Prodigal mercy

In today's Gospel reading we no longer have an attitude of severity on the part of Jesus when confronted by the Scribes and Pharisees, but one of confidence in the astonishing kindness of God towards frail human nature, a mercy that even anticipates the repentance worthy of pardon.

But there is more than that, for the Pharisees were familiar enough with the Scriptures' insistence on the mercies of God. What is revealed here is the joy that overflows from the Father's heart when He wins back one of his children by repentance.

There is little need to explain the three parables in which this truth is illustrated: the finding of the lost sheep, the story about the poor woman who finds her lost coin, and the return of a prodigal son to his father's home. They are well known to us all.

In view of his stern teaching on renunciation, as we have learned from last Sunday's Gospel, by a remarkable contrast we see today the publicans and sinners getting close to Jesus to hear Him teaching about sorrow and forgiveness.

We have here a clear proof that Jesus could speak with such apparent severity without ceasing to show Himself the kind and loving person which emerges even from a quick glance at the Gospel narratives.

It is only the Scribes and Pharisees whose bitter opposition prejudices them against Jesus however he speaks. Today's three parables are therefore spoken in answer to their complaints against the familiar friendliness he has always shown with sinners.

Jesus, first of all, compares his table fellowship with sinners with the typical behaviour of a shepherd seeking the lost sheep, and with the joy of a poor woman when she finds her lost coin.

The finding in both cases is cause for a community celebration. Similarly, Jesus says, the return of repentant sinners is a matter of heavenly joy.

But these two short parables are simply the warm-up for the full-blown parable that follows: a moving story which might be titled "The two lost sons".

Here the tax collectors are represented by the runaway wastrel son, who finally pities himself for running away from his loving father and for wasting all his money, and so decides to return to his father, knowing full well that he would soon be forgiven.

The Scribes and Pharisees, on the other hand, are portrayed by the stay-at-home elder son, who in his own way is also lost, and even more so than his prodigal brother.

He has failed to appreciate that his father is a 'true' father, not a slave master: "All these years I have slaved for you and never disobeyed one of your commands," says the younger son.

The father, on the other hand, symbolises a compassionate God, who goes on loving repentant sinners and forgiving them with great joy and celebration.

More than once I have overheard people uttering these words, after they have been offended by someone: "I forgive, but I shall not forget!" Our Christlike reply should be: "I forgive from the bottom of my heart, and I ask God for help to forget."

True, genuine forgiveness does not necessarily imply 'forgetting', because none of us has complete control over our memory, but it does demand that we deal with our offender as if the offence had never happened, and that we should even be ready to go out of our way to offer him our support when needed.

The parable of the prodigal son makes us think of the innumerable times when we ourselves have been the object of God's 'prodigal' mercy, even after our repeated infidelities. Our prayer today should be that we too might always be 'prodigal' in our readiness to forgive.