Luke 14:25–33 ESV – Bible Gateway

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John Bergsma gives us the context for this passage:

We are nearing the end of Luke’s “travel narrative,” and in two weeks, Jesus will be in Jericho, the eastern gateway to Judea, just a day’s walk from Jerusalem. As he nears the end of the journey, he teaches on prayer. Prayer will be so important in the dramatic events about to transpire in Passion Week: Jesus will pray all night in Gethsemane and urge his Apostles to do the same.[1]

I find it fascinating that often the parables Jesus tells are in response to a question he is asked, but in this case, he is preparing them to pray continuously and not to lose heart, “not to give up in the midst of evil.”[2]

CCC §2098: The acts of faith, hope, and charity enjoined by the first commandment are accomplished in prayer. Lifting up the mind toward God is an expression of our adoration of God: prayer of praise and thanksgiving, intercession and petition. Prayer is an indispensable condition for being able to obey God’s commandments. “[We] ought always to pray and not lose heart.”[3]

In this parable, Jesus sets up the characters of the unrighteous judge. A man whose priority is only himself as he neither respects God nor man. In contrast, we have the widow who is begging for justice against an adversary, somebody who is either persecuting her or withholding something she is owed.

One common thread and a component of social justice, as expounded by the Old Testament, is that the widow and others who are vulnerable are to be protected and cared for.

²² You shall not mistreat any widow or fatherless child. ²³ If you do mistreat them, and they cry out to me, I will surely hear their cry, ²⁴ and my wrath will burn, and I will kill you with the sword, and your wives shall become widows and your children fatherless. (Ex 22:22–24, ESV-CE).

The unrighteous judge finally relents due only to her strong persistence.

Brant Pitre teases out an interesting element in the underlying language used:

Now the RSV says “wear me out”, but the Greek actually says, “lest she come” and the word here is hypopiazō, and the New American Bible gets this right. The New American Bible says “lest she come and strike me.” But the literal Greek actually “lest she come and give me a black eye.” That’s what hypopiazō means. It’s a boxing term. So Paul actually uses this elsewhere when he talks about boxing the air or shadowboxing, this imagery of punching. So she’s not the persistent widow, she’s the violent widow, and perhaps you’ve known some old ladies like this, who you don’t…you don’t want to mess with them. That’s the kind of woman that’s being described here. Basically, this judge is afraid that if he doesn’t give this woman a verdict, she’s going to come and do physical violence against him. She’s going to give him a black eye. [2]

This parable is also another example of a rhetorical technique Jesus uses here and in other places:

Jewish literature, and in later Rabbinic literature, was something called the qal-va-homer. It’s a Hebrew expression; it means “from the lesser to the greater.” In Latin, we talk about the a fortiori argument. In other words, it’s saying, if this is true for this lesser thing, then how much more true is it for the greater? [2]

We saw the usage of this in Luke 11, comparing how a father knows how to give good gifts to his son. “If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

Jesus is telling us to be persistent in prayer and to trust and wait for how he will answer those prayers.

I like how Peter Kreeft looks at why we need to pray.

This reason—the reason why God does not give us the things we pray for until we pray for them—is the same reason why he does not give us the good things we work for until we work for them. Work and prayer both work by the same principle. God instituted both prayer and work for the same reason. God sees that we need not only the things we work for, like food and shelter and clothing and security, but also that we need work, meaningful work. God instituted prayer for the same reason he instituted work: to give us the dignity of being real causes, active coworkers and cooperators with him. We become strong, wise, patient, and persistent only by work. And the worker is more important than the work. What we ourselves become by working is more important than the work we do because we have intrinsic value and our work, however important, is only a means to a further end. “You can’t take it with you when you die” is true of all our work, but it’s not true of ourselves. We take ourselves with us everywhere, even to heaven.[4]

Bishop Baron in his commentary on this passage, writes:

One reason that we don’t receive what we want through prayer is that we give up too easily. What could be behind this rule of prayer? Augustine said that God sometimes delays in giving us what we want because he wants our hearts to expand. The more ardently we desire something, the more ready we are when it comes, the more we treasure it. The very act of asking persistently is accomplishing something spiritually important. So when the Lord seems slow to answer your prayer, never give up.

There is also a strong correlation between the First Reading of Exodus 17:8–13.

Pope Benedict XVI points out that Moses, with both arms lifted up in prayer, strikes a pose on the mountaintop much like Christ on the Cross. So we can see Moses here as a type of Christ, prefiguring the great prayer to the Father that was the Passion and Crucifixion, the great prayer which definitively defeated the enemy of God’s people. We participate in that great Prayer of Christ on the Cross at every Mass.[1]

If we start to become weary in prayer, we must never forget that we are always in community. That we need others to lift our arms up in prayer when we start to falter. We can never do this on our own. It is God who is giving us the grace to pray in the first place. There are several examples in the Old Testament where prophets start to despair and become fatigued, and God revitalizes them. He will do the same for us, and we can never be constant in prayer with this.

The last line of this Gospel passage is rather striking “Nevertheless, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?” This is in contrast to the prevalent myth of progress, where everything is going to improve more and more over time. Jesus warns in several places of a mass apostasy that is to come before the end of the world and his second coming.

CCC §675: Before Christ’s second coming the Church must pass through a final trial that will shake the faith of many believers. The persecution that accompanies her pilgrimage on earth will unveil the “mystery of iniquity” in the form of a religious deception offering men an apparent solution to their problems at the price of apostasy from the truth. The supreme religious deception is that of the Antichrist, a pseudo-messianism by which man glorifies himself in place of God and of his Messiah come in the flesh.[3]

Our constancy in prayer is not dependent on the times we live in. We are always called to adore and praise God, give thanksgiving and make intercessions for ourselves and others. There is no time so dark that this is not true, and no time seemingly bright in contrast that this is not true.

One last note, this from St. Augustine:

The widow may be said to resemble the Church, which appears desolate until the Lord shall come, who now secretly watches over her. But in the following words, And she came unto him, saying, Avenge me. we are told the reason why the elect of God pray that they may be avenged; which we find also said of the martyrs in the Revelations of St. John, (Rev. 6:10.) though at the same time we are very plainly reminded to pray for our enemies and persecutors. This avenging of the righteous then we must understand to be, that the wicked may perish. And they perish in two ways, either by conversion to righteousness, or by punishment having lost the opportunity of conversion. Although, if all men were converted to God, there would still remain the devil to be condemned at the end of the world. And since the righteous are longing for this end to come, they are not unreasonably said to desire vengeance.[5]

Sources

• The Word of the Lord: Reflections on the Sunday Mass Readings for Year C – John Bergsma
• Catholic Productions, Commentaries by Brant Pitre
• Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2nd Edition
• Peter Kreeft, Food for the Soul: Reflections on the Mass Readings Year C
• The Word on Fire Bible (Volume 1)꞉ The Gospels
• Catena Aurea: Commentary on the Four Gospels, Collected out of the Works of the Fathers, Volume 4: St. John – Verbum
• Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

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1. The Word of the Lord: Reflections on the Sunday Mass Readings for Year C, John Bergsma  ↩
2. Catholic Productions, Brant Pitre, “The Twenty-ninth Sunday of Ordinary Time (Year C)”  ↩
3. Catholic Church. (2000). Catechism of the Catholic Church (2nd Ed). United States Catholic Conference.  ↩
4. Peter Kreeft, Food for the Soul: Reflections on the Mass Readings Year C  ↩
5. St. Agustine, Catena Aurea: Commentary on the Four Gospels, Collected out of the Works of the Fathers: St. Luke  ↩

Luke 1711–19 ESV – Bible Gateway

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This passage continues Jesus’ travel narrative as he passes through Samaria onto Jerusalem. When he enters a village, ten lepers shout out at him from a distance. As we learn, one of these men is a Samaritan. There is an interesting dynamic here, as the Navarre commentary references. “There was no love lost between Jews and Samaritans (cf. Jn 4:9), but shared pain, in the case of these lepers, overcame racial antipathy.”[1] When pain or sin brings us low, we reevaluate our assumptions. So often, these assumptions are mostly made up of what separates us from others. Characteristics that are of no real importance are emphasized over our common humanity. Even when there are serious theological disputes, this should not prevent us from seeing others as persons. Pain can sharpen our awareness not only of our own humanity but look beyond ourselves to see others more fully.

It seems likely that this group of lepers had heard stories about Jesus, the miracle worker. That he was something more than those who claimed to be able to do the same.

Peter Kreeft puts this succinctly:

Although only this one of the ten lepers added praise and gratitude to faith, all ten lepers were healed by their faith in Jesus. That faith was shown when they met Jesus’ test. Jesus did not heal them then and there, as soon as they asked (also in a loud voice—the text says they “raised their voices”) “Jesus, Master! Have pity on us!” The fact that they come to Jesus for a healing expresses one level of faith. The fact that they call him “Master” expresses a higher level of faith. But the fact that they all obey him and go off to show themselves to the priests who will certify that they are cleansed—the fact that they do that before they are cleansed; the fact that it is only on the way to the priests that they receive the miracle—that shows that their faith was on a still higher level. They trusted Jesus so much that they believed they were to be healed, and acted as if they were healed, even before it happened.[2]

The leper’s response is amazing in that they had a level of faith that did not demand an instant cure and proof that something momentous had happened in this encounter. They trusted in him and acted as if they had already been healed.

John Bergsma notes the reason that Jesus gave the command he did to them:

In this, we note the fact that Jesus upholds the written law of God and the authority structure of the Old Covenant, while it stands. Jesus was well aware of corruption in the priesthood, and several chapters earlier (Luke 10), he told a story of a priest and Levite who just “passed by on the other side” (v. 31, 32; RSV2CE). Despite that, the written word of God by Moses had a procedure for the cleansing of leprosy, and Jesus follows it. There is a lesson here. Jesus understands authority and authority structures. Individuals may be corrupt, but that doesn’t justify anarchy in society or in the Church.[3]

We are also a long way off from Jesus when we sin and stand at a distance from him. He hears us when we shout in our pain and bids us draw closer to him. For us, he does this through the Church and the sacraments. There are multiple levels of healing that can occur when we do so.

This story in Luke goes on to illustrate a distinction between the leper from Samaria and the other nine.

Brant Pitre points out a couple of notable differences in their reactions:

And so what happens is one of the ten lepers, who happens to be a Samaritan, realizes that the person he needs to thank for being cleansed is Jesus of Nazareth. So he turns back and he goes to Jesus. Notice what he does. He praises God—literally glorifies God—and gives thanks to Jesus by falling at his feet.
…
He does something kind of striking, he falls on his face. In other words, he gets prostrate before Jesus. That’s a strange thing to do either for a Jew or a Samaritan. Because by the first century AD, Samaritans—like the Jews—are monotheists. They only believe in one God. They actually have accepted the five books of Moses as Scripture and they worship the One God in their temple at Mount Gerizim. And so Samaritans, just like Jews, they’re not like pagans. They don’t fall prostrate before other human beings and take on a posture of worship to another human being.[4]

The Venerable Bede comments on this passage:

He fell upon his face, because he blushes with shame when he remembers the evils he had committed. And he is commanded to rise and walk, because he who, knowing his own weakness, lies lowly on the ground, is led to advance by the consolation of the divine word to mighty deeds. But if faith made him whole, who hurried himself back to give thanks, therefore does unbelief destroy those who have neglected to give glory to God for mercies received. Wherefore that we ought to increase our faith by humility, as it is declared in the former parable, so in this is it exemplified in the actions themselves. [5]

This action of one leper is an echo of the healing of another leper.

The miracle thus recalls Elisha’s healing of Naaman the Syrian (4:27), who likewise was cleansed from a distance after obeying the command of the “prophet in Samaria” to “go” (2 Kings 5:3, 9–14). … Similarly, Naaman had returned and confessed the true God (2 Kings 5:15). Jesus is thus a prophet like Elisha. Moreover, the man also thanked (Greek eucharisteō) Jesus: glorifying God and thanking Jesus are now linked together. In doing so, he literally fell “on his face” (RSV)—like the earlier leper (Luke 5:12)—before Jesus.[6]

The other lepers perceived Jesus as a prophet, an instrument of God. They had turned to God for healing and received it. They had the virtues of faith and hope. Still, they were standoffish in their relationship with God. God had always intended a personal relationship with his people, but the Israelites balked at this, preferring mediators like Moses to go up to the mountain to interact with him. The leper from Samaria perceives something more and provides worship and glory to God. He is moved to love God directly in the personhood of Jesus. The others were thankful to God in a generic sense, this leper is moved to the theological virtue of charity and loves God directly.

Jesus says to him, “Rise and go your way; your faith has made you well.” This leper thus receives even greater healing. Jesus had already noted that the ten were cleansed, indicating the curing of leprosy. The greater cleansing is to be freed of our sins.

It is not indicated that the Samaritan leper goes on to fulfill Jesus’ command to show himself to the priests. Perhaps he perceived, in some way, that Jesus was the true high priest and that by returning to him, he had done as Jesus ordered. Still, the parallel for us is that when we have sinned gravely, we can go directly to Jesus and make a perfect act of contrition and be forgiven, but even then must avail ourselves of the Sacrament of Reconciliation as soon as we are able.

Sources

• Navarre, Saint Luke’s Gospel (2005)
• Peter Kreeft, Food for the Soul: Reflections on the Mass Readings Year C
• The Word of the Lord: Reflections on the Sunday Mass Readings for Year C – John Bergsma
• Catholic Productions, Commentaries by Brant Pitre
• The Gospel of Luke, Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture, Rev. Pablo T. Gadenz
• Catena Aurea: Commentary on the Four Gospels, Collected out of the Works of the Fathers, Volume 3: St. Luke – Verbum
  Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

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1. Navarre, Saint Luke’s Gospel (2005)  ↩
2. Peter Kreeft, Food for the Soul: Reflections on the Mass Readings Year C  ↩
3. The Word of the Lord: Reflections on the Sunday Mass Readings for Year C, John Bergsma  ↩
4. Catholic Productions, Brant Pitre  ↩
5. Venerable, Presbyter and Monk of Yarrow, A.D. 700. Catena Aurea: Commentary on the Four Gospels, Collected out of the Works of the Fathers: St. Luke  ↩
6. The Gospel of Luke, Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture, Rev. Pablo T. Gadenz  ↩

Luke 16:1–13 ESV – Bible Gateway

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This passage from the Gospel of Luke has had a range of intepretations historically and seemingly more so in recent times. Some efforts, it seems to me, try to explain away instead of explain what seems to be Jesus praising the actions of the unjust steward. Brant Pitre often gives a reminder that Jesus’ parables often include a twist. Something unexpected to make a point. This parable likely has a double twist or an added stinger.

To start with let’s look at the historical context as pointed out by John Bergsma:

The role of steward in a large household was one of great responsibility but also one of wealth and prestige. The job went to the master’s most trusted male slave. As a result, enterprising young freemen in the Roman empire sometimes sold themselves as slaves to wealthy men in order to become stewards of their households.[1]

There are some interesting connections with some of the other parables in Luke as Brant Pitre writes:

… the Greek word for wasting, diaskorpizō, is the same word used of the prodigal son in Luke 15, who went off and wasted his father’s property. In fact, that’s the word that gets translated as “prodigal” in many of the older translations, so that’s why—following Fr. Anthony Giambrone, he’s a Catholic Dominican biblical scholar—he calls this the parable of the prodigal steward, because just like you had a prodigal son, here you have a prodigal steward, who’s wasting not his father’s money, but his master’s money … Now remember here that the Master’s money—the word for Master in Greek is kyrios—so he’s stealing from the lord, it’s the same word for lord.[2]

We can, to an extent, imagine the situation the steward finds himself in. The steward has been doing well for himself by mismanaging his master’s money purposely to his own enrichment. He was not living a life of hardship of day-to-day laboring continuosly seeking employment. He is too prideful to work as a common laborer and will continue on the same path that got him into trouble in the first place.

He’s not suited to any other way of making a living, and as a slave, he has no estate of his own. He’s been used to socializing with his master’s peers, although he is not truly their social or legal equals.[1]

In his panic, he plots what he can do to ingratiate himself with others so that he will have an opportunity to maintain his current lifestyle. There is no reflection on how his own dishonesty has led him to this point. Deciding to further defraud his master by reducing the debt owed by his master’s debtors. These debtors know what is going on and are willing to take advantage of this opportunity, but they also now know the dishonesty of the steward. The steward is fooling himself that he will find employment with them now that they know his corruption.

Some interpretations of this passage infer that the steward was only forgoing his own commission in changing these debts. This is just not supported by the text, especially considering that there are different percentages of reductions for the two debtors missing[3]. This explanation tries to explain Jesus’ praise of the steward’s actions in verses 16:8–9. Verse 8 can be easily understood as grudgingly acknowledging the steward’s cunning but not the action. Jesus says elsewhere, “be shrewd as serpents and simple as doves” (Matt 10:16). An interesting aspect regarding this verse is that they are not expressions found in the Old Testament, but are found in the Dead Sea Scrolls. Brant Pitre comments:

“The sons of this world” are the ones who belong to this fallen world, or this sinful world. “The sons of light” are those who are destined to dwell in the new creation, or the “world to come.”[2]

It is 16:9, which gives us an added stinger that has been difficult to understand. “And I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of unrighteous wealth, so that when it fails they may receive you into the eternal dwellings.”

Just what is going on here? I think that both the literal and mystical sense of this parable points to seeing ourselves as the unjust steward. Everything we have has been given us by God, from our very existence to all the graces he has showered us with. Despite this, we often think only of ourselves and how we can use our talents to seek material pleasures. Even when we make attempts to acknowledge our role in stewardship of all he has given us, “We are unprofitable servants: we have done that which was our duty to do. (Luke 17:10)” All that God has given us does not belong to us, and we are meant to use those graces in the service of others. That we can pay down the debt of other people through intercessory prayer and using these gifts in the service to others. How much effort do we put into the salvation of souls and preaching the Gospel? Or is our cunning employed elsewhere? “A disciple who is a prudent steward will paradoxically give away wealth and remit debts, seemingly doing what the dishonest steward did but in reality enacting Jesus’ jubilee program.[3]”

Peter Kreeft writes about this proper ordering:

He tells us and shows us, by his example, how to be realistic, how to practice realism, and how to live in reality. In reality, there are only three levels, three radically different kinds of reality. There is God, who is infinitely greater and better than people or things. And there are people, made in God’s image, who are infinitely greater than things as well as infinitely less great than God. And there are things, all the things money can buy, both goods and services, which are good but not nearly as good as God or as great as people. So, in order to practice realism, in order to live in real reality and not in the false reality that we dream, in order to be sane, we must worship God, love people, and use things. First, we must adore and worship God, not ourselves or each other or things. Second, we must love people and use things, not love things and use people. Third, we must use things, as enterprisingly and cleverly and responsibly as we can, as means to those two infinitely more important ends. … That is living in reality; that is being sane. In other words, sanity and sanctity are identical.[4]

John Bergsma echoes this:

This is perhaps the key teaching of this entire reading. The world encourages an attitude in which we use people to gain things. Jesus reverses this: use things to gain people. If spending money and giving goods can open others to friendship with the Church and ultimately Christ himself, then spend the money, give the goods.[1]

There is some question as to how to consider verses 10–13 and how they are related to the Parable of the Unjust Steward.

… these verses probably aren’t meant to explain the parable that just preceded. Rather, they are a series of general maxims or teachings—proverbs, you might say—of Jesus about wealth, that are linked by catchword and theme to what precedes it.

We often try to divide our attention, trying to serve both God and mammon. We think we are generous when we tithe ten percent, or much less, of our attention to God. This is not the case for the Catholic both/and. I know it is a constant temptation to divide my attention thus and forget what Joshua said: “But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord. (Jos 24:15)”

Catechism §2424 A theory that makes profit the exclusive norm and ultimate end of economic activity is morally unacceptable. The disordered desire for money cannot but produce perverse effects. It is one of the causes of the many conflicts which disturb the social order.

A system that “subordinates the basic rights of individuals and of groups to the collective organization of production” is contrary to human dignity. Every practice that reduces persons to nothing more than a means of profit enslaves man, leads to idolizing money, and contributes to the spread of atheism. “You cannot serve God and mammon.”

Sources

• Catholic Productions, Commentaries by Brant Pitre
• The Word of the Lord: Reflections on the Sunday Mass Readings for Year C – John Bergsma
• Peter Kreeft, Food for the Soul: Reflections on the Mass Readings Year C
• The Ignatius Catholic Study Bible꞉ The New Testament
• The Gospel of Luke, Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture, Rev. Pablo T. Gadenz
• Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2nd Edition
• Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

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1. The Word of the Lord: Reflections on the Sunday Mass Readings for Year C, John Bergsma  ↩
2. Catholic Productions, Brant Pitre  ↩
3. The Gospel of Luke, Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture, Rev. Pablo T. Gadenz  ↩
4. Peter Kreeft, Food for the Soul: Reflections on the Mass Readings Year C  ↩

Luke 15:1–32 ESV – Bible Gateway

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My first reaction on reading this passage again was to think what dolts the Pharisees were for not thinking they were sinners also. This was because I saw this in light of my modern understanding of the term. Brant Pitre points out:

But that’s not what the word “sinners” means in the gospel. In the gospels, when you hear them talk about sinners, it’s a technical expression. It refers to people who were violating the Law of Moses, who were violating the Torah, and they were doing it in a public way and in a grave way. So people whose sins were both public and grave. [1]

Tax Collectors also routinely extorted money from people, and so the term “Tax collector and sinners” was meant to be a term related to those violating the Law of Moses. Where the Pharisees erred was in mercy in seeing them as hopeless causes and not as their neighbors needing their prayer and help.

They basically complain or grumble (see 5:30; 19:7), just like Israel’s wilderness generation who grumbled against God and Moses (Exod 15:24; 16:7).

Jesus defends his outreach to sinners with a parable—probably referring to all three “lost and found” parables in Luke 15. The lost sheep, the lost coin, and the lost son correspond to the tax collectors and sinners. The man with the sheep, the woman with the coins, and the father with the two sons are used to describe how God reaches out to such sinners through Jesus’ ministry. Besides the image of finding something or someone lost (15:4, 8, 24, 32), what unites the three parables is the resulting joy (15:5–7, 9–10, 22–24, 32).[2]

One aspect of the parable of the lost sheep is that it sets up a situation so common that normally no attention would be paid to it. A sheep wandering off from the flock was such a common occurrence in the daily life of a shepherd. It is quite a disproportionate response to celebrate the return of one such loss. It is also a common occurrence in life for us to also to wander off from the community that sustains us.

St Gregory the Great’s comments:

“He put the sheep on his shoulders because, on taking on human nature, he burdened himself with our sins”[3]

The following parable of the lost coin is also a common occurrence. The silver coin was a drachma, the value of a denarius, and approximately the value of a day’s work for an agricultural worker.[4] Again, a seeming overaction to run to the neighbors to rejoice about finding it.

Another aspect of the second parable is one John Bergsma brings up:

Someone else is rejoicing in front of the angels. Who is that? God himself. But in keeping with Jewish piety, Jesus uses circumlocutions to speak of the divine rejoicing.[5]

Now we come to what is commonly called the Parable of the Prodigal Son, and there has been plenty of homilies and commentaries and why the common title might not be the best. As Brant Pitre references, “whatever you call the parable has an effect on the way you interpret it because it puts a certain emphasis somewhere.”[6] This is true, and what you read can be narrowed by the interpretive lens you use. Others have come up with titles that emphasize the merciful father or the two sons. Brant Pitre proposes “The Parable of the Lost Son” because it is the last of three parables emphasizing this point, and the language of lost is used in the parable itself. I like the both/and approach here in that all of these titles accurately emphasize parts of this complex parable.

First off, looking at the issue of inheritance, Rev. Pablo T. Gadenz, in his commentary, writes:

An inheritance was typically distributed after death (Num 27:8–11), but it was possible, though not advised, to do so while a person was still alive (Sir 33:20–24). However, the younger son takes the initiative here with his demand: give me my share. For him, the father might as well be dead. Under no obligation and despite the shame incurred, the father nonetheless complies out of respect for the younger son’s free decision. Since the firstborn son would receive a double portion (Deut 21:17), the younger son apparently received a third of the property. The remaining two-thirds is destined for the older son, so the father does not exaggerate when he later says, “Everything I have is yours” (Luke 15:31).[2]

The son was willing to sunder his relationship with his father and go off to a far country and live a life of the flesh. To show no concern for his relationships with his family and to be like the Epicureans, who argued that pleasure was the chief good in life. A version of YOLO, ’You Only Live Once.“ As we would expect, this did not go well for him to live a life of dissipation. When he hits rock bottom, He decides that he will arise and return to the father. The repeating of arise or ”get up“ is ”one of the verbs used for Jesus’ resurrection (18:33; 24:7, 46). Thus, by his repentance, the “dead” son is already coming “to life again” (15:24, 32).”[2] He sees the effects of his sin as exile and that it is leading him into despair. He has descended to live as a beast, even envying the very food he feeds the pigs.

This son’s motive to return to the father is still quite imperfect. He was motivated primarily to place himself in a better position as he realized his previous circumstances were materially better. On his way, he is practicing his speech in how he would be able to reconcile with his father. Still, sin has taught him some humility as he is not just blaming the famine for being brought low. Willing to work as a hired worker without any entitlement.

That he had been in a far-off country was no deterrent to his father, who still saw him when he was a long way off. He allows his son to start his apology but quickly moves into celebration mode. He knows his son is not perfectly contrite, but just like with us, the Father takes any movement towards contrition and will give us the grace to make that deeper. Just as in confession, sorrow for sin, even on the level of the fear of hell, is enough to be forgiven. The father’s reaction seems to be overblown, yet this is the level of mercy with which we are all treated. In the wiping away of sin, we also come to life again.

The father’s gifts have many interpretations, and this is a sampling from the Church Fathers.

(St. Ambrose, Archbishop of Milan, A.D. 374) He rightly returns to himself, because he departed from himself. For he who returns to God restores himself to himself, and he who departs from Christ rejects himself from himself.

(St. Augustine, Bishop of Hippo, A.D. 396). (de Quæst. Ev. l. ii. q. 33.) Or the best robe is the dignity which Adam lost; the servants who bring it are the preachers of reconciliation.

(ut sup.) Or the ring on the hand is a pledge of the Holy Spirit, because of the participation of grace, which is well signified by the finger.

(St. Ambrose, Archbishop of Milan, A.D. 374). Or the robe is the cloke of wisdom, by which the Apostle covers the nakedness of the body. But he received the best wisdom; for there is one wisdom which knew not the mystery. The ring is the seal of our unfeigned faith, and the impression of truth; concerning which it follows, And put a ring on his hand.

If the parable had ended here, it would have already seemed complete and not as challenging. Jesus then tells of the older son working in the field and hears the celebration. Instead of the joy of seeing his younger brother again, he is filled with envy thinking he was being treated unjustly. He is not willing to acknowledge any relationship with his lost brother. He has followed all the rules and been obedient. Perhaps rather sterile obedience to follow the rules because that was what was expected and not one out of love. Possibly jealousy of the previous lifestyle of his brother.

The father reassures him that everything he has is also his. The parable ends, and we are left wondering about the elder son’s reaction to this. This ties it back to how Jesus was replying to the Pharisees and scribes with the themed parables. How to view this was left to the original audience and for us. It was meant as a challenge when we are also small-hearted and can only see someone’s previous sins. When we are proud of the rules, we keep and have a similar merciless attitude towards others.

At what level do we adopt the father’s generosity?

From John Bergsma’s commentary:

Living in the “new creation” of Christ means operating by the father’s “logic” of love, forgiveness, and familial communion, both in our relationship to God and our relationships with others, both with those who seek reconciliation with us (the younger son) and with those who do not want reconciliation (the older son).[7]

This parable on a meta-level involves a history of the Tribes of Israel where the younger son is the northern kingdom which had split off and quickly started to worship other gods. “The “older son” is Judah (the oldest patriarch not cursed by his father Jacob), the head of the southern kingdom of Judah, which to external appearances was more faithful to the LORD and still lived in the land of Judea, surrounding Jerusalem and the Temple (the “house of the Father”). [7]” The Church Fathers would go on to interpret the younger son as the gentiles, and the oldest as Israel—an interpretive scheme fitting other parables Jesus taught.

If we tie up the parables together, one of the themes we see is the proactive approach to finding those who are lost. The shepherd does not wait for the lost sheep to return, he goes out to find it. The woman does not just wait for the lost coin to hopefully show up later, she actively searches her house. The father does not just write off the lost son. He is actively waiting and hoping for his return. He sees his son returning while he is still a long way off. He has prepared himself for his return by not dwelling on the actual injustice in the way he was treated by him. He receives him with mercy because his heart is already filled with love for him. Instead of a stiff rebuke, he also him refreshments. We can gripe about what is lost, or we can actively work to resolve the situation. St. Monica knew this and followed her son around the ancient world and prayed for him instead of staying home and griping about what an undutiful son he was.

The last parable wraps us telling about the older brother’s reaction.

Others of us at Mass are the older brother. We think we are good, not in need of forgiveness, and God owes us something. We resent riff-raff hanging around, and in particular, we don’t want them in our churches or other places where we hang out. We older brothers have no joy in our lives because we really aren’t motivated by love, and we don’t understand the God of love and joy. We need conversion as much as the younger son. We need to recognize “younger sons” as siblings, as family members, and share God’s joy at their repentance and reconciliation. God is not a businessman, rewarding service in a tit-for-tat or quid pro quo manner. God is a father, who wants all his children to share his love and joy.[5]

Prominently these parables show us that Jesus is not satisfied with only the general salvation of souls. It is not a numbers game with him where he is satisfied by some arbitrary number of those saved. That there is an intense love for each and every one of us. If we let him, we can see the view from his shoulder as he carries us home.

As Peter Kreeft comments:

The Church is a family, and a very large family at that. Yet no matter how many good sheep are safe at home in the family, if there is just one lost sheep, ninety-nine saved is too few for the good shepherd and just one lost sheep is too many. Mother Teresa was asked why she didn’t take grants from governments and institutions for her work, and she replied that her work was to do what Jesus did, and Jesus always did his work “one person at a time.”[8]

Lastly, from the Catechism:

§1439 _The process of conversion and repentance_ was described by Jesus in the parable of the prodigal son, the center of which is the merciful father: the fascination of illusory freedom, the abandonment of the father’s house; the extreme misery in which the son finds himself after squandering his fortune; his deep humiliation at finding himself obliged to feed swine, and still worse, at wanting to feed on the husks the pigs ate; his reflection on all he has lost; his repentance and decision to declare himself guilty before his father; the journey back; the father’s generous welcome; the father’s joy—all these are characteristic of the process of conversion. The beautiful robe, the ring, and the festive banquet are symbols of that new life—pure, worthy, and joyful—of anyone who returns to God and to the bosom of his family, which is the Church. Only the heart of Christ who knows the depths of his Father’s love could reveal to us the abyss of his mercy in so simple and beautiful a way.

Sources

• Catholic Productions, Commentaries by Brant Pitre
• The Gospel of Luke, Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture, Rev. Pablo T. Gadenz
• Navarre, Saint Luke’s Gospel (2005)
• The Word of the Lord: Reflections on the Sunday Mass Readings for Year C – John Bergsma
• Peter Kreeft, Food for the Soul: Reflections on the Mass Readings Year C
• Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2nd Edition
• Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

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1. Catholic Productions, Brant Pitre, The Twenty-fourth Sunday of Ordinary Time (Year C)  ↩
2. The Gospel of Luke, Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture, Rev. Pablo T. Gadenz  ↩
3. In Evangelia homiliae, 2, 14  ↩
4. Navarre, Saint Luke’s Gospel (2005)  ↩
5. The Word of the Lord: Reflections on the Sunday Mass Readings for Year C, John Bergsma, The Twenty-fourth Sunday of Ordinary Time  ↩
6. Catholic Productions, Brant Pitre, The Fourth Sunday of Lent (Year C)  ↩
7. The Word of the Lord: Reflections on the Sunday Mass Readings for Year C, John Bergsma, The Fourth Sunday of Lent  ↩
8. Peter Kreeft, Food for the Soul: Reflections on the Mass Readings Year C, The Twenty-fourth Sunday of Ordinary Time  ↩