Fourth Sunday of Lent, 2025
This Sunday's reading from the Hebrew Scriptures describes a key transition moment in Israel's history. Joshua records a huge event, the Lord saying, "Today I have rolled away from you the disgrace of Egypt," in a measured and powerful proclamation. The exodus period of wandering is over; the time/or settlement of the Promised Land has begun. The experience of exodus began with a Passover celebration. The end of the exodus is marked by another Passover celebration. Slavery is replaced with the dignity of freedom.
Wandering is replaced with being at home. The manna in the desert is replaced with the produce of their own land.
There's a kind of overflowing exuberance in Saint Paul's description of God's reconciling love in Christ, whose ministry is shared by the Church. Paul, too, speaks of transition, a new creation, the passing away of everything old. First, he speaks of the new creation; then, he points out that it was God's activity in Christ that brings about reconciliation between God and humanity. Finally, he shows how ministry is essentially the proclamation of that truth so that all people might accept the invitation to be drawn into it. In Christ, God continues the creative process of transformation (Passover). God's new creation in Christ calls for affirmation, but perhaps more importantly, it calls for participation. To be reconciled means to be reconciling. To be loved means to love.
The familiar parable of today's Gospel is the last of three, all of which deal with the joy of finding something or someone who was lost: the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the lost son. Essential to an understanding of these parables is their context. They are Jesus's response to grumbling, which he seems to overhear. "This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them." To welcome or receive sinners is not to tolerate them, but rather to make a deliberate choice to host them in your own home. In today's parable, there is a lack of a real conclusion. We will never know whether the younger son sincerely "shaped up" or whether the older son "joined the party." The Father is the only person whose story is completely told, and who expresses graciousness, which is at the heart of Jesus' vision of God.
Psychologist and philosopher Erich Fromm, in his 1956 book, "Art of Loving," highlights the paradox in Acts 20, which ascribes to Jesus: "It is more blessed to give than to receive." The giver acts from a position of ability to do so, even a certain power. To be in a position to give implies the ability to make choices, to come to personal decisions, and to exercise creativity in the process. To receive implies a certain passivity and can even be a humiliating experience. The “Peace Prayer” attributed to St. Francis of Assisi draws the issue further in contrasting being understood with understanding, being consoled with consoling, and dying and finding life. Isn't it "more fun" to understand than to need understanding, to console than to need consolation? Even choosing to die to self in favor of deeper values or a higher life implies discernment and freedom.
Each of today's texts, in its own way, points to something more, something different. Humanity is seen at the receiving end of God's graciousness. God opens up the land, the people celebrate with thanksgiving. God makes all things new in Christ; the Church is Christ's ambassador, heralding what God has done. The father in the parable takes the initiative to go out to both of his sons, however unworthy they may be. Before God, we are always receivers, and among ourselves, we need to learn to be receivers of goodness and mercy, which isn't always easy. We like to think of ourselves in the driver's seat. The expressions "earning our keep, paying our bills, justifying our existence, making something of our lives" evoke concrete memories for us who strive to be independent and creative and to live meaningful and productive lives. Memories of real-life success stories and real-life struggle stories, even failures, will likely arise from these images with many of us.
To have the honesty and humility to recognize that so much of life, even its deepest experiences, are gratuitous, that the "best things in life are free," is a perspective requiring a certain Lenten asceticism and self-denial. For us who treasure our independence, we have nothing to fear in a God who is and wants to become more actively involved in "rolling away stones," "making all things new," and running down the road to offer "amazing grace."
– Sister Margaret Glynn, OP
A resident of Dominican Convent, Sister Margaret (AKA Mary Laurentine) serves as the Sacristan of Our Lady of the Rosary Chapel.