Scripture Reflection for March 30, 2025, Fourth Sunday of Lent

Jos 5:9a, 10-12
Ps 34:2-3, 4-5, 6-7
2 Cor 5:17-21
Lk 15:1-3, 11-32

We usually forget about the running.

When we consider this Sunday's scripture and the heart-stopping story of the prodigal son, we tend to overlook or just brush aside this extraordinary detail. We shouldn't.

As Luke describes it in the Gospel: "While he was still a long way off, his father caught sight of him, and was filled with compassion. He ran to his son, embraced him and kissed him."

This is the moment the son has been waiting for -- and the father, too. And it gives tremendous power and poignancy to one of the most familiar parables in scripture, with a statement of love and mercy so many of us desperately need.

What we realize here is that the father isn't passive. He's been looking, waiting, watching, worrying about the son who turned away from him. And when he discovers that his son is coming home -- in fact, he's close enough to see -- the father doesn't waste a second. He doesn't say, "Well, what do you know? It's about time. Let him come to me. He owes me that." No. He runs to him. And before his son can utter a word, he embraces him and welcomes him back. He doesn't even give the son a chance to explain. He orders celebrations. "This son of mine was dead and has come to life again; he was lost, and has been found."

Years ago, I heard of an artist named Charlie Mackesy, who did a series of paintings and sculptures about this parable. He didn't call it "The Prodigal Son"; he dubbed it the parable of "The Running Father."

The father, of course, is our Father.

Ultimately this is a story of love -- a lesson in how far our heavenly Father is willing to go for us. He runs to us, even when we are far away, when he sees we want to come home.

It's a beautiful, comforting thought during these weeks of Lent, when we spend much time and energy seeking atonement and renewal. This season is a chance to jumpstart our relationship with the Father and prepare ourselves for the great feast of Easter. Understanding how much God the Father loves us can only help.

But there are other ways we need to work on ourselves -- and that can include our relationships to one another, especially those who have hurt us. If we consider this parable from the father's point of view, we may find ourselves confronting this question: how many of us could do what he did? How many of us could be that merciful?

Lent should stir in us a sense of humility and a deeper desire to heal wounds, mend fences, bridge differences.

That means: Forgive those who have hurt us or insulted us or done us wrong. Honor and respect those who are contrite.

It means: Run to meet those who are wounded, and ashamed, and hurt and who want to come home. Open your arms to someone who wants to start over.

It means: Know the value of the second chance. Believe in redemption and conversion and hope.

When we hear the story of the prodigal son, it can be a useful exercise to ask ourselves: Where do I fit into the story? Which character am I?

Am I the son who left, who is detached from the father and is seeking reconciliation and healing? Am I the father, who hungers for a reunion with someone I love? Or am I the other son, the one who stayed, and who harbors jealousy or resentment over long-festering wounds? At one time or another, maybe we have felt like all of them.

Consider this an opportunity to reflect more deeply on those we love and how much God the Father loves us. As we continue our journey through Lent, with a goal of spiritual healing and growth in mind, maybe this is a good time to break our stride. Sometimes, to get where you really want to be, you need to run.