As the Prodigal son returned home he prepared a dreadful speech. He no longer wanted to be known as a son. He wanted to live among the servants. He wanted to earn his wage. But sometimes the most gracious thing Grace can do is refuse to listen, so the Father ignored the speech and interrupted his son by calling for new clothes, the family ring, and lavish feast. The prodigal son never got to the end of that speech.

God’s grace won’t allow anyone to speak ill of the family—not even the family members themselves. Grace turns a deaf ear to our self-pity and offers us a banquet of joy. Grace is far too kind a host to turn the conversation to what we deserve. If someone else brings up the topic grace will certainly change the subject.

Grace doesn’t kill the buzz. Grace doesn’t leverage the past in order to get what it wants in the future. Grace does more than live in the moment: it is the moment. It fills every glass and raises a toast to the days ahead. Grace creates a welcome the prodigal will never forget.

And yet grace is not some second-hand Greek god of wine, all celebration and no reflection. Grace is patient and wise in ways we do not expect. Grace is well aware of the years to come, the wounds to mend, and the work of rebuilding a life in the Father’s house. After the welcome, after the tears, and when the fancy dishes are put away the deep work of grace begins: learning from past and shaping the future. There is a time to hear about the days gone by, and when that time comes grace is good listener. The right time could take weeks or months to surface. It could be over quiet morning coffee or after the children fall asleep. Grace waits for the moment. Grace asks gentle questions, and grace redeems the past.

Grace is no mere metaphor: consider the hateful, murderous heart of a man named Saul, who attacked the church of Jesus, imprisoned followers of Christ, and lived a life of religious violence, all in the name of God. Years after the God of grace confronted him on that Damascus road, he spoke of the present and his past:

I am the least of the apostles, unworthy to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God. But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me was not in vain. On the contrary, I worked harder than any of them, though it was not I, but the grace of God that is with me. 1 Corinthians 15:9-10

Grace worked powerfully in the life of the Apostle Paul. He reflected on what he had done and who he had been. The result of grace-filled reflection was not a past ignored but a life redeemed.

This is the way of grace: she allows her guests to choose when and how they will speak of their past. After the shame has subsided and the fear has turned to mist, grace allows us to tell the truth about our past. It transforms secrets into stories of hope. In the quiet moments of grace, you may find your hope buried in the rubble of the past. Grace will listen, and you will learn.