The Eleventh Hour and the Father's Prayer

"¹⁰Now when those hired first came, they thought they would receive more, but each of them also received a denarius. ¹¹And on receiving it they grumbled at the master of the house, ¹²saying, 'These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat.' ¹³But he replied to one of them, 'Friend, I am doing you no wrong. Did you not agree with me for a denarius? ¹⁴Take what belongs to you and go. I choose to give to this last worker as I give to you. ¹⁵Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or do you begrudge my generosity?' ¹⁶So the last will be first, and the first last."

Matthew 20:10-16 (ESV)

There are names we carry in our hearts that feel heavier than others. We whisper them in the quiet of the morning, hoping for a change that never seems to come. Perhaps, if we are honest, we have even stopped expecting an answer. We have prayed for years, maybe decades, and the wall remains.

But what if the silence is not a denial, but a preparation?

In Matthew 20:10-16, we read of laborers hired at the eleventh hour. These were men who worked but a fraction of the day yet received the full wage. It is a passage that offends our sense of fairness but delights our need for grace. I was recently reminded of this truth by a story from a mentor of mine, a pastor we'll call Mr. P. It is the story of Hosea, a man who lived eighty-two years without knowing the Lord and but a few days with Him.

I first heard Hosea's name just a couple years ago, during my college days. I would meet Mr. P on Sunday evenings for discipleship, and he would often ask for prayer regarding a man he visited in a local nursing home. Hosea was in his eighties and was, by all accounts, in full rejection of the Lord. He didn't just ignore faith; he actively disliked it.

Yet, Mr. P was faithful to the mundane work of ministry. He visited Hosea semi-regularly, always asking the same question: "Would you like to talk about faith today?"

And for years, the answer was always the same: "No."

The Shift

Time passed. Rhythms changed. Recently, I met Mr. P for coffee, and he shared the end of the story. Hosea had suffered a severe stroke. The doctors gave him only weeks to live. Sensing the urgency, Mr. P went to the nursing home. Hosea was debilitated, unable to speak, communicating only through hand squeezes.

Mr. P sat beside him and asked the familiar question one more time. "Would you like to talk about faith today? Squeeze my hand for yes, stay limp for no."

Hosea's hand remained limp. A rejection. Even at the door of death, the answer was no. Mr. P sat with him for a little while longer then left with the same sense of urgency.

But the Holy Spirit is not bound by our timelines. The very next day, Mr. P received a phone call from Hosea's son. "He's asking for you," the son said. "He wants to see you."

Mr. P returned immediately. He walked into the room and asked, "Do you want to talk about Jesus?"

"Yes."

It was audible. The stroke had not stolen this confession. Mr. P began to ask the questions that matter most: Do you believe Jesus saved you? Do you believe He is the only way? Do you know you have done nothing to earn this?

To each question, the answer was "Yes."

Hosea spent his final conscious moments expressing love to his family and regretting he hadn't made the decision sooner. Two days later, his heart stopped beating in this broken world, and he stepped into eternity. He was the thief on the cross. He was the laborer at the eleventh hour.

The Letter

But the story does not end there.

While making funeral arrangements, Mr. P was handed a copy of an old letter written by Hosea's father decades ago. He was a faithful man who spoke of the gospel often to his children, yet he watched his son drift far from the truth. This paper wasn't just a letter; it was a desperate prayer, dated from when Hosea was a young man in the 1950s.

"O, God, through Jesus Christ, hear my prayer and request this day. Everlastingly and forever save by the power of the Holy Ghost, [my other children], and Hosea, my five children. Oh Jesus, don't let a single one of these persons by name mentioned go to everlasting hell... Jesus do this for me. I believe you will and I am expecting to see you do it. Do it now, while their hearts are young and tender."

As I read those words, my eyes filled with tears. Hosea's father prayed for a "young and tender" heart. God answered that prayer, but He answered it when Hosea was eighty-two.

Hosea spent thousands of days breathing in rebellion, yet he died in grace. It is a beautiful picture of God's patience, but also a sobering reminder of the fragility of time. We often tell ourselves we have more time to repent, to pray, to speak. But as J.C. Ryle warned in Thoughts for Young Men:

"Tomorrow is the devil's day, but today is God's. Satan does not care how spiritual your intentions are, or how holy your resolutions, if only they are determined to be done tomorrow."

Hosea almost ran out of tomorrows. His story reminds us that our timeline is not God's timeline. We look at the clock and panic; God looks at the heart and prepares.

Reflecting on the Long Wait

Who is the "Hosea" in your life, the person you have stopped praying for because the door seems shut?
Are we willing to be faithful in the mundane, like Mr. P, asking the invitation again and again even when the result looks like failure?
Do we trust that God's "eleventh hour" is just as perfect as His "first hour"?