God loves to forgive sinners. As Christ’s parable of the prodigal son demonstrates, He is eager to extend mercy to the penitent. Not only that, the Father stands ready to lavish on His children an endless reservoir of love.

“The father said to his slaves, ‘Quickly bring out the best robe and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand and sandals on his feet” (Luke 15:22). Having ceremonially crowned his repentant son with the highest honor and privilege, the prodigal’s father still was not finished.

Next, he called for the party to end all parties: “‘Bring the fattened calf, kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found.’ And they began to celebrate” (Luke 15:23-24).

The fact that one man living with his elder son had a “fattened calf” on hand is one of the main signals Jesus gives that they were not merely well-to-do; they were extremely wealthy. They had a special calf, well fed and deliberately underexercised, in order to produce the most tender, tasty, prime meat. The Greek expression translated “fattened” literally means grain fed. So that calf would have provided the choicest grain-fed veal. That’s an expensive luxury even today. But in first-century culture, where any kind of meat was consumed only on special occasions and range-fed meat from full-grown cattle was an expensive commodity, no one but the wealthiest landowner would even have thought of feeding precious grain to an animal.

Such a calf would have been fattened only for an extraordinary occasion, such as the wedding of a firstborn son or a once-in-a-lifetime banquet held to celebrate the arrival of an important dignitary. The animal would have been carefully selected well in advance of the occasion, generously fed, diligently cared for, and kept penned up, apart from the herd. Timing the breeding process around the planned event was crucial, because calves obviously don’t remain calves very long. Corn-fed veal is typically slaughtered when the calf is about five months old. To have an extra fattened calf on hand would have been highly unusual (if not totally unheard of).

So it appears this father decided that the return of his wayward son was a more monumental reason for celebration than whatever event he had already planned. He could easily substitute some lesser fare and scale back the menu he was preparing for the other event. But this event, the sudden return of his long-lost son, called for the most massive of all celebrations—a megafeast. For that, he had to kill the fattened calf.

By the way, the average five-month-old, corn-fed veal calf weighs some five hundred pounds. It would be enough to feed hundreds of people. (The better cuts alone would provide more than enough for two hundred people, and since everything usable would go into some dish or another, a calf like this would provide massive amounts of food.) Preparations would have taken the rest of the day, and the festivities would have continued deep into the night. It would not have been unusual for a gala such as this to last three days or more. Everyone in the village would have been invited.

This would have undoubtedly been the greatest event and the grandest celebration that had ever happened in that family. It would have been probably the biggest affair the village had ever seen. From the perspective of the father, that was fitting. No event could have brought more joy to him than the return of his lost son. And here again we have a vivid picture of heaven’s joy whenever one lost sinner repents.

The father’s great joy is evident in his words: “For this son of mine was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found” (Luke 15:24). Whether or not he had literally held the customary funeral service for his son when the boy fled into the far country, this father had clearly reckoned the boy dead. He had had a very frail hope but no real expectation that he would ever see the boy again. He had been living with that grief, in a constant state of bereavement, mourning the loss of a precious son, since the day the prodigal walked away. He longed for the boy’s return, pictured in his mind what it would be like to see him restored, and prayed for the opportunity to grant his forgiveness.

He had hardly dared to hope for such a day as this, but now it had finally arrived. The son who was dead was now “up and alive.” (That's the literal meaning of the expression in Luke 15:24.) The boy who was lost had at last been found. The father had the great joy he had long dreamed about: to hand the son his life back. The son now had a new status and a new attitude. Father and son were at last reconciled. For the first time ever, the prodigal had a real, vital relationship with a loving, forgiving father who gave him full rights to everything he possessed, and blessing upon blessing.

We could hardly blame the prodigal son for feeling like he had more reason to celebrate than anyone. He had entrusted his life to the father, and the father had absolutely amazed and overwhelmed him by entrusting his resources to him. The son was finally home, in the father’s house, a true member of the family. He had every reason to remain faithful and devote the rest of his life to his father’s honor.

Now, consider an important truth that is patently obvious but not expressly spelled out for us in Jesus’ telling of the parable: This celebration was not about the son’s behavior. Even his repentance—as wonderful as it was—did not merit this kind of extravagant honor. What, exactly, was this party celebrating? A moment’s thought will yield a clear answer because it is, after all, the whole theme of Luke 15. This was about the sheer joy of redemption.

In effect, then, the celebration was really in honor of the father’s goodness to his undeserving son. The father is rejoicing not because the son has somehow managed to do something to earn his favor—the boy really hadn’t done anything truly praiseworthy. Rather, the father was rejoicing because he now had the long-awaited opportunity to forgive and restore the son who had so badly dishonored him and brought him so much grief.

In other words, the celebration here is for the father’s sake, not the son’s. It was the father who gave this boy back his life and his privileges. It was the father who forgave him, restored him to sonship, gave him true liberty, and showered him with tokens of love. So this father, who apparently felt no shame, threw a party so that he could share the joy of his own kindness with everyone. That kind of joy is infectious, exhilarating, refreshing, and full of glory. It is a superbly suitable picture of heaven’s joy.

I love the language at the end of verse 24, “They began to celebrate” (emphasis added). This was only the start. And this is the picture of a party that never ends.

That’s what heaven’s joy is all about. It is the eternal celebration of the extravagant grace of a loving Father to penitent, believing, but altogether unworthy sinners. Heaven’s joy doesn’t end when a sinner comes home; that’s only the beginning. Did you ever wonder what the saints will do in heaven? This is how we will spend eternity—in never-ending celebration of the joy of our heavenly Father.

(Adapted from The Prodigal Son)