Midweek Morning Meditation -- Have I Ever Really 'Heard' the Parable of the Prodigal Son?

 

Source: uncutmountainsupply.com

As we move forward in the pre-lenten Sundays and the upcoming week of the Last Judgment (MATT. 25:31-46), perhaps we can "meditate" throughout this week on the Parable of the Prodigal Son from yesterday's Liturgy. When thought over deeply, we begin to understand how inexhaustible it really is!

This parable is chosen at this particular time in order to draw us toward repentance (Gk. metanoia); to remind us that Great Lent is the “school of repentance;” and that without repentance, our other “lenten efforts” become rather meaningless – if not spiritually dangerous. What will it take to convince us that we, too, need that “change of mind” and return to our heavenly Father that is the truest expression of living according to the Gospel?

As I ponder that question, I ask myself further: Have I ever really heard this parable in the way that Christ refers to “hearing?” And that would mean being shaken at the very core of my being. Am I only paying “lip service” to this greatest of the parables, as I listen to it as a wonderful short story that is exciting to analyze and discuss; but not quite capable of moving me any closer to genuine repentance? Again, these are the questions that come to my mind as I have heard this parable in the Liturgy for over forty four years now as a priest.

Yet, if we have spent some time in analyzing the richness of this parable, then we realize that it is not only about the prodigal son, with the two other characters – the father and the older brother – acting in a clearly subordinate manner or for the sake of rounding out the story. They are both integral to the parable and hold equal weight as we try and grasp the parable as a whole. Without the father and the older son, the parable would suffer from a certain one-sidedness or incompleteness.

This is absolutely true when it comes to the very core meaning of the parable - which is repentance. We are deeply moved by the movement of the prodigal son toward his return to his father’s home. We first read of his journey to a “faraway country” and rapid and total decline wherein he wastes his inheritance in “loose living.” An all too-familiar tale. This is followed by a spiraling descent that has him longing for the pods that serve as food for the pigs he has been hired to tend. His re-ascent begins with his “coming to himself” after what must have been a painfully honest self-assessment of his stricken condition of estrangement from even basic human fellowship. This culminates in the thought of returning to his father and begging for mercy and the actual movement of “arising” and doing it.

None of this would have born any fruit, however, without the compassion and love of the prodigal son’s father who embodies the forgiveness that completes his repentance. If the father had been stern, or absorbed with his own sense of being offended; if he had chastised his son with the predictable and perhaps satisfying retort, “I told you so;” then the parable would collapse with an all too-human reaction that would be plausible but unworthy of the Gospel that Jesus came to proclaim. For the father of the parable is a figure of our heavenly Father’s compassion, love and forgiveness that Christ came to offer to all and every sinner. The father remains unforgettable as a “character” precisely because he confounds our expectations in his boundless love fully revealed by running out to his son, falling on his neck and kissing him. This is how the Father “Who is without beginning” acts toward his wayward creatures who have spent their inheritance – the “image and likeness” of God – in the faraway country of self-autonomy and the “swinish” fulfillment of the most base desires. Our repentance results in a cosmic joy that God shares with the angels and the preparation of the “banquet of immortality.”

The older son represents precisely that all too-human response referred to above of hurt feeling and an offended sensibility that leaves him insensitive to his repentant brother’s return and salvation. No matter how justified such a response would seem from our human perspective, it remains outside of the Gospel’s “transvaluation of values.” If our "common sense" approach would align us with the older brother, then the image of God presented by Jesus would only prove to be scandalous, as it would challenge us to leave the false security of defending our wounded pride and ego. 

This is our “invitation” to Great Lent offered to us by the Lord Jesus Christ: “Repent, for the Kingdom of heaven is at hand” (MATT. 4:17). To help us understand the beauty of that movement of repentance, the Lord delivers what just may be his “parable of parables,” the one we usually name after the prodigal son. So before we get out our lenten cookbooks, we must first really “hear” this parable and pray to God that He will direct and guide us toward true repentance. 

The lenten cookbook will not save us – but repentance and acceptance of the grace of God will.

Monday Morning Meditation -- Re-centering Until Our Last Breath

Source: novoscriptorium.com

"God requires of us to go on repenting until our last breath."  (St. Isaias the Solitary)

"Repentance is not negative but positive. It means not self-pity or remorse, but conversion, the re-centering of our whole life upon the Trinity. It is to not look back with regret but forward with hope - not downwards at our own shortcomings but upward at God's love It is to see, not what we have failed to be, but what by divine grace we can now become; and it is to act upon what we see."(Archbishop Kallistos Ware)

I believe that we should think of the Sunday of the Prodigal Son extending itself throughout the week, thus giving us the Week of the Prodigal Son and the possibility of meditating upon this extraordinary parable carefully and thoughtfully. This parable is perhaps "the parable of parables," and thus deserving of a great deal of attention on our part. Sundays come and go, perhaps too rapidly, and we find ourselves back in our "routines," and living in a world far different than the one we are given a glimpse into through the Liturgy. That fleeting glimpse, which is actually a vision of life that is Christ-centered and Spirit-guided, may thus appear to be "ideal," but not "real." However, it may actually be the vision of the one underlying Reality of all that exists and which makes everything else not only tolerable or endurable, but meaningful and embraceable. If our liturgical and eucharistic experience is forgotten the moment it is over, as we move on to Sunday's entertainment (the "Super Bowl?"), and then prepare to endure Monday morning's responsibilities; perhaps then we are "cheating" ourselves of "the one thing needful." And in the process we lose sight of the riches of the Gospel if we only absentmindedly await next Sunday's. That certainly applies to the Parable of the Prodigal Son!

Yet, before briefly looking into some of the riches of this well-known parable, perhaps we should place it within the wider context of its setting in the Gospel According to St. Luke. For the evangelist Luke places the Parable of the Prodigal Son as the climax of a series of three parables in chapter 15 that reveal the "joy in heaven" when sinners are "found" following an implied or clearly stated repentance. In fact, these parables are told to a group of "tax collectors and sinners" who "were drawing near to hear him." (LK. 15:1) The first of these is the Parable of the Lost Sheep:

What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he has lost one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness, and go after the one which is lost, until he finds it? And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep which was lost.' Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.(15:3-7)

The Parable of the Lost Coin follows immediately:

Or what woman, having ten silver coins, is she loses one coin, does not light a lamp and sweep the house and seek diligently until she finds it? And when she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin which I had lost.' Just so, I tell you , there is joy before the angels of God over one sinner who repents.(15:8-10)

These are wonderful parables that serve as images of our heavenly Father rejoicing when He "finds" a sinner who has returned to Him through repentance. This "rejoicing" links together these two shorter parables with the masterpiece to come that closes out this trilogy of repentance-oriented parables. For the father of the parable will command his household to "make merry" with the return of his wayward son. (15:24, 32) Repentance is not simply a time of hand-wringing, regret and guilt. It is the beginning of a new life and an open-ended future that is a radical change in direction from the "no exit" of sin and alienation from God. The somber and stultifying atmosphere of sin is driven away by the "breath" of the Spirit, which "blows where it wills." Of course, repentance is hard work - for old habits die hard - but sustained by the grace of God and the promise of salvation, the entire process to this day is most perfectly described by St. John Klimakos as "joy-creating sorrow." Remorse for the past devoid of forgiveness will only produce sorrow - if not despair. 

The acceptance of divine forgiveness produces joy - both for God and the sinner. A profound awareness of God's gift of salvation as the only meaningful release from the sorrow of sin leads to the "gift of tears" according to the experience of the saints. Their weeping was the expression of an inner joy that was overwhelming.

If (or As?) we squander our "inheritance" from our heavenly Father, we will unfailingly resemble that representative figure of the prodigal son. We too, then, "journey into a far country" there to waste our wealth in "loose living." (15:13) Unlike the prodigal son, though, we can do this without moving a step away from our homes. We need only retreat into the seemingly limitless space of our imaginations where fantasies entice us with unrealizable visions of "self-realization" or "pleasure." Then, there are the murky recesses of our hearts; uncharted territory that if not filled with the grace of God will "fill up" with "inner demons" that will eventually frighten us by the sheer audacity of temptations we never thought ourselves capable of entertaining. Or, perhaps a bit less dramatically, there are "the pods that the swine ate" (15:16), symbolic of philosophies and worldviews totally foreign to the Christ-centered life of the Church. 

The end result will be an emptiness and desolation that will exhaust our own inner resources. Our humbled minds and bodies will begin to search elsewhere for more satisfying nourishment. Anyone in such a predicament will only hope to be blessed - as was true of the prodigal son - with that mysterious process that leads to repentance, described simply as, "he came to himself." (15:17) Then, in words that have an urgency far greater than in an entire book of theology, we too may cry out, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me as one of your hired servants." (15:18-19)

We all know what follows: the compassionate father who runs to embrace his son in love; the clothing of the son in festal garments; the orders and preparations for a sumptuous banquet of joy; and the solemn words: "for this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found." (15:24) As this parable repeats itself endlessly until the end of time, with its finely-etched descriptions of sin, repentance and redemption; we continue to witness some of the "mini-resurrections" that make up the meaningful dramas of everyday life.

Coffee With Sister Vassa: The Joy of our Father

 Coffee With Sister Vassa

Dear Parish Faithful,

A bit more on the Lord's great Parable of the Prodigal Son/The Compassionate Father/The Angry Elder Son:

THE JOY OF OUR FATHER

I’m struck this year, as we re-read and re-discover the Parable of the Prodigal Son two weeks before Lent, how our Lord is seeking to convert both the “obedient” and “disobedient” among us, from our usually-distorted vision of our Father in heaven. The point is, as my friend Nadia Kizenko said in her recent sermon on this parable (find it on YouTube), “God wants us to be happy.”

The younger, disobedient son experiences restlessness in His father’s house; asks the father for his part of the inheritance (as if his father were dead), goes off to do his own thing, ends up experiencing famine and suffering, then comes to himself, rises and returns to his father, having prepared a little speech about his unworthiness, etc. When he comes back, the father comes out to greet him with overjoyed kisses, interrupts the son’s little speech halfway and tells the servants to dress the son in “the first robe” (στολὴν τὴν πρώτην) and throws a big party in his house.

When the party was already well under way, we’re told that the elder son is in the fields, - that is, outside the father’s house and outside the party and its music. Because that’s what he did. He worked and served his father, but somehow did not expect nor want to celebrate and enjoy the music of his father. When he learns what is going on in the house, he doesn’t want to go in. He’s even angry with his father, for celebrating with his disobedient brother.

Both sons initially treat the father not as a father, but more like a patron. It’s a joyless, transactional kind of relationship. “Give me,” is what the younger son has to say to his father in the beginning of the story. But he learns through his restlessness and the ensuing journey into hunger and suffering, to return and to say, “Make me…ποίησόν με, create me” (like one of your hired servants) – although the father interrupts him, before he can say this part. The older son, on the other hand, speaks to his father of the things he (the older son) does for Him, and how he “never transgressed,” unlike his brother, hence the elder son expects the father to provide a reward for him in return.

Meanwhile, the father takes joy in being a father, not a patron. The provocative aspect of this story is that it’s through leaving his father’s house (as a young man eventually should) that the younger son experiences growth, I mean, by making his own mistakes and coming to realize who he is (by “coming to himself”), and that is, a son with a Father; a child of a loving and compassionate God. Meanwhile, the older son, who never stopped working for his father, who never experienced either restlessness or famine or suffering, never grew out of an infantile attitude toward his parent. The older son never noticed the playfulness, if I could put it this way, of true, divine love. God wants us to celebrate with Him; to celebrate in His house, and when we work, to work in freedom and joy, throughout our ups and downs, as we grow through them in love and communion with Him.

This is the newness of Christ’s message: It’s not focused on a set of rules, which guarantee us a certain number of rewards from an impersonal patron, insofar as we keep these rules. When our risen Lord cooked breakfast on the coast of the sea of Galilee and served Peter, who had “fallen” by denying Him thrice, Christ did a similar thing to the father in this parable. Note that Christ also did not demand an apology from Peter. He just let Peter affirm that he loved Him, thrice. What a joy. Let’s joyously head toward Lent, and not be afraid to mess up in our Father’s house, even as our own mess-ups break our hearts. Let us recognize our broken hearts as hearts open to compassion, for ourselves and our brother or sister, who also might need our warm welcome in God’s house with us in it, His imperfect children. Happy week of the Prodigal Son, dear friends. Sorry this was long. xoxo

Hearing the Parable of the Prodigal Son

Source: uncutmountainsupply.com

 

Have I Ever Really 'Heard' the Parable of the Prodigal Son?

Dear Parish Faithful & Friends in Christ,

As we move forward in the pre-lenten Sundays and the upcoming week of the Last Judgment (MATT. 25:31-46), perhaps we can "meditate" throughout this week on the Parable of the Prodigal Son from yesterday's Liturgy. When thought over deeply, we begin to understand how inexhaustible it really is!

This parable is chosen at this particular time in order to draw us toward repentance (Gk. metanoia); to remind us that Great Lent is the “school of repentance;” and that without repentance, our other “lenten efforts” become rather meaningless – if not spiritually dangerous. What will it take to convince us that we, too, need that “change of mind” and return to our heavenly Father that is the truest expression of living according to the Gospel?

As I ponder that question, I ask myself further: Have I ever really heard this parable in the way that Christ refers to “hearing?” And that would mean being shaken at the very core of my being. Am I only paying “lip service” to this greatest of the parables, as I listen to it as a wonderful short story that is exciting to analyze and discuss; but not quite capable of moving me any closer to genuine repentance? Again, these are the questions that come to my mind as I have heard this parable in the Liturgy for over forty years now as a priest.

Yet, if we have spent some time in analyzing the richness of this parable, then we realize that it is not only about the prodigal son, with the two other characters – the father and the older brother – acting in a clearly subordinate manner or for the sake of rounding out the story. They are both integral to the parable and hold equal weight as we try and grasp the parable as a whole. Without the father and the older son, the parable would suffer from a certain one-sidedness or incompleteness.

This is absolutely true when it comes to the very core meaning of the parable - which is repentance. We are deeply moved by the movement of the prodigal son toward his return to his father’s home. We first read of his journey to a “faraway country” and rapid and total decline wherein he wastes his inheritance in “loose living.” An all too-familiar tale. This is followed by a spiraling descent that has him longing for the pods that serve as food for the pigs he has been hired to tend. His re-ascent begins with his “coming to himself” after what must have been a painfully honest self-assessment of his stricken condition of estrangement from even basic human fellowship. This culminates in the thought of returning to his father and begging for mercy and the actual movement of “arising” and doing it.

None of this would have born any fruit, however, without the compassion and love of the prodigal son’s father who embodies the forgiveness that completes his repentance. If the father had been stern, or absorbed with his own sense of being offended; if he had chastised his son with the predictable and perhaps satisfying retort, “I told you so;” then the parable would collapse with an all too-human reaction that would be plausible but unworthy of the Gospel that Jesus came to proclaim. For the father of the parable is a figure of our heavenly Father’s compassion, love and forgiveness that Christ came to offer to all and every sinner. The father remains unforgettable as a “character” precisely because he confounds our expectations in his boundless love fully revealed by running out to his son, falling on his neck and kissing him. This is how the Father “Who is without beginning” acts toward his wayward creatures who have spent their inheritance – the “image and likeness” of God – in the faraway country of self-autonomy and the “swinish” fulfillment of the most base desires. Our repentance results in a cosmic joy that God shares with the angels and the preparation of the “banquet of immortality.”

The older son represents precisely that all too-human response referred to above of hurt feeling and an offended sensibility that leaves him insensitive to his repentant brother’s return and salvation. No matter how justified such a response would seem from our human perspective, it remains outside of the Gospel’s “transvaluation of values.”

This is our “invitation” to Great Lent offered to us by the Lord Jesus Christ: “Repent, for the Kingdom of heaven is at hand” (MATT. 4:17). To help us understand the beauty of that movement of repentance, the Lord delivers what just may be his “parable of parables,” the one we usually name after the prodigal son. So before we get out our lenten cookbooks, we must first really “hear” this parable and pray to God that He will direct and guide us toward true repentance. 

The lenten cookbook will not save us – but repentance will.

Comments on 'The Prodigal Son - Ending Unresolved?'

 

Dear Parish Faithful,

I will share a few responses to the meditation that I sent out yesterday about the "openness" of the parable of the Prodigal Son. This one is from Spencer Settles:

_______

Thanks for those thoughts on the parable, Father! The one thought that came to me after I read your email regards a similarity to another biblical account. The younger son, in his moment of repentance, expresses a sentiment much like that of the Syro-Phoenician woman who petitions Jesus to heal her daughter. She says, in response to Jesus’s statement that it is not right to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs, “Yes, Lord, yet even the little dogs under the table eat from the children’s crumbs.” (Mark 7:28). In Matthew’s telling of that event Jesus praises the woman’s faith. The younger son in Luke’s parable says something that seems very similar to me: that he would gladly become a hired servant in his father’s house, where the servants never go hungry. There’s that same extreme humility expressed: “Never mind privilege, as long as I can BE there. As long as I can eat, I do not need to be honored. I will be a dog. I will be a servant.” 

That, I think, is evidence of true faith and true repentance. Of course, we do not know whether the son would have continued in this humility, as you pointed out. But I like to think that a moment of such genuine humility has a powerful effect on the heart of a person. And the reception he got! How it must have bewildered him. The father disregards his rehearsed statement - practically interrupts him - and begins calling for a robe, a ring, a feast! As anyone who has ever received love or praise in a moment of intense awareness of one’s own weakness knows, such a thing is incredibly moving and humbling. What might otherwise “puff up” will, in such a moment, scald and sear in the most powerful way. 

Anyway, that was the thought that came to me, so I thought I’d share it.

In Christ,

Spencer Settles

The Parable of the Prodigal Son - Ending Unresolved?

 

 

Dear Parish Faithful, 

Of the many intriguing points about the Parable of the Prodigal Son, one of them is the fact of just how "open" it is in the end. After reading of these three wonderfully etched characters of the compassionate father, and of the two sons - one prodigal and the other unforgiving - we find ourselves facing a real dose of uncertainty when the parable is completed. 

Sequentially, we heard of the remarkable "resurrection" (anastas in the text) of the prodigal son once he "comes to himself," and literally throws himself before the father whom he callously abandoned to pursuit his fortune and his misguided understanding of both independence and pleasure. Then, we heard of the compassionate father who responds with an outpouring of forgiveness and love, as he refuses to react with a predictable offense at his son's misadventures when he returns seeking mercy. And finally, we hear of the even more predictable response of the other son who, almost choking with resentment at the mercy shown his unacknowledged brother (a relationship that he does not admit to), as he bitterly lashes out at his father's seemingly blissful indifference to his life of toil in pursuit of fair recognition of his filial piety. The poor father has two very difficult sons to deal with, and he does so with an amazing patience and loving admonition. The image of our heavenly Father as revealed by Jesus finds its truest expression in the father of the parable.

But a parable is not a fairy tale, and though the final sentence is undoubtedly positive and even echoes the very core of the Gospel: "Your brother was lost, and is now found," that is not the same as hearing: "And they lived happily ever after." It is not even equivalent to hearing: "All's well that ends well." Hence, the "openness" of the parable's ending is that we cannot assume with any certainty that the unforgiving brother experienced a "change of mind" (the meaning of the Gk. word for repentance - metanoia). The possibility remains that his resentment may have continued to smolder even if he went into the party and partook of the fatted calf and appeared to "make merry." There is no real indication of his final response. 

And the prodigal son? We left him humbled and on his knees before his father; perhaps filled with jubilation at his "reversal of fortune" as he now rejoices in a sumptuous feast prepared for him shortly after his desperate willingness to even eat the pods thrown to the pigs. But was his repentance permanent or ephemeral? Did he suffer another bout of restlessness and instability? Did he "hit the road" yet again?

Christ gives us a remarkable glimpse of the gift of salvation and of a "fresh start" in this parable. Of this there is no doubt, as many see this as the "parable of all parables;" the one that comes readily to mind when the heart of the Gospel is reflected upon: the salvation of sinners by a merciful God. And yet we can also say that Christ was a "realist," and that he leads us into the deepest recesses of the Gospel, while simultaneously acknowledging the barriers presented to a sinful humanity to actually repent: habit, hard-heartedness, indifference and resentment, to mention a few of the more obvious sins. 

We know how we want the parable to end, as our better intuition seeks reconciliation and deep communion between human beings made in God's image and likeness. But the "openness" in the end, without an assurance of that longed for "happy ending" reveals the contingency of all life within the theater of history and its demands for constant choices. Repentance must be sustained once embraced - an ever-deepening process of "turning around" and "changing one's mind" so that we seek first the Kingdom of God and all righteousness, leading to the human transformation that that implies.

Again, Christ offers us an unforgettable image of repentance, compassion, and even the "no exit" of cold indifference. This openness is perhaps the most intriguing aspect of the Lord's incomparable parables.

Please feel free to share any comments or further insights into this "parable of parables."

Re-centering Until Our Last Breath

 

Dear Parish Faithful & Friends in Christ,

"God requires of us to go on repenting until our last breath."   (St. Isaias the Solitary)

"Repentance... It means not self-pity or remorse, but conversion, the re-centering of our whole life upon the Trinity... It is to see, not what we have failed to be, but what by divine grace we can now become; and it is to act upon what we see."   (Archbishop Kallistos Ware)

I believe that we should think of the Sunday of the Prodigal Son extending itself throughout the week, thus giving us the Week of the Prodigal Son and the possibility of meditating upon this extraordinary parable carefully and thoughtfully. This parable is perhaps "the parable of parables," and thus deserving of a great deal of attention on our part. Sundays come and go, perhaps too rapidly, and we find ourselves back in our "routines," and living in a world far different than the one we are given a glimpse into through the Liturgy. That fleeting glimpse, which is actually a vision of life that is Christ-centered and Spirit-guided, may thus appear to be "ideal," but not "real." However, it may actually be the vision of the one underlying Reality of all that exists and which makes everything else not only tolerable or endurable, but meaningful and embraceable. If our liturgical and eucharistic experience is forgotten the moment it is over, as we move on to Sunday's entertainment, and then prepare to endure Monday morning's responsibilities; perhaps then we are "cheating" ourselves of "the one thing needful." And in the process we lose sight of the riches of the Gospel if we only absentmindedly await next Sunday's. That certainly applies to the Parable of the Prodigal Son!

Yet, before briefly looking into some of the riches of this well-known parable, perhaps we should place it within the wider context of its setting in the Gospel According to St. Luke. For the evangelist Luke places the Parable of the Prodigal Son as the climax of a series of three parables in chapter 15 that reveal the "joy in heaven" when sinners are "found" following an implied or clearly stated repentance. In fact, these parables are told to a group of "tax collectors and sinners" who "were drawing near to hear him." (LK. 15:1) The first of these is the Parable of the Lost Sheep:

What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he has lost one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness, and go after the one which is lost, until he finds it? And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep which was lost.' Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.(15:3-7)

The Parable of the Lost Coin follows immediately:

Or what woman, having ten silver coins, is she loses one coin, does not light a lamp and sweep the house and seek diligently until she finds it? And when she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin which I had lost.' Just so, I tell you , there is joy before the angels of God over one sinner who repents.(15:8-10)

These are wonderful parables that serve as images of our heavenly Father rejoicing when He "finds" a sinner who has returned to Him through repentance. This "rejoicing" links together these two shorter parables with the masterpiece to come that closes out this trilogy of repentance-oriented parables. For the father of the parable will command his household to "make merry" with the return of his wayward son. (15:24, 32) Repentance is not simply a time of hand-wringing, regret and guilt. It is the beginning of a new life and an open-ended future that is a radical change in direction from the "no exit" of sin and alienation from God. The somber and stultifying atmosphere of sin is driven away by the "breath" of the Spirit, which "blows where it wills." Of course, repentance is hard work - for old habits die hard - but sustained by the grace of God and the promise of salvation, the entire process to this day is most perfectly described by St. John Klimakos as "joy-creating sorrow." Remorse for the past devoid of forgiveness will only produce sorrow - if not despair. The acceptance of divine forgiveness produces joy - both for God and the sinner. A profound awareness of God's gift of salvation as the only meaningful release from the sorrow of sin leads to the "gift of tears" according to the experience of the saints. Their weeping was the expression of an inner joy that was overwhelming.

If (or As?) we squander our "inheritance" from our heavenly Father, we will unfailingly resemble that representative figure of the prodigal son. We too, then, "journey into a far country" there to waste our wealth in "loose living." (15:13) Unlike the prodigal son, though, we can do this without moving a step away from our homes. We need only retreat into the seemingly limitless space of our imaginations where fantasies entice us with unrealizable visions of "self-realization" or "pleasure." Then, there are the murky recesses of our hearts; uncharted territory that if not filled with the grace of God will "fill up" with "inner demons" that will eventually frighten us by the sheer audacity of temptations we never thought ourselves capable of entertaining. Or, perhaps a bit less dramatically, there are "the pods that the swine ate" (15:16), symbolic of philosophies and worldviews totally foreign to the Christ-centered life of the Church. The end result will be an emptiness and desolation that will exhaust our own inner resources. Our humbled minds and bodies will begin to search elsewhere for more satisfying nourishment. Anyone in such a predicament will only hope to be blessed - as was true of the prodigal son - with that mysterious process that leads to repentance, described simply as, "he came to himself." (15:17) Then, in words that have an urgency far greater than in an entire book of theology, we too may cry out, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me as one of your hired servants." (15:18-19)

We all know what follows: the compassionate father who runs to embrace his son in love; the clothing of the son in festal garments; the orders and preparations for a sumptuous banquet of joy; and the solemn words: "for this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found." (15:24) As this parable repeats itself endlessly until the end of time, with its finely-etched descriptions of sin, repentance and redemption; we continue to witness some of the "mini-resurrections" that make up the meaningful dramas of everyday life.

'Can't Find My Way Home' - Lessons from the Prodigal Son

Dear Parish Faithful & Friends in Christ,

"And He said, 'There was a man who had two sons'..."

 

This is how Christ begins what is perhaps the greatest of his parables, the one we know as the Parable of the Prodigal Son, but which could easily be titled the "Parable of the Two Sons" or the "Parable of the Compassionate Father." With this parable, which we heard at the Divine Liturgy on Sunday, we are invited to prepare to enter the "school of repentance" -- Great Lent -- and sit at the feet of the Master, so that we can hear the words of eternal life and "keep them."

After receiving his portion of the inheritance, even before his father had died, the younger of the two sons "gathered all that he had and took his journey into a far country, and there he squandered his property in loose living" [Luke 15:13]. This one sober understatement does not demand a great deal of imagination to yield its meaning. We know that loose living refers to a web of wrong choices, bad company, unrestrained satisfaction of "the passions," and forgetfulness of God. This spiritually suicidal combination leads to bankruptcy on a further series of interrelated levels: the material, moral/ethical and spiritual. In no time, the prodigal son is forced to feed "on the pods that the swine ate" [Luke 15:16].

Before succumbing to the temptation of trying my hand at an updated melodramatic script that would luridly describe the sins of the wayward young man of the parable -- replete with money, sex and drugs -- together with all of the didactic apparatus meant to strengthen our resolve to protect our children (since we are now too old for all of that), I would rather more modestly pause at the words about a journey "into a far country." 

The far country of the parable is geographical, for the young man of the parable ventured far from his home. Yet, a "far country" can also refer to a hidden place in our interior landscape; a "place" in which we can distance ourselves from God and right living to a frightening degree, even if slowly and unintentionally. At first, that interior far country can prove to be appealing. It can appease our vanity, protect our pride and/or feed "the passions" that we can nurture with pleasure, even if hidden from the view and censure of others. This is initially stimulating and seems to promise endless delight -- perhaps like the endless freedom that an unsupervised dorm may offer to an innocent college student away from the sheltering, but seemingly restrictive, atmosphere of home.

When the emptiness of such a landscape becomes evident, we too can desperately desire to "feed on the pods that the swine ate." The self-serving (or "self-help!") philosophies on which we squandered our "inheritance" from God will no longer satisfy us, but in a restless and hungry search for something else to replace these, we can even fall to the level of "swinish delights" -- anything to relieve our boredom or frustrations. Without moving anywhere, and without changing the patterns of our lifestyle, we can still withdraw to a "far country" in that interior landscape that can prove to be as treacherous as any unknown environment of the exterior world.

It is said of the prodigal son of the parable, that when at "rock bottom," he "came to himself" [Luke 15:17]. This is certainly one of the key expressions found in this endlessly rich parable. The young man found his right mind, his sanity was restored, and basically he "got a grip on reality" — an undramatic, but meaningful, way to describe "conversion," or the process of turning back toward God and the warm embrace of our heavenly Father.

In effect, the prodigal son repented. This major character of the parable did exactly what Christ taught as the beginning of His public ministry: "Repent, and believe in the Gospel." [Mk. 1:15] This call to repentance will allow me to again quote what I consider to be one of the best descriptions of repentance, at least among contemporary Orthodox writers, and that is from Archbishop Kallistos Ware's book The Orthodox Way:

Repentance marks the starting-point of our journey. The Greek term metanoia, as we have noted, signifies primarily a "change of mind." 

Correctly understood, repentance is not negative but positive. It means not self-pity or remorse but conversion, the re-centering of our whole life upon the Holy Trinity. It is to look not backward with regret but forward with hope - not downwards at our own shortcomings but upward at God's love. It is to see, not what we have failed to be, but what by divine grace we can now become; and it is to act upon what we see.

To repent is not just a single act, an initial step, but a continuing state, an attitude of heart and will that needs to be ceaselessly renewed up to the end of life (p.113-114).

 

A certain clarity of thought is needed to find our way home when we drift off toward a far country. The short-lived rock band of the late 1960s, Blind Faith, had an intriguing song entitled "Can't Find My Way Home." Perhaps that was an honest and clear-sighted assessment of the band's state of mind at that time (money, sex and drugs?) and a poignant recognition of being in a "far country." Two other songs on the album, however -- "In the Presence of the Lord" and "Sea of Joy" -- may have pointed to more promising discoveries.

Every year, through the lectionary of the Church, especially in this pre-lenten season of preparation, we are powerfully reminded of just how far away from "home" we may actually be in mind and heart. If we have been equally prodigal with the gifts bestowed upon us by God, then we can equally "come to ourselves" and return home to the embrace of our compassionate Father. Great Lent will once again present us with that possibility. 

Have I Ever Really 'Heard' the Parable of the Prodigal Son?

Dear Parish Faithful & Friends in Christ,

 As we move forward in the pre-lenten Sundays and the upcoming week of the Last Judgment (MATT. 25:31-46), perhaps we can "meditate" throughout this week on the Parable of the Prodigal Son from yesterday's Liturgy. When thought over deeply, we begin to understand how inexhaustible it really is!

This parable is chosen at this particular time in order to draw us toward repentance (Gk. metanoia); to remind us that Great Lent is the “school of repentance;” and that without repentance, our other “lenten efforts” become rather meaningless – if not spiritually dangerous. What will it take to convince us that we, too, need that “change of mind” and return to our heavenly Father that is the truest expression of living according to the Gospel?

As I ponder that question, I ask myself further: Have I ever really heard this parable in the way that Christ refers to “hearing?” And that would mean being shaken at the very core of my being. Am I only paying “lip service” to this greatest of the parables, as I listen to it as a wonderful short story that is exciting to analyze and discuss; but not quite capable of moving me any closer to genuine repentance? Again, these are the questions that come to my mind as I have heard this parable in the Liturgy for almost forty years now as a priest.

Yet, if we have spent some time in analyzing the richness of this parable, then we realize that it is not only about the prodigal son, with the two other characters – the father and the older brother – acting in a clearly subordinate manner or for the sake of rounding out the story. They are both integral to the parable and hold equal weight as we try and grasp the parable as a whole. Without the father and the older son, the parable would suffer from a certain one-sidedness or incompleteness.

This is absolutely true when it comes to the very core meaning of the parable - which is repentance. We are deeply moved by the movement of the prodigal son toward his return to his father’s home. We first read of his journey to a “faraway country” and rapid and total decline wherein he wastes his inheritance in “loose living.” An all too-familiar tale. This is followed by a spiraling descent that has him longing for the pods that serve as food for the pigs he has been hired to tend. His re-ascent begins with his “coming to himself” after what must have been a painfully honest self-assessment of his stricken condition of estrangement from even basic human fellowship. This culminates in the thought of returning to his father and begging for mercy and the actual movement of “arising” and doing it.

None of this would have born any fruit, however, without the compassion and love of the prodigal son’s father who embodies the forgiveness that completes his repentance. If the father had been stern, or absorbed with his own sense of being offended; if he had chastised his son with the predictable and perhaps satisfying retort, “I told you so;” then the parable would collapse with an all too-human reaction that would be plausible but unworthy of the Gospel that Jesus came to proclaim. For the father of the parable is a figure of our heavenly Father’s compassion, love and forgiveness that Christ came to offer to all and every sinner. The father remains unforgettable as a “character” precisely because he confounds our expectations in his boundless love fully revealed by running out to his son, falling on his neck and kissing him. This is how the Father “Who is without beginning” acts toward his wayward creatures who have spent their inheritance – the “image and likeness” of God – in the faraway country of self-autonomy and the “swinish” fulfillment of the most base desires. Our repentance results in a cosmic joy that God shares with the angels and the preparation of the “banquet of immortality.”

The older son represents precisely that all too-human response referred to above of hurt feeling and an offended sensibility that leaves him insensitive to his repentant brother’s return and salvation. No matter how justified such a response would seem from our human perspective, it remains outside of the Gospel’s “transvaluation of values.”

This is our “invitation” to Great Lent offered to us by the Lord Jesus Christ: “Repent, for the Kingdom of heaven is at hand” (MATT. 4:17). To help us understand the beauty of that movement of repentance, the Lord delivers what just may be his “parable of parables,” the one we usually name after the prodigal son. So before we get out our lenten cookbooks, we must first really “hear” this parable and pray to God that He will direct and guide us toward true repentance. The lenten cookbook will not save us – but repentance will.

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Dear Parish Faithful,

I received this very thoughtful and honest comment on the most recent Monday Morning Meditation. Thought to share it with everybody so that we can embody the same honesty in our approach toward God.

Fr. Steven

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Dear Father Steven,

Thank you for this reflective meditation. One of the teachings of the Orthodox faith that I am learning which permeates all of reality is what Father Stephen Freeman calls the "One Storey Universe." My ability to separate the physical realm from The Trinity rather than seeing them as one comes quiet easily. You accurately describe my tendency in reading Scripture- "To listen to the parable as a wonderful short story that is exciting to analyze and discuss; but not quite capable of moving me any closer to repentance." I think this statement is a perfect example of the Two Storey Universe which too often is my default worldview.

As a middle class American who has my basic needs met, I often fail to see the unfortunate circumstances or problems in my life and in the lives of others as opportunities to "come to my sense." Too often I focus on the solution rather than how to repent in the situation. I have hit "rock-bottom" before and in that situation, "I came to my senses" but  in my "hard-heartedness," the flesh seeks to reassert itself and I am learning that I must constantly put the flesh to death. This is what makes the real practice of Lent so powerful!

Thirdly, in your phrase: "The love of the prodigal's son father as opposed to the all too-human reaction to chastise his son," I am reminded that God is God because of His person, (The Father), not because He is Sovereign Creator, "who is absorbed with his own sense of being offended." 

Thank you again,

The Other Son and Comfortable Christianity

Dear Parish Faithful,

We have entered the Week of the Parable of the Prodigal Son. Thus, a time to reflect on repentance as we prepare to enter the annual "School of Repentance," and that, of course, is Great Lent beginning March 11 this year. Another mediation of mine has been featured on the OCA website this week. It concentrates on the prodigal son and his return to his father's house. If anyone would be interested, here is the link:

.https://oca.org/reflections/fr.-steven-kostoff/the-prodigal-son-re-centering-until-our-last-breath

Yet, as I shared yesterday in the post-Liturgy discussion, I am beginning to believe that perhaps the main character in the parable is the "other son" of the father, who can also be identified as the "unforgiving brother." This in no way diminishes the prodigal son's dramatic "change of mind" and his return to the loving embrace of his father; but it simply further enhances the depth of this seemingly inexhaustibly rich parable. (And, of course, a book-length discourse could be written about the father of the parable). I came across this very insightful paragraph from a contemporary biblical scholar, Brendan Byrne, on precisely that theme that I would like to further share with everyone:

In the original setting the parable serves ... to ward off the criticism the scribes and Pharisees mount against Jesus' celebration of God's acceptance. Doubtless, the early Church found in it, too, an analysis of Israel's problems with accepting the gospel of the crucified Messiah and the inclusion of Gentiles in the People of God. The applications are endless. 

One perhaps that we should not omit considering is that of finding in ourselves and our communities the rather different patterns of sinfulness shown by the two brothers: the overt sinning of the younger, the resentment and resistance of the older - and to ask which of the two patterns of the parable suggests to be the more difficult for God to deal with. 

But sinfulness is not in the end the main point. Fundamentally, like all the parables, the three stories in this chapter ask: "Do you really know God?" Or rather, "Are you comfortable with the God who acts with the foolishness of love displayed by the characters in these parables?"

From The Hospitality of God by Brendan Byrne (p. 132)

Perhaps the unforgiving brother poses the greatest challenge to us, in that it is this figure in the parable that we most resemble! The parables will never cease to challenge any form of "comfortable Christianity" that we embrace.

Self-Awareness and the Goal of Great Lent

Dear Parish Faithful & Friends in Christ,

“Not many days later, the younger son gathered all he had and took his journey into a far country, and there he squandered his property in loose living.” (LK. 15:13)

 

 

In the Parable of the Prodigal Son (alternative titles could be “The Compassionate Father” or “The Unforgiving Brother”) we find the classic expression of a young person making the wrong decision and suffering the consequences of that decision.  Seeking that much-vaunted — but certainly over-rated — desire for “autonomy,” “self-fulfillment,” “independence” or similar assertions of the “self;” the so-called prodigal son only succeeds in squandering his portion of the inheritance and impoverishing himself in the dreary process. Alone, friendless and desperate, this young man is reduced to feeding the pigs in a “far country” and narrowing his former grandiose plans down to a unenviable desire for self-survival.  

 

Not every such journey into self-assertion necessarily ends in such a spectacular demise, but the parable as unforgettably delivered by Christ rings quite true to life.  Jesus is not moralizing, shaking his head, or clucking his tongue at the expense of this pathetic figure in his parable.  

 

Rather, the prodigal son is elevated to tragic dimensions because he is representative of any human being – of any age – who, through self-will, lack of vigilance or sheer carelessness can waste his/her God-given gifts along a path with “no exit.”  This aberrant  life-decision will then demand a further hard decision:  to make one’s way back to authentic life – and for Christ that means returning to our heavenly Father in repentance, humility and self-emptying – or falling into a further despair that ends in hopelessness.  The Gospel always presents the gift of hope, and that is why it is “Good News.”

In the parable, the prodigal son “came to himself” and made the decision to return to his father and throw himself upon his father’s mercy.  He did not know how his abandoned father would react.  Therefore, he took the risk of a possible further rejection that would have been devastating.  

 

However, he was “surprised by joy” and the loving embrace of his compassionate father who, in turn, rejoiced at the return of his lost son.  The other brother, of course, remained displeased, envious and angry with his father’s forgiving attitude.  The parable takes on a universal dimension when we realize that it describes our own relationship with God and the openness to a new life through genuine repentance.  

 

Others may not be convinced, but it is God who can discern out inner heart and the authenticity of our repentance when it wells up within us as we languish in a “far country” with a mind and heart that are far from God.  

 

There is no better description of the meaning of repentance that the one given by Archbishop Kallistos Ware in his now-classic The Orthodox Way:

“Correctly understood, repentance is not negative but positive.  It means not self-pity or remorse but conversion, the re-centering of our whole life upon the Trinity.  It is to look not backward with regret but forward with hope – not downwards at our own shortcomings but upwards at God’s love. It is to see, not what we have failed to be, but what by divine grace we can now become; and it is to act upon what we see. “  (p. 113-114)

If we have no self-awareness of being lost in a “far country.”  If we are not hungry for “something” other than the “good life” as conceived by a world totally devoid of God.  If we fail to see the need to repent and offer our lives back to God in humility and repentance.  If we have no real passion for a life committed to Christ. If that is our current spiritual condition, then we certainly have no need for Great Lent.  

 

Great Lent has been called the “School of Repentance.”  As disciples of Christ (disciple means “student”), we look to our Teacher – Jesus Christ – to guide us and direct us toward the realm of light and life – the Kingdom of God.  We may have to break through a formidable accumulation of “bad habits” that we have managed to entangle ourselves in over the years, and this will demand courage and perseverance.  But our goal is a worthy one:  to hear our heavenly Father exclaim with joy what the father of the parable said when his wayward child returned:  “It was fitting to make merry and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found”  (LK. 15:32).