Have you ever lost something that mattered? That sinking feeling when you realise it’s gone. The retracing of steps. The relief when you find it, or the quiet ache when you don’t. We’ve all been there. And most of us, at some point, have been the thing that was lost.
In Mary Poppins Returns (2018), Emily Blunt sings a gentle ballad to the Banks children called “The Place Where Lost Things Go”. The children are grieving their mother. The song sits with the question we all ask in the dark hours: where do the things we’ve lost actually go, and is there any way to get them back?
That ache is universal. We all suffer loss. We all, sooner or later, get lost ourselves.
Three stories, one point
In Luke 15, Jesus is surrounded by people of dubious reputation. The religious scholars are unimpressed and start grumbling about the company he keeps. So Jesus tells them three stories: a shepherd searching for one missing sheep, a woman turning the house upside down for one lost coin, and a father whose son walks out and eventually walks back.
The point of all three is the same. Something valuable goes missing. Someone goes looking. And when it’s found, there’s a party.
God doesn’t give up on people
The thread running through every parable is the same. God’s love isn’t earned, and it doesn’t fade because you’ve wandered. The shepherd doesn’t write off the sheep. The father doesn’t lecture the returning son. He runs to him.
You and I tend to grade people by their performance. God doesn’t. Every person carries the same weight, the same value, the same possibility of being welcomed back. That should change how we look at the people around us, especially the ones easy to dismiss.
Coming home is the whole story
The Prodigal Son is the parable people remember, partly because the son is so clearly in the wrong, and partly because the welcome is so wildly disproportionate. He prepares his apology speech. The father isn’t even listening. The robe and the ring and the feast were already being arranged.
Repentance, in this story, isn’t a payment. It’s a turning around. And turning around is always met with open arms, no matter how long you’ve been gone, or how far.
Watch the older brother
The parable doesn’t end with the party. There’s an older brother sulking outside, refusing to come in, listing all the things he’s done right and all the things his sibling has done wrong. He’s the figure Jesus is really aiming at. The religious people who can’t bear that grace is being given to the wrong sort.
It’s worth asking which character we identify with. Most of us, if we’re honest, have spent time as both the wandering son and the older brother. The danger isn’t always in straying. Sometimes it’s in standing at the edge of the celebration, arms folded, sure that someone else doesn’t deserve it.
One more thing
Everyone is unique. Everyone matters. And God goes looking for anyone who is lost, no matter what they’ve done or where they’ve ended up. When they’re found, there’s joy, real joy, the kind that makes people throw parties.
So which are you right now: the one who’s wandered, or the one watching from the edge, wondering if grace is fair?