Today is Laetare Sunday, Rejoice Sunday. In anticipation of the joy of Easter and Christ’s victory over sin and death, we wear rose vestments, a sign of life. Yet Lent is not yet over and the penitential call to conversion continues in our readings. Their joyful theme is God’s invitation to forgiveness to which we are called to answer.
In the first reading, the Lord said to Joshua: “Today I have removed the reproach of Egypt from you.” God’s mercy was theirs. St. Paul in the 2nd reading teaches that “God has reconciled us in Christ, not counting our transgressions.” The psalm response catches the invitation: “Taste and see the goodness of the Lord.” There is much about which we can rejoice today but we must first decide to taste in order to experience that goodness of God’s mercy.
The parable of the prodigal son is among the most familiar of those Jesus preached. I think that is true because we can see ourselves in it. Note the context in which it was taught. Jesus was eating with tax collectors and sinners who were not unlike the son who was returning home, not unlike us on occasion. Criticizing Jesus were the scribes and Pharisees, not unlike the son who could not rejoice in the return of his brother who thought he had earned his superior way, not unlike us on occasion. At the encouraging center is the father whose forgiving heart is there for both his sons. He represents our forgiving Father, who welcomes us home but also calls us to conversion and to be merciful as is he. The parable of the prodigal son gives us insight and encouragement as we struggle to forgive and yearn for forgiveness ourselves.
The story is told of a soldier on the isolated frontier of our country many years ago who in his isolation regularly drank too much. “What can I do with you,” his commanding officer lamented. “You have been punished time and again, yet here you are again. We have tried everything. What can be done?” A young officer who was present pondered the situation and commented, “Sir, there is one thing that has never been done to this man.” “What is it,” the commanding officer asked. The young officer replied: “This man has never been forgiven.” Taken aback, the senior officer paused and then said, “You have been punished many times. This time I wipe the charge off your record. You are forgiven and you are free.” The soldier broke down in tears, left the room a different man committed to conversion.
This parable is not really about the prodigal son, except to the extent we identify with him. Nor it is about the obedient son except to the extent we identify with him. It is a about the father’s love, our Father’s love made real in Christ’s sacrifice on the cross which we never deserved and yet was and is given freely. Saint John Paul II put it this way: “Mercy – as Christ has presented it in the parable of the prodigal son – has the interior form of the love that . . . is able to reach down to every prodigal son, to every human misery, and above all too every form of moral misery, to sin. When this happens, he continued, the person who is the object of mercy does not feel humiliated, but rather is found again and restored to value.”
A son, a daughter, a parent, a friend does not cease to be truly God’s child even if they, if we, wander awhile, make mistakes, sin. St. Therese of Lisieux wrote, “What joy to remember that our Lord is just; that he makes allowances for all our shortcomings, and knows full well how weak we are. What have I to fear then? Surely the God of infinite justice who pardons the prodigal son with such mercy will be just with me who am always with him.” Hopefully we too can learn from our mistakes from which we gain insight into the actions of others whose forgiveness we are called to offer.
To forgive does not mean we condone or minimize wrong actions. Nor does it mean that just consequences can be avoided. Nor does it mean that differences are eliminated. Nor does it result in a sudden removal of the hurt. But when it comes from the heart, it can lift us beyond the painful moments of the past and allow us to receive the grace to move beyond them and look to the future with hope, to rejoice.
A true story: A young man leans against a tree as the night shadows begin to fall. He looks expectantly, wistfully, fearfully at the house he grew up in. Inside the house a table lamp is turned on. His mother glances out the window. As dusk falls she remembers her son coming home about this time, always hungry. She sighs, wonders where he is, how he is since he and his father fought so bitterly and he left. The father enters the room. They look at each other. The silence between them screams. He knows what she is thinking. He quickly turns on the TV to break the emptiness. He wonders why his son treated him that way, his former son that is.
Who could that angry young man be? Who could that aching mother, that sad father be? Could they be you or me? Expressions of anger, divisive disagreements and sinful behaviors have implications beyond the moment, on those who strike out, on those who are struck, and on those who care about them both. The antidote is mercy, forgiveness. But forgiveness is a great challenge for most of us. C.S. Lewis wrote, “Everyone says forgiveness is a lovely idea, until they have something to forgive.” Forgiveness is hard if it is to be sincere. Yet we pray regularly in the Our Father, “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” Do we mean what we say, practice what we pray?
That young man gets up the courage, approaches the door, rings the bell and waits, wanting to run yet wanting to come home. The father opens the door. Their eyes meet. ”Mother,” he says, “our son is home, let’s eat.”
“We must celebrate and rejoice,” said the loving father, “because your brother was dead and has come to life again, he was lost and has been found.” May we this Lent rejoice in God’s mercy to us sinners, and share our forgiveness with those in our lives who are lost and yearn to come home again. Then rejoice for our family is whole again.