In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.
The parable of the Prodigal Son is so well known to us; it is so simple, it gives us a sense of warmth and hope, yet its meaning for us is not exhausted by that, because it still remains unfulfilled by us, and within it there is a summons. I would like to single out three things in this parable.
First — the departure of the younger son
It is caused by self‑love and sensuality, and as long as such a condition not only exists in us but rules us, we will inevitably withdraw not only from God but from the dearest people, and we will withdraw exactly as the younger son withdrew — not simply, but cruelly, because the younger son’s words are extremely cruel: “Give me my share, and I will go.” After all, he should have received that share when the father died. In these simple words all his impatience is contained: the old man has already lived his life; while he dies, the brightest time of my life will pass; if he died now, I would be free, rich… And so, in all his mercilessness, the young son says to his father: “Give me everything that will belong to me when you die, because I have no time to wait for your death in order to live.” How many times has it happened that we address those who love us with similar words, turning them into circumstances of our life, demanding that they fade away, leave our life, be silent, not exist, be forgettable for a while, because we want to live without hindrance. Parents may hinder us, relatives, friends, Christ.
Second — the son’s return
He only came to his senses when he had suffered. He was allowed to suffer from hunger, poverty, abandonment; we are rarely given this, because the external circumstances of our life change little from our godlessness and inhumanity. There are too many people around us, and therefore, having betrayed one, we can turn to another. A void does not form around us, and therefore that spiritual hunger, that longing, that torment that finally forced this young man to look around and come to himself does not grow. We fear the very suffering that could force us to come to our senses, and we avoid it, and in this lies our most ruinous mistake. When longing grows in us, when we feel that we can no longer live that senseless, spiritually and morally hungry life we live, instead of saying that the time of liberation has come, we rush in all directions, seek friends, seek amusements, seek sin, only to drown out that longing, that fear, that horror, that pain. And so we never come to ourselves, never recover, and never set out on the path of true repentance; because a person comes to repentance from the utmost acute pain, from a pain that can no longer be borne.
Third — the joy of this repentance
We often think of repentance as something that begins in suffering and darkness and will lead us to yet greater suffering, to shame, to pain, and we forget that repentance is tormenting until we break free — yes, by a very painful wrench from the captivity in which we are; but repentance becomes joy as soon as we set out on the way, and when we begin to recognize the familiar, long‑abandoned places, the places where the state of the soul, that inner order which once belonged to us in childhood or youth, long ago, or perhaps only yesterday, before the limit of our joy was set by sin, by our sensuality and our extreme self‑love.
And so, look into this parable — the son walks with a broken heart because he believes somewhere in his soul in the father’s love, and that love surpasses everything: the father runs out to meet him, interrupts his repentance, does not allow him to say that he is ready to be as a servant in his father’s house, draws him back, orders that he be given the garments he once wore and scornfully cast off. And now the son has returned. As if nothing has changed; only the father has grown a little older, only suffering, pain, longing for the son have placed new wrinkles on his face, but everything else is the same as before: the same love, the same house, all that is familiar; as if the other had not been reality, but a terrible dream that only stamped the soul, that burned it so that it would not return to that. Think about this: in a week the dreadful judgment of the Lord is remembered, and then Forgiveness Sunday, and here we are told why we left, how to return and what to expect. Let us enter into this sorrow and this pain — let us not avoid them — on the contrary, let us accept them, delve into them, so that by sorrow we may move toward salvation. And salvation is joy and life. Amen.
Митрополит Антоній Сурожський
LEAVE A REPLY