The Return of the “Prodigal”
Some of you have heard this story before, but we have many new people, so I’ll share it again. Some of you probably forgot!
When we first got back to West Point in 2011, I was going through new instructor training. On the first day, there was a welcome for all the new faculty coming back into the department. I had graduated from the Department of Civil and Mechanical Engineering and was back in that department some nine years later. When I left the Academy and graduated, I commissioned into the Engineer branch; then I went to the Infantry branch for about nine years, and then I was back here at the Academy teaching Civil Engineering.
The department head, who had been a professor of mine—some of you may have heard the name before, then-Colonel Steve Ressler, now General (Retired) Steve Ressler—gave the introduction to everyone. As he was introducing me, he said, “And the prodigal son has returned.” I thought about that for a second and said, “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.” He was welcoming me with open arms, and we were happy to be back, but as I read this parable every single year, I’m still not so sure that was a compliment! But I had returned; I had come back to the Academy.
The Mirror of the Parable
This morning we hear this incredible parable—the longest parable the Lord tells. (So it’ll probably be the longest homily I give. I promise it won’t be more than about 45 minutes!) Today, this is an incredibly tender and merciful parable. It’s not just a story that the Lord tells to the Pharisees; it is actually a mirror that we should hold up right in front of each one of us.
It begins with a tragedy that is, unfortunately, all too common in this modern world: a son demands his inheritance while his father is still alive. He says, “I want your gifts, but not your presence.” This is essentially what he’s telling his father.
This is sin. Sin is not simply breaking the rules; it is separating our life from God. This is what the son is asking. He desires blessings without wanting to be in communion with the Giver. How often do we do the same?
Perhaps we don’t leave our homes physically, but we often wander inwardly. We ask God for success, for health, for safety—but we often live as though He were absent. We fill our lives with noise and with what I heard someone call the “rectangle of destruction”—the phone. With work, ambition, and distraction, prayer becomes rare.
The Awakening: “He Came to Himself”
The Gospel tells us that the son squandered his inheritance in a far-off land. He found himself hungry, in great want, and feeding pigs. Now, remember, the Lord is telling this parable to Jews; feeding swine is the lowest of the low. He is on “skid row” because of his life choices.
But then the Gospel tells us: “He came to himself.” Repentance begins here. He realized where he was and how he got there. Repentance is not self-hatred or despair; it is awakening. It is remembering who we are and where we belong.
The prodigal doesn’t have perfect motives at this moment—he’s just hungry! But humility opens the door to grace. He doesn’t blame others for his circumstances. He rehearses his confession: “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. Take me back as one of your hired servants.” Modern culture tells us to justify ourselves, to protect our image, and to blame our circumstances. Christ tells us to return home honestly. Repentance is simple, but simple doesn’t mean easy. It is direct and incredibly courageous.
The Heart of the Father
The heart of the parable is not the son; it is the Father. While the son is still far off, the Father sees him and runs to him. In ancient times, it was not common or “dignified” for a father to run, but he runs anyway. He falls on him, kisses him, and calls for the best robe, the signet ring, and shoes.
He restores him to sonship immediately. He doesn’t interrogate him. He doesn’t demand repayment. He doesn’t make him “earn” his way back. This is the God we worship. > The Church is not a courtroom; it is a hospital. Confession is not humiliation; it is resurrection. Fasting is not punishment; it is medicine. Prayer is not a burden; it is a relationship. It is coming home.
The Danger of the Elder Brother
But what of the elder son? The Father throws a feast with the fatted calf, but the elder son stands outside and refuses to go in. He is angry and resentful.
He has remained physically close to the Father, but his heart is very distant. He measures righteousness by comparison. He doesn’t even acknowledge the prodigal as his brother, saying to the Father: “This son of yours,” not “My brother.” St. Ambrose tells us:
“The one who sees himself to be righteous, who does not see the plank in his own eye, becomes angry when forgiveness is granted to one who confesses his sin and begs for mercy.”
This is a danger for those of us who have been in the Church for many years. Do we keep the outward forms of faith while losing compassion? Do we obey without love? Do we serve without joy? Proximity to holy things does not automatically soften the heart. Yet, the Father still goes out to the elder son, too, inviting him into the joy.
Practical Steps for the Journey
What does the Gospel ask of us today?
-
Come to yourself: Recognize where you have wandered. What habits or resentments draw you away from God? Do not despair; recognition opens the door to mercy.
-
Arise and return: Make a concrete movement toward God. Come to confession. Set aside time for prayer. Fast with humility, not “perfection.” As Father Thomas Hopko said: “Pray as you can, not as you think you must.”
-
Imitate the Father’s mercy: Refuse to live in despair or judgment. Forgive others and rejoice when the lost return. Let the mercy you receive be the mercy you offer.
Brothers and sisters, this parable is given to us before Great Lent because Lent itself is a journey home. The table is being prepared, the robe is ready, and the Father is watching the road.
Let us arise and go to our Father, to whom belong all glory, honor, and worship, both now and ever and into ages of ages. Amen.
Please rise.