Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit · Sermon No. 2236
“And kissed him.” Luke 15:20.
IN the Revised Version, if you will kindly look at the margin, you will find that the text there reads, “and kissed him much.” This is a very good translation of the Greek which might bear the meaning, “Kissed him earnestly,” or, “Kissed him eagerly,” or, “Kissed him often.” I prefer to have it in very plain language and, therefore, adopt the marginal reading of the Revised Version, “Kissed him much,” as the text of my sermon, the subject of which will be the overflowing love of God toward the returning sinner.
The first word, “and,” links us on to all that had gone before. The parable is a very familiar one, yet it is so full of sacred meaning that it always has some fresh lesson for us. Let us, then, consider the preliminaries to this kissing. On the son’s side, there was something, and on the father’s side, much more. Before the prodigal son received these kisses of love, he had said in the far country, “I will arise and go to my father.” He had, however, done more than that, otherwise his father’s kiss would never have been upon his cheek. The resolve had become a deed—“He arose, and came to his father.” A bushel full of resolutions is of small value—a single grain of practice is worth the whole. The determination to return home is good, but it is when the wandering boy begins the business of really carrying out the good resolve that he draws near the blessing. If any of you here present have long been saying, “I will repent. I will turn to God,” leave off resolving and come to practicing! And may God, in His mercy, lead you both to repent and to believe in Christ!
Before the kisses of love were given, this young man was on his way to his father, but he would not have reached him unless his father had come the major part of the way. When you give God an inch, He will give you a mile. If you come a little way to Him, when you are “yet a great way off” He will run to meet you. I do not know that the prodigal saw his father, but his father saw him. The eyes of mercy are quicker than the eyes of repentance. Even the eyes of our faith are dim compared with the eyes of God’s love. He sees a sinner long before a sinner sees Him!
I do not suppose that the prodigal traveled very fast. I should imagine that he came very slowly—
“With hea vy heart and downcast eye, With many a sob and many a sigh.” He was resolved to come, yet he was half afraid. But we read that his father ran. Slow are the steps of repentance, but swift are the feet of forgiveness! God can run where we can scarcely limp and if we are limping towards Him, He will run towards us. These kisses were given in a hurry. The story is narrated in a way that almost makes us realize that such was the case—there is a sense of haste in the very wording of it. His father “ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him”— kissed him eagerly! He did not delay a moment, for though he was out of breath, he was not out of love. “He fell on his neck, and kissed him much.” There stood his son ready to confess his sin—therefore did his father kiss him all the more. The more willing you are to acknowledge your sin, the more willing is God to forgive you. When you make a clean breast of it, God will soon make a clear record of it. He will wipe out the sin that you willingly acknowledge and humbly confess before Him. He that was willing to use his lips for confession found that his father was willing to use his lips for kissing him!
See the contrast. There is the son, scarcely daring to think of embracing his father, yet his father has scarcely seen him before he has fallen on his neck! The condescension of God towards penitent sinners is very great. He seems to stoop from His Throne of Glory to fall upon the neck of a repentant sinner. God on the neck of a sinner! What a wonderful pic-
ture! Can you conceive it? I do not think you can, but if you cannot imagine it, I hope that you will realize it. When God’s arm is about our neck, and His lips are on our cheek, kissing us much, then we understand more than preachers or books can ever tell us of His condescending love!
The father “saw” his son. There is a great deal in that word, “saw.” He saw who it was. He saw where he had come from. He saw the swineherd’s dress. He saw the filth upon his hands and feet. He saw his rags, saw his penitent look, saw what he had been, saw what he was and saw what he would soon be. “His father saw him.” God has a way of seeing men and women that you and I cannot understand. He sees right through us at a glance, as if we were made of glass. He sees all our past, present and future.
“When he was yet a great way off, his father saw him.” It was not with icy eyes that the father looked on his returning son. Love leaped into them and as he beheld him, he, “had compassion on him.” That is, he felt for him. There was no anger in his heart towards his son. He had nothing but pity for his poor boy who had got into such a pitiable condition. It was true that it was all his own fault, but that did not come before his father’s mind. It was the state that he was in— his poverty, his degradation—that pale face of his so wan with hunger that touched his father to the quick. And God has compassion on the woes and miseries of men. They may have brought their troubles on themselves and they have, indeed, done so. But, nevertheless, God has compassion upon them. “It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not.”