In Jesus’ story of the prodigal son, the younger brother’s rebellion against his dad is rooted in his desire to get his dad’s stuff without having his dad attached to the stuff. He asks for his share of his father’s “property” (Luke 15:11-12) rather than asking for his share of the “inheritance,” which would include the assumption that he would stick around and responsibly manage the estate along with his father.
That’s where rebellion against our heavenly father always starts: wanting our father’s stuff more than we want the father himself.
1600 years ago, the theologian Augustine discovered the same thing. Before he met Jesus, he lived like a lead singer in an 80’s hair band. Wine, women, and song. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. When he looked back on that life, he said this in his book Confessions:
There is a comeliness in all beautiful bodies, and in gold and silver and all things. The sense of touch has its own power to please and the other senses find their proper object in physical sensation. Worldly honor also has its own glory. The bond of human friendship has a sweetness of its own, binding many souls together as one.
In other words, God made women, wine, and song. Along with money, honor, and friendship. There’s nothing inherently wrong about them.
Yet, in seeking these pleasures, we must not depart from you, O Lord. … Sin is committed, because we have an inordinate preference for these goods of a lower order and neglect the better and the higher good – neglecting you, O our Lord God.
In other words, rebellion starts to take root when we start to love God’s gifts more than we love God himself. When God becomes a means to our own ends.
For these inferior values have their delights, but not at all equal to my God, who has made them all. He is the sweetness of those who are upright in heart.
That’s how rebels are redeemed. When we allow our heavenly father to be our ultimate source of satisfaction. When we love him more than his stuff. As Augustine says:
How sweet all at once it was for me to be rid of those fruitless joys which I had once feared to lose . . . You drove them from me, you who are the true, the sovereign joy.
You drove them from me and took their place, you who are sweeter than all pleasure, though not to flesh and blood, you who outshine all light, yet are hidden deeper than any secret in our hearts, you who surpass all honor, though not in the eyes of men who see all honor in themselves. . . . O Lord my God, my Light, my Wealth, and my Salvation.