Back home to the Father

What’s really behind when we say "Sorry" for what usually is our move at reconciliation? C’mon, it isn’t usually love that makes us do so. I know a teenager who is barely out of college, who, like the prodigal son in our Gospel today, would prefer to live independently. He takes an apartment, does his thing, and later gets bankrupt. Same with a philandering husband who abandons his wife and children, lives with his mistress, gets bankrupt in the process. Have they got any pride to swallow? But they are missing their home-base so doggedly and that’s about the only reason they are sorry they left home. The prodigal son wouldn’t be much different. He had nothing anymore to eat. All he had for shelter was a pig’s pen, and even the pig’s husks were not available to him. Yes, we never realize what we’ve missed out on until we lose it. But the terrible thing is missing out on love — the love of a father. The teener or husband in their philandering could have missed only the regular three meals a day, or the daily allowances, or the security of a home-base. But like the prodigal son, there has to be that consciousness of a deep wound which accompanies every sin; a brokenness which divides heart and spirit, which makes us realize we have missed out on a wholeness only God can give.

If we were to write a sequel to the Gospel story of the prodigal son, we will have to deal with the proof of his sincere acceptance of the sin and brokenness of his past, the question how well he was able to tear himself away from vice, how he succeeded in living moment-by-moment persevering in virtue. How has he grown from wresting himself away from the abuse of cigarettes, food, or alcohol? How far has he detached himself from the obsession to power, money or the illegitimate possession of a particular person? Until we know the outcome of that sequel to its denouement and end we cannot readily write the whole story.

Speaking of going back home to our Father in heaven? We will have to decide to accept our sinfulness, offer Christ our broken life and heart, allow that brokenness to teach us how to love much. Take it from St. Augustine that his decision to surrender all, even our sinfulness, to God’s love, is rooted in trusting God’s unconditional love: "I am sure of Thy love that I dare to come to Thee even with my unfaithfulness. Thou art able to love even my infidelity…" So we pray with the psalmist: "A clean heart create for me, O God, and a steadfast spirit renew within me . . . For you are not pleased with sacrifices; should I offer a holocaust, you would not accept it. My sacrifice, O God, is a contrite spirit; a heart contrite and humbled, O God, you will not spurn." This is what it all means when we receive the gift of forgiveness from Forgiveness Himself; what it all means when we say with the prodigal son going back to the Father. "Father, I have sinned against God and against you; I no longer deserve to be called your Son." This is what it all means when we make our broken condition a means to rise and go back home to our heavenly Father.

Sunday Lent Week 4 Lk. 15:1-32