When we call the
parable the Prodigal Son, we focus on the younger brother. We consider his
sins, his memory of his life with the father whom he offended, and his decision
to return back to his father. There are many, many times that we have felt the
way the prodigal did on his journey back home. There are times that we all have
recognized our sins, recognized how happy we were before we got mired in our
own selfishness, and decided to do all we can to return to at least a small
portion of that happiness. And then we are welcomed back with more love, more
joy, than we could have ever expected[1].
When we focus on
the Forgiving Father, we recognize that the father was not concerned with how
He was offended, he was concerned about his son who was lost, lost from the
father’s world. We focus on the father’s joy at seeing His Son approaching and
seeking forgiveness. We are ecstatic that our Father wants to restore us to His
Love and forgives us before we can even spit out our “Bless me Father for I
have sinned.”
Our
consideration of the Elder Brother usually leads us to recognize that the
Father’s forgiveness of the sinner has to be embraced by all. When we decide
that someone should not be restored to the Father’s love, we are in fact
excluding ourselves from the Banquet of Love.
So, those are
our normal themes. We can get deeper though. There is something sinister at
foot within us. There is a part of us
that gives a bit of credibility to the other side. After all, the younger son had
a right to his inheritance. Was it really so wrong that he asked for it early? What
he did with it was his business. Or we might think that the elder son had a
great point. He’s been the good one, working to support his father. Why
shouldn’t he be upset that his brother, who caused his father so much pain,
should return and be welcomed so warmly? There is a part of us, squirreled away
in some hidden hole of our brain that in similar circumstances wants to say, “Good
riddance to bad rubbish.” We might even question the actions of the Father,
thinking that he caused the heartache by giving in to the brat. Now he was
going overboard in welcoming him home. Some part of us wants to say that real
people would never do that. That’s the
part of us that thinks we have a right to hold a grudge.
Those thoughts
occur to us to the degree that our commitment to Christ is weak. They would not
occur if we were totally sold out for the Lord. The parts of us that think that
the prodigal son had a right to demand his inheritance and do what he wanted with
his money are those parts that don’t consider our own responsibility for the
gifts of Love we have received from the Lord.
The prodigal saw
no obligation towards love or even justice and, as one of our teenagers said,
“He ditched his father.” When we decide it’s time to take care of “Number One,”
we are consumed by our own selfishness. But if we are grounded in the Lord, we
will use whatever gifts he has given us to praise Him with our lives. Our
inheritance is Jesus Christ. He gives us His Love so that we can give this love
to others.
Those parts of
us that think the elder brother was correct are also those parts of us that are
not fully committed to Christ. Justice had been served. The elder brother still
owned the rest of the farm. Whatever I
have is yours, the father told him. He wasn’t told to give a portion of his
share of the farm to his brother. He was just asked to welcome the sinner back
into the family. He couldn’t because he was not grounded in the Lord’s love. Nor
are we when we become so judgmental that we also exclude ourselves from the
banquet of God’s love. For example, we might have a good friend or a close
relative who was gravely hurt by a spouse or a child. We hurt with them. Then the offender returns and, to our dismay,
is forgiven and welcomed back. We think, “That is ridiculous.” “He did that to you and you are letting him
back into your heart?” we protest. Our
friend says, “Can’t you just be happy for me?” But we won’t. And we remove
ourselves from the banquet of Christ’s joy.
Finally, the
part of us that gives a little credence to the thought that the forgiving
father was all too forgiving is that part of us that is so selfish it considers
every action as it impacts on ourselves.
It takes courage and a commitment to Jesus Christ to say that my pain is
not important. The pain of others is what matters. That is what Jesus did on the Cross. That is what He calls us to do when He says,
“Follow me.”
Our God loves
us. No sacred book other than the Bible
proclaims the love of God or a god for his people. The prophet Hosea predicted
that the people would luxuriate in the Love of God. And then Jesus came. His
whole life was a statement of Love, love for the Father, love for us. His death
was a proclamation of this love. “Is
this enough for you?” he asks the mystic Julian of Norwich[2]. He
was saying, “If you need more, I will do more.” Of course, it is enough! We
live under the mercy of God, under the compassion of God. We live in the Love of Jesus Christ.
The parable of
the Prodigal Son, Forgiving Father or Elder Brother, whatever, is calling us to
reflect on the depth of our own commitment to the Lord, and our own
determination to live His Love ■
[1]Sunday 10th March, 2013, 4th
Sunday of Lent. Readings: Joshua 5:9-12. Taste
and see the goodness of the Lord - Ps 33(34):2-7. 2 Corinthians 5:17-21.
Luke 15:1-3, 11-32.
[2] Julian of Norwich (ca. 8
November 1342 – ca. 1416) was an English anchoress who is regarded as one of
the most important Christian mystics. She is venerated in the Anglican and
Lutheran churches, but has never been canonized, or officially beatified, by
the Catholic Church, probably because so little is known of her life aside from
her writings, including the exact date of her death. There is also scholarly
debate as to whether Julian was a nun in a nearby convent, or even a laywoman.
