Homily

In this Sunday’s Gospel we first see a shepherd who calls his friends and says, “Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost” (v. 6) and then a housewife, who goes to her friends and invites them to “rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost” (v. 9). Finally we see a father who calls his servants and says, “Get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again” (v. 23-24). These are three ways to express the same state of mind: God’s joy when He finds his children who had been lost. I would like to imagine the joy of God that explodes in every Sunday liturgy! Yes! Every Sunday God finds us and celebrates. We can compare the Lord to the father in the parable who looks down from his house and watches our roads. As soon as he sees us coming - like the son who came back - he runs down to the door to meet and embrace us. And indeed the holy liturgy opens with God’s embrace: the moment of forgiveness. We are quickly clothed in mercy, “quickly, bring out a robe – the best one – and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet” (v. 22). Then we can sound the hymn of praise, the Gloria. After this the long conversation opens with the Word of God that had been interrupted by our straying. Then comes the Eucharistic banquet, which by nourishing us with the holy bread and the cup of salvation transforms us and makes us similar to the beloved Son.
It could be said that the whole of Sunday is here: it is the feast of God’s embrace, the feast of God’s great mercy. It is hard to find this kind of mercy in the world, where we are more likely to encounter the absence of forgiveness and the even more common absence of love. It is normal for us to affirm ourselves, insist on our rights, and turn a deaf ear to forgiveness. The two sons in the parable, both the older and the younger, are petty and selfish. One could comment, “Poor father, with those two sons!” They had it all: a rich father and a big house; servants to look after them and possessions to enjoy. They had it all, but they had to share it. And they preferred their pettiness. “Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me” (v. 12). What a fool! He would rather have some than all. That young man, like many of us, was bothered by the idea of having something in common. He was bothered by not being the absolute master of himself and his things. “Give me what belongs to me.” What a sad, daily refrain. The young man left his house and lived dissolutely. In the context of the Gospel “dissolute,” more than immoral behaviour, means a life that is “untied” (dissoluta in Latin) from all dependency, dependency on his father and his house. Living a dissolute life means living for oneself, without listening to anyone or depending on anyone. It means living by yourself, far from your father. But by behaving like that, the young man found himself watching pigs.
The older brother was equally selfish. As soon as the servants told him the reason for the celebration, he got angry with his father and would not go in the house. He refused the celebration and he refused the mercy. He would rather have a kid goat for himself and a few friends than a fatted calf at a table set for his brother and everyone else. It seems strange that he does not want to be part of this celebration, but that is what happens every time we want the celebration all to ourselves. The Father says, “All that is mine is yours” (v. 31). But the son would rather stay outside, nervous and sad; it seems incredible, but the only reason he is sad is because his father has organized a great celebration.
These two sons are not far from us; they both live in each of our hearts, united in the same desire to have everything for themselves, the exact opposite of what the Father wants. But as the Gospel shows us, the desire to possess and to have everything for oneself leads to sadness and often even to ruin. What counts in the end, however, is our ability to come back to ourselves, recognize the sadness of our condition, and get up and return to the Father’s house. It is enough to remember these words of the Gospel concerning God’s mercy, which is infinitely greater than our sin. It is this remembering that gives us the strength to get up and head back on the road towards the Lord. We will not find a judge, but a father who comes to embrace us.
Sunday is the blessed day for us to return. The holy liturgy comes to us and overcomes all of our sadness, all of our sin, and all of our narrow-mindedness. We need to let ourselves get caught up in the celebration and enjoy it. The Sunday liturgy widens our heart, knocks down walls, opens the doors of our minds, and helps us look out towards the world, towards the poor. Sunday is broad, as broad as God’s mercy. Sunday is rich, not petty; it is full of emotions more beautiful than the banal instincts we take for granted. Sunday is the holy day in which God makes us happier men and women. An ancient hymn composed by the holy bishop John Chrysostom says: “If there are any true friends of God, let them enjoy this beautiful, bright festival. Those who have worked and those who have not, those in peace and those in suffering, those who are lost and those at home, those who are weighed down and those lifted up. May they all come and they will be welcomed. The holy liturgy is God’s festival, forgiveness, and embrace for us all.” May it be so for each one of us today.