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Gospel: Luke 15: 11-32
Tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to listen to Jesus,
but the Pharisees and scribes began to complain, saying,
“This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.”
So to them Jesus addressed this parable:
“A man had two sons, and the younger son said to his father,
‘Father give me the share of your estate that should come to me.’
So the father divided the property between them.
After a few days, the younger son collected all his belongings
and set off to a distant country
where he squandered his inheritance on a life of dissipation.
When he had freely spent everything,
a severe famine struck that country,
and he found himself in dire need.
So he hired himself out to one of the local citizens
who sent him to his farm to tend the swine.
And he longed to eat his fill of the pods on which the swine fed,
but nobody gave him any.
Coming to his senses he thought,
‘How many of my father’s hired workers
have more than enough food to eat,
but here am I, dying from hunger.
I shall get up and go to my father and I shall say to him,
“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.”’
So he got up and went back to his father.
While he was still a long way off,
his father caught sight of him, and was filled with compassion.
He ran to his son, embraced him and kissed him.
His son said to him,
‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you;
I no longer deserve to be called your son.’
But his father ordered his servants,
‘Quickly bring the finest robe and put it on him;
put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.
Take the fattened calf and slaughter it.
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.’
Then the celebration began.
Now the older son had been out in the field
and, on his way back, as he neared the house,
he heard the sound of music and dancing.
He called one of the servants and asked what this might mean.
The servant said to him,
‘Your brother has returned
and your father has slaughtered the fattened calf
because he has him back safe and sound.’
He became angry,
and when he refused to enter the house,
his father came out and pleaded with him.
He said to his father in reply,
‘Look, all these years I served you
and not once did I disobey your orders;
yet you never gave me even a young goat to feast on with my friends.
But when your son returns
who swallowed up your property with prostitutes,
for him you slaughter the fattened calf.’
He said to him,
‘My son, you are here with me always;
everything I have is yours.
But now we must celebrate and rejoice,
because your brother was dead and has come to life again;
he was lost and has been found.’”
The Gospel of the Lord.
***
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I was on a silent retreat this week in Morristown. I spent one of those days hiking in Jockey Hollow National Park. About halfway through my hike, I came across a bench perched on a ridge, overlooking the valley below.
That view reminded me of the setting in today’s Gospel.
A father lives on a large farm with his two sons. One day, the younger of the two decides it’s time to leave. There’s life beyond the hills – and he’s desperate to experience it.
The only problem is, he won’t receive his inheritance while his father is still alive. Instead of waiting, he says in so many words, “Dad, I wish you were dead. Now, please, may I have my inheritance?”
Heartbroken, the father hands it over, allowing his son to find some first-century form of Las Vegas, where he will eat, drink, and supposedly, be merry.
***
There are two important themes at work in this story: freedom and hope.
***
The father allows his son to wander off because his boy is free. If he were forced to stay, then the son would feel enslaved. But that’s not how a father treats his son; nor is it how God treats us.
We’re free to choose our own destiny – to stay at home or to wander beyond the hills – even if that means waking up broke, hungry, and sleeping alongside pigs.
Freedom can be either a blessing or a curse; we must use it wisely.
So, how do I use my freedom? Do I use it wisely? Do I ever misuse it?
***
The second theme is hope.
This father wants nothing more than for his son to return. Imagine him scanning the hills by day, and lighting a lamp by night, hanging it in the window.
He hopes that one day all of those seeds he planted in his son’s heart – seeds of love, affection, and generosity – would bear fruit. Maybe the boy would come to his senses, remembering the warmth of his father’s embrace.
***
Imagine the overwhelming joy this father feels when he sees his son off in the distance.
***
Some parents might’ve been tempted to scold the boy or to cut him off entirely. After all, what he did was incredibly wasteful, hurtful, and irresponsible.
But this father never asks his son where he’s been or what he’s done. Nor does he demand that his son go off and bathe before the banquet begins.
His boy came home. Spiritually, he’s back from the dead. That’s all that matters.
***
Any parent who has an unreconciled child can empathize with this story. After spending years of planting seeds in your child’s heart, it must be wrenching wondering why they left.
Still, you stand and watch – you hope, you pray, you wait – for those seeds of love to bear fruit. Maybe one day you’ll spot your child off on the horizon.
No matter how long it’s been, you always hope.
***
This is the type of longing that God has for all of us.
Like the prodigal son, we’re allowed to walk away; we’re allowed to misuse our freedom, to take ourselves down destructive paths, even to the point of sleeping alongside pigs. But God never stops scanning the horizon; the lantern is always lit.
And when we return, the Lord covers us in the finest robe, puts a ring on our finger, and shoes on our feet.
Complete forgiveness. It’s all God knows.
***
Most – if not all of us – don’t find ourselves in straits as dire as the prodigal son. We’re here because we love the Lord. Still, at times we can compartmentalize our lives, being at peace with God in one area, while not in another.
In what ways am I still not “at home” with God? What part of my heart needs to return?
***
Looking back at that bench perched along the ridge of Jockey Hollow, I was touched by the size of it.
It was fit for two: space for the father and space for his prodigal son, which, of course, could be any one of us.
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Image credits: (1) The Return of the Prodigal Son, Rembrandt (2) Jockey Hollow National Park (3) Return of the Prodigal Son, Rembrandt
