The Father Who Waited: A Father’s Day Commentary on the Prodigal Son
Father’s Day usually spotlights strength—strong arms, strong wills, strong guidance. But the most powerful father in Scripture didn’t slay giants or swing a hammer. He waited.
Jesus tells the story of a younger son who demands his inheritance early, squanders it in wild living, and ends up feeding pigs in a foreign land. Broke and broken, he decides to return home, hoping just to be treated like a servant. But while he’s still a long way off, his father sees him, runs to him, and welcomes him with open arms, a robe, and a feast.
In the story, we tend to focus on the boy—his rebellion, his fall, his return. But tucked inside that parable is a father who does the hardest thing a parent can do: he lets go. Not out of apathy or anger, but out of love. A love that understood you can’t chain someone to wisdom. You can’t force maturity. So he let the door swing open—and watched his son walk into a dangerous, disorienting world.
That father waited. Not with crossed arms, but with hope. Not with “I told you so,” but with open arms and a robe ready. Maybe he checked that road every single day.
And when his son returned—filthy, broke, humbled—the father ran.
Some fathers rescue. Others wait—on the porch, in prayer, through tears. They watch their kids stumble and ache with every wrong turn. They don’t chase rebellion, but they never close the door. That kind of fatherhood is a holy ache.
And while we’re at it, let’s not forget—this isn’t just the story of one wayward son. It’s the story of two brothers, both a little bit jerky in their own way. One was reckless and ran off. The other stayed put but simmered with self-righteousness. And the father loved them both. Grace wasn’t just for the one who left; it was for the one who stayed angry, too. This story isn’t just about a prodigal—it’s about a parent who loved beyond reason.
And in a world that’s louder, faster, and more distracted than ever, where dads are pulled in a hundred directions and time slips by like the verses of Cat’s in the Cradle, the call to be present might just be the most countercultural move of all. That father didn’t wait for the perfect moment or make his son earn his way back. He ran. He embraced. He restored.
To every dad, granddad, or spiritual father who’s left the porch light on—we see you. Thank you for loving with patience, for letting go when you had to, and for running when it mattered most.
Thank you for reading.
