Meditation

Today's Gospel reading is the parable of the prodigal son (cf. Lk 15:11-32). It leads us into the heart of God, who always forgives with compassion and tenderness, always. God always forgives; it is we who tire of asking for forgiveness, but He always forgives. It tells us that God is Father, that He not only welcomes us back, but He rejoices and celebrates for His son, who has returned home after squandering all his possessions. This son is us, and it is moving to think that the Father still loves us and awaits us.

But in the same parable, there is also the elder son, who enters into a crisis with his father. And this crisis can also cause us to enter into one as well. Indeed, there is also this elder son within us, and, at least in part, we are tempted to agree with him: he had always done his duty, he had never left the house, which is why he is indignant to see his father embrace his misbehaving brother again. He protests and says, “Look, all these years I have served you, never disobeying your orders,” and yet, “for this son of yours,” you celebrate! (vv. 29-30). I don’t understand you. Such is the indignation of the elder son.

From these words emerges the problem of the elder son. In his relationship with the Father, he bases everything on the strict observance of commands, on a sense of duty. This can also be our problem, our problem among ourselves and with God: losing sight of the fact that he is Father and living a distant religion, made up of prohibitions and duties. And the consequence of this distance is rigidity toward our neighbor, whom we no longer see as a brother. In the parable, in fact, the elder son does not say to the Father, "My brother," no, but "Your son," as if to say: "He is not my brother." And in the end, it is precisely he who risks being excluded from the house. Indeed—the text says—"he would not go in" (v. 28). Because there was the other one.

Seeing this, the Father goes out and pleads with him: “You, my child, are always with me, and everything I have is yours” (v. 31). He seeks to make him understand that for him, each son is his whole life. This is something parents know well, for they come very close to understanding God's feelings. There is a beautiful line from a father in a novel: “When I became a father, I understood God” (Honoré de Balzac, Père Goriot). At this point in the parable, the Father opens his heart to his eldest son and expresses two needs, which are not commands, but necessities of the heart: “We had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again” (v. 32). Let us see if we, too, have these two needs of the Father in our hearts: to celebrate and be glad.

First, let's celebrate, that is, let's show our closeness to those who have repented or are on their journey, to those who are in crisis or are distant. Why is it necessary to do this? Because it will help overcome the fear and discouragement that can arise from remembering one's own sins. Those who have sinned often feel rebuked by their own hearts; distance, indifference, and harsh words do not help. That is why, according to the Father, we must offer them a warm welcome, one that encourages them to persevere. "But Father, he's done so many wrong things!"—a warm welcome. And do we act this way? Do we seek out those who are far away, do we want to celebrate with them? How much good can an open heart, a listening ear, a genuine smile do; let's celebrate, let's not make anyone uncomfortable! The father could have said, "That's good, my son, come home, come back to work, go to your room, make yourself comfortable, and get to work!" And that would have been a good forgiveness. But no! God doesn't know how to forgive without celebrating! And the father celebrates, because of the joy he feels, for his son has returned.

And then, according to the Father, we must rejoice. Those whose hearts are attuned to God, when they see someone's repentance, no matter how grave their sins, rejoice. They don't dwell on the errors, they don't point the finger at evil, but they rejoice in the good, because the good of others is also my own! And we, do we know how to see others in this way?

Allow me to tell a story, a fictional one, but one that reveals the heart of a father. There was a pop opera three or four years ago about the prodigal son, with the whole story. And at the end, when this son decides to return to his father, he confides in a friend and says, "You know, I'm afraid my father will reject me, that he won't forgive me." And the friend gives him this advice: "Send a letter to your father and tell him: 'Father, I've repented, I want to come home, but I'm not sure you'll be happy. If you want to receive me, please put a white handkerchief in the window.'" Then he sets off. And when he was near the house, where the road made its last turn, he saw his house before him. And what did he see? Not a handkerchief: it was full of white handkerchiefs, on every window! The Father receives us thus, with fullness, with joy. That is our Father!

Do we know how to rejoice for others? May the Virgin Mary teach us to welcome God's mercy, so that it may become the light through which we see our neighbor.

POPE FRANCIS

ANGELUS

Saint Peter's Square

Sunday, March 27, 2022