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Gospel: Luke 15: 11-32
Then he said,
“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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How many of us adults have said, “I can’t believe I did that as a kid!”??
Safely into our adulthood, we look back upon the foolish things we did as children, and wonder why we ever did it… or how we got away with it… or even how we survived.
Now, I won’t give any examples lest the younger ones get some ideas!
But we all know youngsters can do the most foolish things. How many parents here today have said to your child, “You did what!?!”
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One reason why children do foolish things is because their brains are still developing. While this doesn’t eliminate responsibility, psychologists say that the human brain – and by extension, the human conscience – isn’t fully developed until the age of 25.
It takes time – decades – for humans to fully grasp the consequences of their actions and the effect our decisions have on other people. It’s one reason why youngsters occasionally get into trouble, even those with a good head on their shoulders.
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Consider the Prodigal Son in today’s Gospel. I’d imagine he’s somewhere between his teenage and young adult years.
On the surface, he seems to have everything he needs – a loving father, a roof over his head, and food on the table.
But he feels his life is claustrophobic; he sees not what he has, but what he thinks he doesn’t have… his freedom.
He’s desperate to break out. To discover the world. To live life on his own.
However, there’s something holding him back: he needs money. Presuming his father’s wealth, accumulated over years of hard work, automatically belongs to him, he says, “Father, give me the share of your estate that should come to me.”
Normally, the son would’ve received his inheritance after his father’s death. But he wants it now. So, he says, basically, “Dad, I wish you were dead.”
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Like a foolish kid, the boy fails to recognize the consequences of his actions. He’s broken his father’s heart, he’s risking his own life, he’s wasting hard earned money, and he’s leaving all of his responsibilities to someone else on the farm.
He’s terribly self-centered, living in a world of “me,” not “we.”
But his father lets him go. Forcing him to stay would only deepen his sense of imprisonment. But he’s not a slave. He’s free – as we all are.
So, off he goes to find some first century form of Las Vegas, where he can eat, drink, and, supposedly, be merry.
Crushed, his father must’ve prayed that all of those seeds of love he planted in his son’s heart would one day inspire him to return.
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Jesus tells us that God has that same type of anguish over us whenever we fall spiritually, exercise poor judgement, or experience a moral lapse.
God lets us go. Our free will allows us to make wrong choices, even decisions that hurt other people. Still, God never stops loving us. He never stops scanning the hills, waiting – hoping – we will come home.
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Imagine this father leaving his lantern lit in the window at night, just in case his son returns. That little flame burning bright symbolizes his love, his constant awareness of his son’s absence, his eagerness to forgive him.
When his son arrives, his father never asks him where he’s been or what he’s done; he simply embraces him with inexpressible joy.
Similarly, there is nothing that we can do to keep God from kissing us, from embracing us, from wrapping the finest robe around our bodies, and putting sandals on our feet.
But that embrace presumes we’ve repented, leaving our sins behind.
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Like the Prodigal Son, when have I made a foolish decision? Or been tempted to leave my Father’s embrace?
Or not foreseen the consequences my actions have on other people?
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Imagine the prodigal son years later, maybe a father himself, looking back, saying, “I can’t believe I did that as a kid!” Finally, he’s learned there’s no place like home.
The same is true for us. Ultimately, nothing in this world can satisfy our hungry hearts. As Saint Augustine reminds us, “Our hearts are restless until they rest in you, O Lord.”
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Image credits: (1) Return of the Prodigal Son, Pompeo Batoni (2) Diana Leagh Matthews (3) Pinterest
