guard with one cry...
Ever standing on the balcony of our hearts.
Bonus: This song gets me every time!
Tears of the Saints, Leeland
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