The other day I rewatched the famous scene from the 1996 movie Jerry MacGuire. In this scene, Jerry (Tom Cruise) comes back home to make up with his wife, Dorothy (Renee Zellweger), following a period of time where he has really lost his way. His wife is in the middle of a women’s gathering, and Jerry decides that he will offer his apology right there anyway. He speaks for a few minutes while she is silent and ends his tearful monologue with, “I love you. You complete me.” Dorothy responds with her famous line “Just shut up, shut up…you had me at ‘Hello.’”
Today’s gospel from Luke 15 offers, perhaps, Jesus’ most famous story. It is the story of the Prodigal Son. And I think about that scene from Jerry Macguire as I picture the son apologizing and the father hugging him saying, “You had me at ‘Hello.””
I have written a bit about this passage previously (or you can read a wonderful reflection on this story from Kateri Boucher). You can also listen to an amazing homily by Fr. Jim on this passage. God, I miss him.
There is so much that we can reflect on in this reading. I especially like the spiritual practice of putting myself in each role in the reading (the selfish son; the disconnected and angry older brother; the loving father; the unmentioned mother who has to watch all this from the sidelines and is deeply impacted by things but has no say in them) and seeing what this speaks to in our lives right now.
But what I want to focus on today are three dynamics that I see happening in this story, and they are three things for us to consider in our own lives.
I’ll start with the younger son who went off on a multi-year party. Not only did he humiliate his father by asking for the inheritance before the father was dead, he humiliated the family by what he spent the money on. When he “comes to his senses” he says to himself, “I shall get up and go to my father and I shall say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I no longer deserve to be called your son; treat me as you would treat one of your hired workers.”‘
I think of this dynamic as the energy of “repair.” By this I mean that the younger son is taking steps to acknowledge the harm and seeking a consequence that would be meaningful to the person who was harmed. Naturally, there could be other steps in the process of repair, but it starts with honesty about what happened.
It also involves concrete action. Whether at an individual or collective level, the process of repair must go beyond a mere “I’m sorry.” There must be concrete steps.
I also always appreciate the guidance of Alcoholics Anonymous when it comes to “repair.” As part of Steps 8 and 9 (of the 12 Steps), a person is encouraged to make a list of people harmed, be willing to make amends and make direct amends wherever possible (except where it might cause further harm of some kind).
But, taken together, we might reflect today on what needs repair in our life? Is there a situation or relationship that we need to take accountability for?
The second dynamic relates to the father and this is the dynamic of “forgiveness.” There’s so much to say about the actions the father took, but what stands out to me is how free the father is when he offers his forgiveness.
The father is not naive about what his son has done to him. But, as Fr. Greg Boyle says, “Instead of seeing ‘sin’ the father sees only ‘son.’”
The father has clearly done his inner work and has released all that he needs to in order to embrace his son. This is no small task, and is rarely done in one movement. I have always loved the book by the Sheila Fabricant Linn called Don’t Forgive Too Soon. It’s a wonderful little book that helps us see that forgiveness is a process and that we should not short-circuit it by rushing. Take the time you need to make sure that when you forgive, it is real.
We might pause here and reflect on relationships in our lives that might need our forgiveness or active work on the process.
Finally I think about the older brother and the dynamic of what I would name as “healing.” Here, we see that the older brother is in pain. Not only has he suffered the loss of his brother, he worked hard for so many years and feels invisible to his father. And now his lewd brother comes home and is treated like royalty.
The older brother has constricted his heart and is focused on his own resentment, anger and complaint. These lead to a bitterness of the soul and become venom when he speaks to his father.
I’d also have to speculate that the older brother – for whatever reason – was unable to ask for what he needed through the years (time off, a party with his friends, etc.) and blames both his brother (for receiving time away and a party) and his father (for not providing it without his asking) for his anger and resentment.
What the older brother is not doing, however, is trying to heal the hurt. What is ironic is that even though he did everything “right,” he is much less free than either his father or his brother. They have done their inner work and their healing work. He has not.
Perhaps we can pause and think about any situation in our lives that get us feel resentment and bitterness. What is the healing work that calls to us in these places?
As we consider this incredible story from Jesus about love, compassion and forgiveness, maybe we can think about three of the central dynamics that appear in it (healing, forgiveness and repair) and see where these might be applied to our own lives today.
3 Comments
Gail Mann
Hi Mike,
I love that you added a homily from Fr Jim. It was so nice to hear his voice. He was so funny. It made my day. Enjoy the warmth today.
Courtney Davis
Thank you, Mike, for continuing to offer an on-ramp into the daily readings. Apart from the verse before the Gospel, what I felt most deeply today was the older son’s pain. And apart from his pain, the anger that rises out of deep-seated jealously is palpable. We just read about this same dynamic yesterday in the story about Joseph and his brothers, who, if not for Reuben (and later Judah, too) “coming to his senses”, would have outright killed him, their brother, their father’s son.
It then occurred to me that there’s a lot of that going on throughout the entire canon, dark conflict between siblings. We see it between sisters (Mary and Martha) as well as brothers, but because of the tendency to elevate history over and above herstory (think Phyllis Trible), we’re repeatedly told about generation after generation of sibling rivalry between sons. The older son is seething with rage and resentment at the younger brother, who is siphoning off the father’s favor away from the eldest. Meanwhile the father is either seemingly oblivious or too quick to dismiss the malignant behavior until it reaches the point of violence or ultimately the shedding of blood.
The dynamic plays out starting in Genesis with Cain and Abel and continues through the Gospels with the Crucifixion. As a collective, the Pharisees, Sadducees, chief priests, scribes, and elders take on the role of grudgeful older brothers, who ruthlessly scheme, shed blood, and torture to death their younger brother, Jesus. As I think about and tug on this thread that jumped out at me this morning, I’ll likely spend a good portion of this day (and beyond) pondering the layers of meaning that these particular stories impart when thinking about sin and atonement. And apart from the mis/deeds of the many siblings, I’ll ponder what wisdom can be gleaned from those of their fathers as well. How did Adam, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and the father in today’s story of The Prodigal Son respond to (and perhaps feed) their sons’ conflicts?
I’ll think about that and then wrestle with whether their stories help inform my understanding about God the Father’s sacrifice of His one and only begotten Son or are merely indicative of dysfunctional family dynamics of the time in the absence of emotional intelligence, impulse control, and humility (not to mention family therapy). Once again, Mike, thanks for the prompt and the space.
George Dardess
Thank you, Mike, and thank you too to Courtney Davis for your great questions.
You wonder, Courtney, about whether these stories of fathers and sons “help inform our understanding of God the Father’s sacrifice of His one and only gotten son”… That’s a powerful question, one I haven’t thought enough about (not that one could ever think enough about it!). But it needs to be asked. Especially in the Garden of Gethsemane when Jesus prays that this cup may pass… Maybe the question we’re asking isn’t so much about God but about our status or position of feeling “thrown” into reality as children (who have no say in their existence). Because Jesus must have felt “thrown,” since he wouldn’t be human if he didn’t. To be formed in the womb and to enter into… a life in Nazareth, of all places, and growing up and asking, “Why am I here? What am I supposed to do?” And then beginning to get a sign at his baptism… but all of this the result of the doubts, fears, resentments, angers, bewilderments, gropings…