“Then let us celebrate with a feast, because this son of mine was dead and has come to life again; he was lost, and has been found.” Luke 15:24
A few years ago, Fr. John Powell wrote a best-selling book entitled Happiness Is an Inside Job. In it he tells the story of a contemporary woman of modest means searching for a husband.
One day she meets “Mr. Right,” the man of her dreams. He’s not only a terrific guy, but financially well off too. She can’t believe her good fortune when he asks her to marry him. After the honeymoon, they move into a beautiful home in a suburb much like Pittsford or Mendon. There they live a lifestyle she never dreamed possible. (As an aside, I know this story isn’t “politically correct,” as it implies a woman needs a man in her life to be happy, but recall I didn’t write it, Fr. Powell did.) But, back to the story…
Soon tragedy strikes. One day the woman begins to feel terribly ill. It’s a feeling she’s never experienced before. In the hospital following a battery of tests doctors diagnose her illness as terminal. The author describes the impact of the terrible diagnosis on her: “She felt a fire of anger ignite inside her. In her fury she wanted to tell God off. So, in her hospital gown and robe, she struggled through the corridors on her way to the chapel.” “It was to be a face-to-face confrontation. She felt so weak, she had to support herself by bracing against the wall as she moved along (the corridor).”
“When she entered the chapel, it was dark. No one else was there. She proceeded up the center aisle on her way to the altar. Through what seemed like an endless journey from her room to the chapel, she had been preparing a speech: “‘Oh God, you are a fraud, a real phony. You have been passing yourself off as love for two thousand years. But every time anyone finds a little happiness, you pull out the rug from under her feet. Well, I just want you to know that I’ve had it. I see through you.’ “In the center aisle and near the front of the chapel, she fell. She was so weak, she could hardly see. Her eyes could barely read the words woven into the carpet at the step into the sanctuary. She read and then repeated the words. ‘Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner.’ “Then she put her tired head down over her crossed arms, and listened.
Deep within herself she heard: ‘All of this is a simple invitation to ask you to turn your life over to me. You have never done that, you know. The doctors here do their best to treat you, but I alone can cure you.’ “In the silence and darkness of that night, she turned her life over to God. She signed her blank check and turned it over to God to fill in all the amounts. It was the hour of God. It was the moment of her surrender.” “Finding her way back to her hospital room, she slipped off into a deep sleep.”
The story has a happy ending. The woman’s illness takes a miraculous turn and her health is completely restored. The story is a kind of modern-day version of the best known and probably best loved of all Jesus’ parables, the one in today’s gospel from Luke.
It’s the story of a woman who, like the prodigal son, enjoyed great material blessings. It’s the story of a woman, who, like the prodigal son, turns against her loving Father when things don’t work out the way that she thinks they should. It’s the story of a woman who, like the prodigal son, turns back to her loving Father when she comes to her senses.
This is a story of someone we can all relate to – on some level. For you and I have lived or perhaps know someone who has lived or is living a real life prodigal son or daughter story. Although I don’t believe, as Fr. Powell implies in his book, that God sometimes causes misfortune to “bring us to our senses,” I do believe God is there when misfortune strikes, whether we bring it on ourselves or not, with outstretched arms, ready to comfort and dry our tears. When we symbolically walk away from God in our choice of what we do or fail to do, then decide to return to Him, God not only forgives us, but welcomes us come back with open arms. It’s cause for great celebration. What a magnificent concept to reflect on during this our faith.
The parable of The Prodigal Son is one of a number of ways Jesus teaches about God’s boundless love for us, a love which, like all aspects of God, is beyond human capacity to understand fully. The word “prodigal” means “wastefully or recklessly extravagant; lavishly abundant.” As used in today’s parable it describes the younger son’s sinful life style, his descent into the depths of depravity, but more importantly, it also describes the father’s love for his wayward son, for all of us – a love without condition and without limitation. The father loves his younger son enough to let him go, enough to give him the freedom to fall on his face. For me the “good news” of this remarkable story is so lavishly abundant, so recklessly extravagant that the parable ought to be re-titled “The Prodigal Father.”
The process of coming to one’s senses in Christian theology is termed “repentance.” It involves acknowledging the hellish state of living in disharmony with God and neighbor, deciding to change, and then genuinely working to bring it about. God, however, doesn’t force us to change, to return to right relationship with Him and with our neighbor. It’s completely within our free will. And most importantly, God’s forgiveness is not conditioned on our achievement of merit (symbolized by the older brother’s resentful attitude toward the younger); it flows freely from our sincere repentance and purposeful effort to change. The price for our reconciliation with God was paid for by Christ himself, by his death and resurrection, which we celebrate at every Mass and in a special way at Easter.
The elder son in the parable symbolizes the religious establishment of Jesus’ day, the scribes and Pharisees who worked hard to follow the 623 prescriptions of Jewish law. They couldn’t understand, therefore, the father’s seemingly outrageous treatment of his errant son who flaunted the law repeatedly, most blatantly by tending pigs for gentiles. They were as incensed at the thought of throwing a party for such a spoiled brat, as they were scandalized by the special attention Jesus gave “disreputable” people like tax-collectors, prostitutes, and lepers who, to their way of thinking, didn’t deserve it. These well meaning but “self-righteous” elder-brother-types, you see, felt entitled to determine who was and who wasn’t deserving of God’s grace. It reminds me of a bumper sticker I saw recently on a parked car: “Dear God, protect me from your good people.”
Incidentally, all of us need to be vigilant against assuming this pharisaical, self-righteous attitude toward people in our own society some label as “disreputable.” Gays and lesbians, for example, come readily to mind. Our faith demands that we treat everyone with respect and dignity, especially modern day outcasts, while leaving judgment to our loving Father who regards us all as His children. To understand the meaning of this awesome parable is to begin to understand the fundamental principle of God’s relationship with humanity. God loves us while we’re still sinners and even before we repent. Indeed, it’s this extraordinary love and our assurance of God’s forgiveness that makes repentance possible. Forgiveness like grace is God’s freely given gift to us. We seldom merit, earn, or deserve it.
Each Lent we sinners are offered another opportunity to be found and forgiven, to return home to find – not reproach and condemnation – but God’s abundant hospitality and unconditional love. All we have to do, for our part, is follow the lead of the prodigal -- come to our senses, recognize what has to change in our lives, and get to work on changing it. Then, even before we arrive home, while we’re still a distance away, our prodigal Father will be running down the path, arms outstretched for a hug, ready to restore us to our rightful place in the family. And the party can begin!
Anthony J. Sciolino
Fourth Sunday of Lent.
March 21, 2004. (CycleC)
Joshua 5:9a, 10-12/33
Corinthians 5:17-2
Luke 15:1-3, 11-32.