Month: March 2025

The Prodigal Son in the Key of F

(Jos.5:9-12; 2Cor.5:17-21; Lk.15:1-3, 11-32)

(Thanks to Fr Don of The Word This Week, here is a podcast discussing today’s homily:)

According to Charles Dickens, the greatest short story ever told is Jesus’ Parable of the Prodigal Son. It’s a tale of loss, hurt, forgiveness and love, and it’s so well known that it’s refreshing when someone approaches it in a new way.

That’s what Todd and Jedd Hafer have done in their book Mischief from the Back Pew. They’ve given us another version of this story, which they call The Prodigal Son in the Key of F. Here it is, with a few modifications. [i]

Feeling footloose and frisky, a feather-brained fellow forces his fine father to fork over his share of the family finances. He then flies off to foreign fields and fritters away his fortune, feasting fabulously with faithless floozies and fickle friends.

Fleeced by these foolish fellows and facing famine, he finds himself feeding farmyard animals. And feeling famished and frail, he feels forced to fill his frame with frightfully filthy foraged food.

‘Phooey,’ he figures, ‘My father’s flunkies fare far fancier.’ After fuming feverishly, the frazzled fugitive faces the facts frankly. Frustrated by failure and filled with foreboding, he flees the foreign farmyard back to his family. From faraway, his fretful father sees this phantom fugitive’s familiar form framed on the far horizon. He flies to him and fondly flings his forearms about him.

Falling at his father’s feet, the forlorn fellow affirms, ‘Father, I’ve failed and fruitlessly forfeited my family’s favour.’ But the faithful father forestalls further flinching and flags his staff to fetch the finest fatling and fix a feast for all.

While the father and former fugitive feel festive, the father’s faithful first-born son is in a field fixing fences. The foreman informs him that a familiar family face has forsaken his foolishness. But this brother finds fault with his father’s forgiveness and favour towards this fraternal fugitive, and his fury flashes.

He’d never faltered, he’d never fled the family farm. He’d forever been faithful. 

‘Forsooth! Father, flee from this folly!’ he fumes. ‘Frankly, it’s unfair. That fool forfeited his fortune!’

But such fussing proves futile. His far-sighted father philosophises that filial fidelity is fine, and the first-born will one day be furnished with the full family fortune, so what forbids fervent festivity? 

‘The fugitive is found!’ the father says. ‘Unfurl the flags, with fanfares flaring! Let fun and frolic follow! For failure is forgotten, folly is forsaken and forgiveness forms the foundation for a fine future.’

Brendan Byrne SJ has described this parable one of the Gospel passages ‘that have truly shaped our Christian identity.’ But what does it mean to be prodigal?

To be prodigal is to be recklessly wasteful. So, who is the prodigal one in this story?

We tend to think it’s the younger son, because he squanders his inheritance. But that’s not all he wastes. He also trashes his father’s love and every other blessing he has, like a secure home and a prosperous future. And he suffers the ultimate indignity of feeding pigs, which for a Jew is utterly shameful.

But the older son is prodigal, too, because he doesn’t appreciate anything he has. He is entitled, self-righteous and judgmental, and he deeply resents his father and brother.

However, to be prodigal is also to be recklessly extravagant, and that describes the father himself, for he freely gives all he has to his sons, even when they don’t deserve it. He lavishly shares his love, forgiveness and blessings, and he even celebrates extravagantly. That fatted calf could feed dozens of people, so his party is likely for the entire village.

This is why the Eastern Orthodox church calls this story the Parable the Loving Father. They emphasise the father because he represents our loving God. 

Now, it’s significant that the prodigal son isn’t given a name, because he represents us all. We are all prodigals. At some point in our lives, we have all turned away from our heavenly Father. We have all arrogantly thought we could succeed in life without God. We have all taken his blessings for granted, and sometimes even expected more.

How fortunate we are that God is so patient with us. He gives us time to wake up and realise what he means to us. But our time is limited, and if we haven’t already, it would be wise for us to come to our senses and return to his merciful embrace as soon as possible.

For sure, if you fancy a fine fulfilling future, then fully focus on our heavenly Father’s love and forgiveness.

The effects will be fabulous!

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[i] Todd & Jedd Hafer, Mischief from the Back Pew: and You Thought You Were Safe in Church, Bethany House, Minneapolis, MN, 2003.

Disaster!

(Ex.3:1-8, 13-15; 1Cor.10:1-6, 10-12; Lk.13:1-9)

Every year, accidents, natural disasters and war bring death, destruction and despair to countless people around the world.

When such tragic events occur, people understandably seek answers, and sometimes they ask, ‘Why did God let this happen?’ Or even ‘why did God make this happen?’

They think that God uses disasters to punish people.

Today, I want to remind you that God is love (1Jn.4:8), and that he does not use disasters to punish us. There are always other reasons for the bad things that happen. The terrible landslide that occurred in Papua New Guinea last year wasn’t God’s doing. It was caused by heavy rainfall.

The fires that devastated Los Angeles recently were caused by sparking power lines, heavy winds and unusually dry conditions.

There are always other reasons for the bad things that happen.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus talks to his disciples about two disasters. The first involves several Galileans who were killed in the Jerusalem Temple. We know what happened because the Jewish historian Josephus tells us about it.

Jerusalem was short of water, and Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, wanted to solve the problem. He planned to build an aqueduct, but didn’t have the money. So, he decided to take it from the Temple. The Jewish people strongly objected, however, and one day a mob gathered to protest.

Pilate gathered his troops and told them to hide clubs under their cloaks. He instructed them to mingle with the crowd and on his signal to break up the mob. When the riot began, the soldiers were ruthless and several people died.

When Jesus heard this news, he said, ‘don’t think that those who were killed in the riot were greater sinners than the others in the mob.’ In other words, there is no connection between sin and punishment in this life.

Jesus then mentions an incident where a tower on the south-eastern wall of Jerusalem collapsed, killing 18 people. Again, he says, ‘do you think they were more guilty of sin than everyone else in Jerusalem? They were not, I tell you.’

In other words, don’t think that God deliberately punishes people for their sins.  When someone suffers from some hurt, misfortune or serious disappointment, don’t blame it on God. However, many people do blame God. They blame his anger for tragedies like the Indian Ocean tsunami and the floods in India.

But Jesus says that’s not right, and then in the second half of today’s Gospel, he goes on to explain the nature of God’s love in his Parable of the Fig-tree.  

This is the story of a tree that has produced no fruit for three years. The owner wants it cut down, but the gardener wants to give it another chance. He promises to dig around it and fertilise it, and see if it does better next year.

The point Jesus makes is that God is this compassionate gardener, and he’s always patient towards us, even when we don’t do the right thing. He’s not out to punish us.

This is the same message we get from Jesus’ Parable of the Prodigal Son, which is in next week’s Gospel (Lk.15:11-24). A young man commits two terrible sins: he rejects his father and he squanders his inheritance on sinful living. Then, totally destitute, he is forced to return home.

But his father isn’t angry. He is disappointed, but he doesn’t seek to punish his son. Instead, he waits patiently for him to return, and when he finally sees him, the father rushes out to greet him, kisses him and calls for a celebration.

This is what our Father God is like. He is full of mercy and compassion; he is light and not darkness (1Jn.1:5). And he is just like his Son Jesus, who we know is the loving Prince of Peace. ‘The Father and I are one’ (Jn.10:30), Jesus says. He also says, ‘If you really know me, then you know the Father’ (Jn.14:7).

Jesus’ life is all about healing, not pain; it’s about making all things new, instead of destroying them. And as we heard in Psalm 102 today, ‘the Lord is kind and merciful.’

This is our God. He is love itself; he does not cause disasters. There are many other reasons for them, like natural forces, or our own human foolishness and sin.

But God does let these things happen. Why? It’s because he wants us to learn from them. He wants us to let go of our worldly obsessions; to put our faith and trust in him, instead of in things. He wants us much closer to him.

And through Jesus, he teaches us how to respond at these difficult times – with deep patience, profound mercy and compassion, and unfailing love.

Just like God himself.

The Gentle Art of Pole-Sitting

(Gen.15:5-12, 17-18; Phil.3:17 – 4:1; Lk.9:28-36)

In 1924, in a publicity stunt for a new movie, a man named Alvin ‘Shipwreck’ Kelly was hired to sit on a pole outside a Hollywood theatre for as long as he could. He lasted for 13 hours, 13 minutes.

Kelly made a career out of this, but he was an amateur compared to the hermits of the early church. St Simeon Stylites the Elder, for example, climbed a pillar near Aleppo in Syria in the year 423, and there he stayed for 37 years. (His pillar was reportedly destroyed by a Russian missile in 2016.)

It was said that St Simeon knew he could not escape from the world horizontally, so he decided to do so vertically.

Some years later, St Simeon Stylites the Younger (521-597 AD) lived high up another pillar for over 60 years. As a boy, he had learnt about pole-sitting from a hermit named John, and he spent most of his life in prayer and penance atop a pillar near Antioch, in Turkey. He lived on fruits and herbs and said Mass up there, on a raised platform.

God must have blessed these two Saints Simeon, because they performed many miracles, and people came from all over for spiritual advice and healing.

Of course, they weren’t the only hermits to live atop pillars. In the 5^th Century, St Daniel the Stylite did so for 33 years in Constantinople, preaching, praying and giving spiritual advice.

They were called ‘Stylites’ because that’s the Greek word for ‘pillar-dweller’.

But what inspired them to live this way? It was the story of Jesus’ Transfiguration in today’s Gospel.

As Luke tells us, Peter, James and John go with Jesus to the top of Mt Tabor to pray and reflect, and for a brief moment they see Jesus’ clothes turn dazzlingly white, and his face shines like the sun.

On one side of Jesus stood Moses, the great lawgiver, on the other was Elijah, the greatest of the prophets. And out of a cloud, they could hear our heavenly Father say, ‘This is my Son, the chosen one. Listen to him.’

The disciples are utterly amazed. For but an instant, they get to see who Jesus really is – the Son of God – and they are given a taste of the mystical joy of heaven.

Peter wants them all to stay there, but this is an experience that’s not meant to last. Rather, its purpose is to encourage them in their faith, and to help them focus on God’s promise of eternal life.

Having received the endorsement of Moses and Elijah, Jesus then turns towards Jerusalem for his final journey, from Mount Tabor – the hill of light and joy, to Mount Calvary – the hill of sorrow and pain. But of course, his journey doesn’t end there, for it’s followed by the glory of Easter.

This is what drove saints like Simeon and Daniel to become pillar-dwellers. They wanted to go somewhere quiet where they could meditate on the life of Christ and the mystery of their faith.

Living high on a pillar lifted them above the ordinary concerns of everyday life. It symbolised their physical and spiritual elevation towards God. It was a form of penance for their sins. And it gave them a vision: as they looked down towards earth, they could see how empty and passing the things of this world really are.

Every Lent, we are all invited to do the same – to go somewhere quiet to pray, to reflect on our lives, and to strengthen our relationship with God.

And as we do this, it’s worth remembering that heaven awaits those with true faith. Too many of us tend to take heaven for granted, or we simply forget about it altogether. But heaven is something we all need to prepare for, for we will not get there without the mercy of God.

This is a good thing to think about during Lent, as are the traditional spiritual practices of prayer, fasting and almsgiving.

We don’t have to retreat into a desert to do this, or even climb up a pillar or pole.

However, it is important that we find somewhere quiet, away from our day-to-day distractions, where we can reflect deeply on our lives, and think about what we need to do to live a holy, God-centred life.

40 Days in the Desert

(Deut.26:4-10; Rom.10:8-13; Lk.4:1-13)

Once again, we’ve arrived at another season of Lent. Someone asked me recently why this season lasts for 40 days.

Well, the number 40 is mentioned over 150 times in the Bible, so one would think it must be significant. Some say that 40 is Biblical code for ‘a very long time,’ but if you look carefully, you’ll see that it’s often connected with an experience of hardship or trial and preparing for something new.

Certainly, Jesus fasted and prayed in the desert for 40 days and nights before starting his public ministry (Mt.4:2). And he ascended to heaven 40 days after his resurrection (Acts 1:3). 

But going further back into history, Noah’s flood lasted for 40 days (Gen.7:17), the Israelites wandered in the desert for 40 years (Dt.8:2-5), and Moses waited for 40 days and nights on Mt Sinai for the Ten Commandments (Ex.34:28).

Each time, this waiting always preceded a new beginning of some kind. After Noah’s flood, a new civilisation began. After crossing the desert, the Israelites started a new life in the Promised Land. Moses’ Ten Commandments marked God’s new Covenant with all mankind. Jesus’ public ministry marked the beginning of a new way of life for everyone. And his Ascension opened the way for the Holy Spirit to descend on his disciples (Jn.16:7).

Just as we spent 40 weeks in our mother’s womb before being born, so we can see that Lent is a special invitation to us to spend some time preparing for something very new.

Deep down, we all yearn for a life that’s rich in meaning, purpose and love.  And most of us recognise the need to rise above the selfishness, greed and unhealthy behaviours of our world. But our secular society doesn’t encourage this. It would rather we were distracted and entertained than face our real selves.

So, we tend to put off dealing with the mess of our private lives. 

Here, Lent is something very special. It’s an invitation for us to look honestly at ourselves, to work through our weaknesses and to open ourselves up to the freshness of Jesus Christ. 

But before we can be filled with God’s blessings, we must first be emptied, and that’s what the desert does for us. In the desert there’s silence, peace and few distractions, and in the sharp sunlight it’s easy to see things clearly.

In the early Church, many religious men and women literally went into a desert for a while. Today, however, the desert is more of a mystical place deep in our hearts which we can access anywhere. But we still need to take time out to prepare ourselves for a new way of living.

To some people the desert seems a threatening place, but if you have the courage to stay there, good things will happen to you. Slowly and silently, and with God’s grace, you’ll be transformed.

Pope Francis once described Lent as the season of penance, but it’s not a time of sadness or mourning. Rather, it’s a time of joy and returning to grace.

‘In our life,’ he said, ‘We’re always in need of conversion… In fact, we’re never sufficiently oriented to God and we must constantly direct our mind and heart to him. To do this, it’s necessary to have the courage to reject all that leads us outside the way, the false values that deceive us, attracting our egoism in a sly way.’

Instead, he said, we must trust the Lord, his goodness and his plan of love for each of us.

‘Lent is a time of penance, yes, but it’s not a sad time…’ he said. ‘It’s a joyful and serious commitment to strip ourselves of our egoism… and of renewing ourselves according to the grace of our Baptism.’

‘God alone can give us true happiness,’ he added. ‘It’s useless for us to waste time seeking it elsewhere, in riches, in pleasures, in power, in a career… The Kingdom of God is the realisation of all our aspirations because it is, at the same time, the salvation of man and the glory of God.’ [i]

Lent, then, is a precious gift to each of us. It’s a personal invitation to spend some time in the mystical desert, preparing ourselves for a new life after the joy of Easter.

It’s 40 days set aside for prayerful reflection, fasting, almsgiving. And asking God to help us start afresh.

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[i] https://zenit.org/articles/angelus-address-on-the-need-for-conversion/