4th Sunday of Lent C

What is it about the Prodigal Son that makes it so beloved?   Sure, we want to hear a story of forgiveness and mercy and know that we can always come home again.  But other stories share these same traits.  I think we are attracted to the distinct characters in this perfect parable. We feel we know the forgiving Father, the older brother and of course, the younger, prodigal son.  We identify with them, we root for them and defend our favorites.

I more admire the forgiving Father than identify with him.  I am not sure I would choose to be him for his is a difficult path.  We should all want his patience, mercy, generosity, and compassion even if in the back of our minds perhaps we think he might be a little naïve, or weak or even enabling. Yet, who would not want to be known for that of kindness and humility?

Then there is the older brother.  I identify with him because I am an older brother.  Actually, because I am the older brother.  I doubt my brother would argue that he was the more difficult child to raise.  The older brother is upset by the lavish treatment of his wayward sibling receives and refuses to enter the celebration.  I have heard many people express sympathy for the older brother. (Is the support of the older brother reveal our reservations about the Father?)  Yet, I always point out that there is a great party going on celebrating mercy and love, and the brother is out in the cold.  Ultimately, the story points to his jealousy and arrogance.  I was proud to be with the older brother.  Now I recognize that pride is what I share with him.

The younger son is a mess; just ridiculously bad.  Imagine asking your parents for your share of the inheritance while they are still alive then splitting for a faraway place.  Luke wonderfully says, “He squandered his inheritance on a life of dissipation.”  Before I understood what the words even meant, you could sense the emptiness, the waste.  After a famine struck, he hires himself out to take care of pigs and is actually jealous of them.  And that is really funny in a kosher society.  His return is hardly nobler.  He does not come back because he realizes how much his Father loves him.  He returns because he is desperate and hungry.  He even develops a canned speech, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you.  I no longer deserve to be called your son; treat me as you would treat one of your hired workers.”  While he is still a long way off, his Father spots him as if he were looking for him every night, runs out to meet him and cuts off the planned speech.  He insists that he put on the finest robe, a ring on his finger and slaughters a fattened calf to celebrate for his child, “was lost, and has been found.”

I don’t identify with the younger son because I do not want to.  I don’t want to admit to my own darkness, my own sin.  I don’t want to dwell on my selfishness, whom I have hurt and when I have not acted as Christ.  A man once leaving church told me his greatest regret and said, “The greatest thing about our faith is that we can be forgiven for anything.”  When I don’t want to admit that I can be the younger son, I am missing out on the Father’s mercy.  I am away from that loving embrace the Father extends to me.

Pope Francis has a wonderful line.  “We may weary of asking God for mercy, but God never wearies in giving it.”  To know the compassion of God, we must admit of our sins.  So take a while and think of your greatest regret or your worst sin.  Stay with it for a moment…


Now picture God running to embrace you.  Not an angry God, not a disappointed Father, a reluctant forgiver, but one anxious to celebrate our return.  Imagine now the peace, the freedom and the love God lavishes upon you.  Know you are forgiven, loved and healed.

On April 12th, I will be sharing the sacrament of Reconciliation for 24 straight hours again.  And all we will be doing is enacting the story of the Prodigal Son by wrestling demons and celebrating the mercy of God.  Come and be forgiven.  Enter the feast.