I would imagine that present day family therapists might have a field day with the family of today’s Gospel (Luke 15: 1-3, 11-32): Two sons living with their single father. The older son has been around for a while. He is dutiful, obedient, and respectful but, as we hear later, looks with disdain at his younger brother: "You're Dad's favorite!" The younger, newest on the scene, is the problem child: rebellious, greedy, ungrateful, self- seeking, and prideful. Can you imagine the family dynamic? Talk about a dysfunctional situation. But, what bothers me somewhat about this story of the prodigal son is the overwhelming atypical compassion of the father. What kind of parenting example is this? A parent who is overly indulgent to the point of enabling his irresponsible son who's behavior should not surprise us - he's been spoiled rotten by a father who's behavior gives new meaning to the term, "love is blind." The therapist is racking his head for a workable solution.
To make matters more complicated, the father is seemingly unable to say “no” to his son even when the son has the gall to state to his face that he wishes his father dead when he asks for the portion of his inheritance now. “What you might have said that would be more helpful to your son,” the therapist may advise is a little tough love: “I’m not dead yet and when that moment comes you’ll get your fair share. For now, get back to work!” But, this brilliant and moving story is ingenious and not about such human diagnosis. Is God’s mercy this extreme? Let's examine more closely.
Imagine the scene that day. The spacious room where all are gathered is lit only by small oil lights strategically placed around the area. Jesus sits in the middle and around him, as they inch closer and closer to the brightest light, are seated tax collectors, prostitutes, perhaps some Roman soldiers, maybe a blind or lame man/woman or two whom others assist to jockey a place closer to Our Lord. The crowd is disordered, dirty, and a musty, un-bathed body odor begins to permeate the room. Meanwhile, in the back of the room along the wall, in the shadows with noses pinched shut against the unpleasent air, with arms crossed over their chests as they gaze down with smug faces on this crowd, are the self-righteous, “holier than thou” Pharisees and Scribes. Such a back row pierces the heart of Jesus and fills him with dismay. Their eyes survey the motley gathering. With an occasional whisper (hand over mouth) they lean discreetly to those on their left and right. Now and then a sarcastic word or two is heard as Jesus waits in silence for all to settle in. He overhears: “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them. He defiles himself and compromises the purity of our faith!” Yet, even they, though with ulterior motive, wait to assess the meaning of Jesus’ words.
Then Jesus begins to tell a story which intends to bring these “lost” down more than just a notch and hit them squarely between the eyes. Meanwhile the bad boys and girls which surround Jesus and hang on his every word are about to rise up; to leave the lost and enter the “found.” The dead are about to “come back to life.”
In this brilliant composition of players, the very heart of God is revealed.
A heart that, of its nature, is love itself. A heart which reveals the ultimate desire of God – that we come home, return to our senses, and find a God who has been infinitely patient and yearning for this moment of reconciliation. Our second reading for today, 2 Corinthians 5: 17-21, affirms this truth: “God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting those trespasses against them and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation."
There is a lesson on accountability here that we should not miss. The father in the story does not spend time seeking for his lost son. He does not call the police and file a missing person report, he doesn’t form a posse to go arrest him, he never engages the “good boy” older brother to find the young upstart and talk some sense into him, he does not brood or wring his hands over what a poor father he must have been to have raised such a self-indulgent boy. This Father sits and waits patiently for his son to find his way. All the time the Father gazes out the window as he searches for any sign of his son’s return in the distance and is single focused on that boy’s ultimate salvation wanting more than anything else for him to come home.
Finally, his son somewhere in a galaxy far, far away, has been forced to his senses as he slathers in humiliation, reduced to wallow with swine and eat nothing but pig food. He has become, in the Jewish mind, the most pitiful of human beings; unclean through and through. Now, he goes back home.
In the end, what touches me about this most perfect story is that God waits, and waits, and waits for us to find our way. When we wander off to “do our own thing” he does not abandon us to our fate but longs and aches for our return. Once we “come to our senses” we are assured of a Father’s love and continued generosity. Let the party begin!
Now, what about the “good boy,” that older brother who’s been around longer than his upstart ungrateful “bad boy” sibling? Here he sets the good example for his younger brother and the knucklehead blows him off! (Major dysfunction).
As the Pharisees and scribes confronted the good boy character, they must have been uneasy, covered their faces in shame or looked down their large noses at Jesus in disgust for they knew that they are that boy and Jesus had pointedly identified their sin.
Where does this leave us? I have to admit and perhaps yourself as well, that we often find both boys in ourselves. We’re usually well behaved but what does it take to cause us to rebel, to just fudge a little bit, to push the envelope, to just try it once or maybe to really go for the gusto? After all who can always be good?
Then I recall with gratitude, the power of our sacraments of Reconciliation and Eucharist. I think it might be a good idea to place on the door of every reconciliation space: “You were lost but now have been found! You were dead and have come back to life!” We are not worthy of the bread of life and we never will be. God’s abundance makes our generosity look like stinginess. We stand in awe and gratefulness for this indulgent Father God.
God waits; God aches; God loves; God readies the party; God celebrates – “. . . we must celebrate and rejoice, because your brother was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found.” (Lk 15: 32). Stay at home, don’t wander. Feast, indulge, and drink in the mercy of God. After all, its your party!
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