I
find it hard sometimes – maybe you do, too – to listen to Gospel passages like
this one. It’s not a story we haven’t
heard before, tens or even hundreds of times.
The prodigal son. Maybe some of
you were reciting the passage right along with me. It’s hard to listen with new ears, to glean
new insights, to let such a passage affect our lives.
And
for that same reason it’s difficult to preach about such passages as well. What can I possibly hope to say that you
haven’t heard before. That you’ll take
with you and remember, and might by the power of the Holy Spirit affect your
lives?
The
first thing I’d say is that this is maybe the most poorly named parable in all
of the Gospels. The prodigal son. As if it were all about this mixed up kid who
runs away from home and comes crawling back.
No, this parable of Jesus isn’t so much about the prodigal son, or even
the two sons as some have called it, but about the loving father.
Think
about it – the two brothers never even meet in this story. The only one who interacts with anyone else,
who has any kind of conversations at all is the father. And even the way the story begins: “a man had two sons.” The subject, if you will, of the story, the
protagonist, is the father.
A
better name for this parable would definitely be the “Merciful Father.”
And
I think it would benefit us, today and all this week, and all the rest of lent,
to focus on this loving, merciful father (and as an aside, where did Lent go,
huh? I mean here we are wearing rose,
with two weeks left until Palm Sunday and the beginning of Holy Week – so it’s
not over with yet, but it’s flying along, so if we haven’t started our lent
yet, we have only a couple weeks left to make something of this time).
And
a great way to do that, I think, is to focus on, to meditate on, to take into
our hearts and minds and souls, the depth of this father’s amazing love and
mercy. Rejected and abandoned, each in
their own way, by his two sons. Yet his
love doesn’t stop.
The
first, who comes to him and says, in effect, “Dad, I’ve had enough of this
place, I want out. I’m outta here. And by the way, dad, I can’t wait until you
die for my inheritance, I want it now, so you might as well be dead to me.”
Isn’t
that what sin looks like? I don’t need
you, God – you’re dead to me - I can do this on my own. We sever our relationship with God. And God really is, in a sense, dead to us in
our sin – we block out His presence, we run and hide, like Adam and Eve in the
garden.
Most
fathers, I think, would respond “ok, kid, you’re dead to me, too.” But not this kind of father. This father, respecting the son’s free will,
gives him his share and lets him go.
What kind of father does that?
This
kind of father, I can imagine, stood at the window with tears as his son
confidently strode off down the road.
And there he waited, I imagine, day after day, week after week, maybe
year after year. Waiting for the son’s
return, watching the horizon for any sign of his beloved son. And then ran, not walked, ran and embraced
his son, who returned not so much because he was sorry, but because he was
hungry.
And
then we have the other son, just as far away from his father even though he
stayed under the same roof. Filled with jealousy,
resentment, bitterness, judgment, a lack of love, to be sure. We might imagine it was this other son’s lack
of love for his brother that was the root of the prodigal’s leaving in the
first place. We see his bitterness and
resentment on full display in his refusal to come in and celebrate his
brother’s return. We see his anger- not
only with his brother but with his father, resentful of his dad’s amazing love
and mercy.
Aren’t
we all a little like that, too? Or some
of us a lot like that? We who are in
church every Sunday especially might have that kind of attitude. Hey He’s our God, we put Him in a box, our
box.
This
kind of father knows his son’s anger and bitterness. He stands and pleads with him anyway – he
loves his son too much to despair of him.
Both
sons fail to trust in their father’s love, in his mercy. Fail to have learned from their father what
unconditional love, and love for each other, looks like.
But
I said this is about the father, so I ask again, what kind of father acts like
this? Hurt I’m sure by both sons’ sins
against him, he continues to pour out his love, his openness, his mercy, on
each.
Dumb
question, I know. For Our Blessed Lord
is beautifully describing the love and mercy of His Father here. Our Father.
Like
the Father in the parable, Our Father God watches as we ignore Him and abandon
Him and sin against Him, and He patiently awaits our return. He hates our sin, I’m sure, but He loves us
too much to ever despair of us, to ever despair of our returning to Him.
Whether
we’ve run off like one son, or whether we’ve stayed and stewed in bitterness,
anger and lack of love. He doesn’t care
if we return because we’re 100% sorry or if it’s just because we haven’t found
what we were looking for out there away from Him and now we’re hungry, starving,
crawling home. He simply wants us back.
There
is a beautiful and graced opportunity for each of us to come back to Him, in a
real, concrete, tangible way, and that’s this Wednesday, March 9, for the
Diocesan day of penance, which is our parish will be celebrated (here) at the
St. Margaret Mary church site, for 7 hours, 12:30-7:30. A priest will be available all afternoon and
into the evening for the sacrament of penance.
It’s
a chance to, in a very real way, return to our loving, merciful Father, by His
grace express our sorrow for our sins, and hear those most magnificent words:
“God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has
reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the
forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon
and peace, and I absolve you from
your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, + and of the Holy Spirit.”
Sisters and brothers, let us not let this marvelous
opportunity pass by – an opportunity to experience in a very real sense the joy
of returning to the Father, of fathoming His joy at our return, of knowing His
welcoming embrace, and feeling the consolation of His amazing love, mercy, and
forgiveness.
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