The Distance Between Us: The Story of a Running Father

Even when we feel distant, or that our sin has separated us, the Father has already crossed heaven and Earth to unite us with Himself.

The Sistine Chapel is one of the most famous places of worship in the entire world. Located in the Vatican in Italy, it draws over 5 million visitors each year who come to witness one of humanity's greatest artistic achievements – the biblical scenes painted by Michelangelo himself.

The scope of this undertaking was staggering. The ceiling alone is 118 feet long and 46 feet wide. To paint it, Michelangelo had to stand suspended nearly 70 feet above the ground, looking upward for hours with paint constantly dripping onto his face. Over four years, he painted some 300 different figures, covering over 5000 square feet. After seeing it, one famous German philosopher declared that “Without having seen the Sistine Chapel one can form no appreciable idea of what one man is capable of achieving.”

The Gap Between God and Man

When people visit the Sistine Chapel today, most are looking for one painting in particular – a small section near the beginning of the narrative. “The Creation of Adam” shows two figures: Adam lazily reclining while God stretches, actively reaching toward him. But there's a gap between the two. Looking at it, we wonder: Why isn't Adam simply raising his finger? Why aren't the two touching?

In the painting, that gap between God and Adam is three quarters of an inch.

It's easy to see ourselves in Adam's place. The gap is less than an inch, but sometimes, for us, it can feel like a gigantic gulf. Many people have noted this “gap” and the feelings it evokes. Author Tom Berlin summed it up like this:

“It is the almost of life – what we would have, and could be, if only we would reach toward God as energetically as God reaches toward us. That gap is the distance between the life we have and the life we want. It is the empty space in the relationship with God that we feel even as we long for the communion with the one who created us.”

That's a powerful statement. It highlights how we as believers long for God, and yet, so often, he feels distant—especially when we stumble and sin. Personally, I can point to many times in my life when I felt that every time I stumbled, that gap only widened, and my greatest fear was if that distance grew to a certain point, God would retract his hand, maybe forever.

And worse, many times, I thought that maybe he already had.

A Different Kind of Gap

The idea of a “gap” is not unscriptural. But the way it's presented in scripture is a little different. To understand this, we need to look at a particular story Jesus told.

In Luke chapter 15, there are three parables. My Bible calls them "the parable of the lost sheep," "the parable of the lost coin," and "the parable of the lost son." While they're all beautiful parables, I want to focus on the third, beginning in verse eleven:

“And he said, 'There was a man who had two sons. And the younger of them said to his father, "Father, give me the share of property that is coming to me." And he divided his property between them. Not many days later, the younger son gathered all he had and took a journey into a far country, and there he squandered his property in reckless living.”

The context here is crucial. In the ancient near-east, the act of demanding your inheritance early would have been considered one of the most disgraceful and dishonorable things you could do. Sons only received their inheritance after the father had died. So it was basically like saying, "I wish you were dead."

Then, to take the money and leave would have left shame and dishonor on the entire family.

“And when he had spent everything, a severe famine arose in that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him into his fields to feed pigs. And he was longing to be fed with the pods that the pigs ate, and no one gave him anything.”

The Moment of Return

“But when he came to himself, he said, 'How many of my father's hired servants have more than enough bread, but I perish here with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and I will say to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Treat me as one of your hired servants.”

Let's pause here for a moment. After the son has spent all the money, a famine strikes the land, and he sells himself to "a citizen of that country," reduced to feeding pigs and envying them their food. But then, in verse 17, he "comes to himself." Many translations put it as "when he came to his senses."

He begins to feel the gap.

He makes up his mind to return to his father, but he doesn't believe that his father will accept him. He rehearses a few lines, intending to position himself as a servant, "no longer worthy" to be called son. He's afraid that unless he comes groveling back to his stern father, he will not be accepted.

He decides that he will try to close the gap.

A Story Retold

Now, at this point, it's easy to identify with the son. In fact, this story is often called "the prodigal son." But in many other parts of the world, the three parables of Luke 15 aren't referred to as "the parable of the lost sheep," "the parable of the lost coin," and "the parable of the lost son."

Instead, they are called "the parable of the Good Shepherd," “the parable of the Good woman," and – most significantly – “the parable of the running father.”

That's because ultimately, this isn't a story about the son. It's a story about the father.

And though the parable would have been shocking to the ancient audience, it wasn't a new story at all. It's the same story that God has been telling throughout the whole bible, beginning all the way back at Creation.

Closing the Gap

In the garden of Eden, God was always close. He walked in the Garden with them. There was no gap. But then came the fall:

_"And they heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden. But the Lord God called to the man and said to him, 'Where are you?' And he said, 'I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked, and I hid myself.'"_

Even then, it was God seeking them out, calling to them. But Adam hid. Why? Because sin had distorted his image of who God was, and now, his creator had become a source of fear.

He had begun to sense the gap.

But God had a plan. Some time later, God gave a vision of this plan to Jacob as he slept:

“And he dreamed, and behold, there was a ladder set up on the earth, and the top of it reached to heaven. And behold, the angels of God were ascending and descending on it! And behold, the Lord stood above it and said, 'I am the Lord, the God of Abraham your father and the God of Isaac. The land on which you lie I will give to you and to your offspring.... Behold, I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land. For I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”

Jacob called that place "Bethel," which means "house of God." God was making a promise—to bridge a gap even as wide as the one between heaven and Earth.

The God Who Pursues

Some time later, God came to his people, who had been enslaved in Egypt, and brought them out. When God himself describes this, in Exodus 19, he says:

"You yourselves have seen what I did to the Egyptians, and how I bore you on eagles' wings and brought you to myself."

There are countless more examples. You see, the entire Bible is the story of God bridging the distance between us and Him. Sin had brought separation, but it was always his intention to once again walk with us.

Now, let's return to our story. The son has come to his senses and decided to return home. But watch what happens next.

The Cultural Scandal

In modern times, we don't think twice about the idea of people running, especially for fitness. If you're driving down the road and see someone running on the sidewalk, you don't do a double take and gasp in surprise.

But in Jesus' time, people, especially patriarchs, never ran. In fact, "the more senior you were in your community, the less likely you were to even walk fast. It would show a complete lack of dignity." Worse, running would require one to lift their robes, exposing their legs—another disgraceful taboo of the time.

N.T. Wright says that in describing the Father as running, Jesus' story was "designed to have the same effect on his audience as we would experience if the Prime Minister were to show up for the opening of Parliament wearing a bathing costume."

A Father Who Couldn't Wait

There is a ton of meaning packed into what happens next. First, the Father saw the son when he was "still a long way off," implying that the Father had been watching for his son every day since he had left. Second, when he finally reaches him, he embraces him and kisses him.

The son didn't even have a chance to say the line he had rehearsed before he is enveloped in a giant hug.

But eventually he does say the lines:

"Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son."

And what does the father do? Accept his proposal to allow him back into his home with a new, degraded status, and with a stern warning to not let it happen again? Does the father ask for a promise to do better next time?

No. In fact, he doesn't even acknowledge the line at all.

Instead, the father says to his servants,

"Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate."

Then, the father speaks the words that the entire parable has been building toward, words that refused to validate the prodigal's perception of his lowered status:

"For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found."

The Father's True Heart

You see, in rehearsing his speech, the prodigal had thought to position himself as something other than what the Father called him, and in doing so, showed a fundamental misunderstanding of who his Father was.

Now, it is true that in his wandering, the Son had to make a decision. The father would not hold the son hostage in a place he didn't want to be. But even in deciding to return home, the prodigal had thought to bargain with the father, to make a transaction. He may have even believed that his Father loved him, but this knowledge was obscured by a fear of rejection.

Why? Because he realized that he had caused the gap between his father and himself, and he had no hope of fully crossing it.

The Gap We Create

There have been many, many times in my life that I identify with the son. I would pray things like "God, if you take this sin away, I will read my Bible every day." Or I'd say "I'm sorry Lord, I promise I'll do better."

I often felt like I was climbing Jacob's ladder, but always slipping down a few rungs, while God sat at the top, waiting and hoping I'd get my act together.

At times, I felt like the gap was enormous. At other times, when I felt close to God, the gap seemed small. But it was always there, and I felt shame knowing I was responsible for how big the gap was.

There are a lot of problems with this line of thinking, but perhaps most importantly, if I believe that the gap grows or shrinks based on my behavior, then notice that the focus is always on me.

You see, like the prodigal, I had a fundamental misunderstanding of God's character. Sin had caused the gap, but from the beginning, the father's true character is not a picture of him standing at the top of the ladder, or at the other side of the gap, waiting for me to cross.

The True Picture

In this parable, we see the image of him running, disregarding the transactional position the prodigal had assumed, embracing him, and calling him son.

This is the picture of God that Jesus wanted us to see.

That's good news. But in the parable, Jesus takes it a step further. With a sense of immediacy, and with no qualifications, the father gives him all the symbols of restored relationship, forgiveness, and full acceptance.

It's easy to identify with the son. But in reading this story, the real question isn't "what is this story telling about about me?", though that is certainly part of it. The real question is: "What is this story telling me about God?"

And in fact, in Jesus, we see a perfect parallel. The story of the running father isn't just about accepting us every time we return to him, though that is the case. Ultimately, it's about what God was willing to do to close the gap for good.

When the fullness of time had come, the painter entered the canvas. God became human. He brought the gap to mere inches. Like the running father, with no thought for himself, bore the disgrace of the cross, and forgave our sins. It was the blood of Christ that brought us near.

That's wonderful news.

But there's more! God wasn't content to just put up a ladder. The father didn't see his son from far away, run to meet him, and then give him a firm handshake.

Through his resurrection, Jesus pulled us *even closer,* raising us up with him and seating us in the heavenly places with Christ, according to Ephesians, and building us into a dwelling place for God himself—a new Beth-El.

This is not the image of an aloof ruler, stooping for a moment to our level—but of a creator whose entire goal, from the beginning, has been to unite us with himself.

That’s the best news there is.

I believe that Michelangelo had it partly right. God is reaching for us at all times, actively pursuing us.

His painting is beautiful, but I have a feeling that if Jesus were to paint the same concept, it might look something more like another famous painting, this one made by Rembrandt in the 1660s.

This is the image of a father who not only ran to meet his son but was the source of the son’s desire to return to him in the first place.

The story the Bible is telling us is that it’s not our job to try and close the gap—it’s to believe that He already has.

And as believers, it gets even better than that: He has pulled us out of the pigsty, put the ring of His seal on our finger, draped the robe of righteousness over our shoulders, seated us with Him, and, through the Spirit, dwells within us. It doesn’t get much closer than that.

There will be times when we feel like the gap is there. Sometimes sin makes us feel separated from God, like the entire space between heaven and earth—a vast stretch of dusty road between us.

We think, If only I could get my act together, I could approach God. If only I could lift my finger, I could finally touch Him.

We do need to make a decision—to follow Him and to do and believe what He says.

I can tell you, though, the difference between focusing on me, on my sin, on what I need to do to get closer, and shifting the focus to Jesus and what He’s done changes everything.

The truth is, even when our feelings say that He is distant, you never need to wonder where you stand with God. Because the picture He is painting—from creation, to celestial ladders, to the incarnation, death, and resurrection of Jesus—is not “how to get closer to God.”

It’s the picture of a Father, holding His child, after having run a great distance to embrace him.