The Monk, the Painting, and the Father Who Runs: A Journey into Abba’s Love

Rembrandt van Rijn, The Return of the Prodigal Son (c. 1668), Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons.

A shorter version of a message originally shared at Whyte’s Causeway Baptist Church:

​Years ago, during my time with the L'Arche community, I was sent on a silent retreat. After days of profound quiet, we gathered in a large hall for a final meeting. At the front of that room hung a massive reproduction of Rembrandt’s The Return of the Prodigal Son.

​As I sat there, I witnessed something I’ve never forgotten: a Franciscan monk began to dance down the aisle.

​Watching him move in his habit with such uninhibited joy, I realized I was seeing someone who truly understood the heart of God. He wasn't just thinking about theology; he was experiencing the welcome of a Father. It was a physical manifestation of the joy of the Kingdom—the kind of joy that comes when you stop trying to earn a place at the table and realize you were invited all along.

​The True Self

​The late Brennan Manning, a man who was both an evangelical and a Franciscan, once wrote:

​"Define yourself radically as one beloved by God. This is the true self. Every other identity is illusion."

​Looking at Rembrandt’s painting, you see that "true self" in action. We often focus on the "prodigal" son, but the word prodigal actually means to be wasteful or extravagantly lavish. In this story, the Father is prodigal in a sense, in that He is deeply lavish with His grace and with His affection.

​The Moment of Return

​"While he was still a long way from the house, his father saw him. The father felt very sorry for his son. He ran to his son. He put his arms round him and he kissed him." > — Luke 15:20 (EasyEnglish Bible)

​Two Ways to be Lost

​The parable shows us that we don't have to leave the house to be lost; there are two different ways to wander:

• ​The Younger Son looked for life in the "far country." He wanted the Father’s inheritance, but not the Father’s company.
• ​The Older Son was lost right there in the yard. He was bitter, resentful, and viewed his relationship with his Father as a transaction of "slaving away." He stayed in the house but was just as far from the Father’s heart.

​The Father Who Runs

​In the culture of Jesus’ day, a patriarch would never run; it was considered undignified. But when the Father sees his son on the horizon, he throws dignity to the wind. He runs.

​He doesn't wait for the son to finish his rehearsed apology. He doesn't demand a "probationary period." He reinstates him immediately because, as the EasyEnglish Bible puts it: "This is because my son was like a dead person, but now he is alive again."

​From "Keep Out" to the Song of Songs

​There is a beautiful children’s book titled The Garden, the Curtain and the Cross that captures the weight of this moment. It explains that for centuries, the curtain in the Temple acted as a "stop sign." Because of our sin, it said: "Because of your sin, you can't come in."

​But when Jesus gave His life on the cross, that curtain—that "stop sign"—was ripped from top to bottom. The sign has been changed forever. It is no longer a warning; it is the invitation found in the Song of Songs:

​"Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, come with me... for lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone." (Song of Songs 2:10-11)

​The Gospel has turned the "Keep Out" sign into a love song. It says: "Come now, my love, come and be reconciled with your Abba."

​Whether you are reeling from the "far country" or standing bitter in the "home fields," the invitation is the same. There is a Father standing at the end of the driveway, looking at the horizon, ready to dance with joy—just like that Franciscan monk—the moment He sees you.

​It’s time to come home.