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A Laetare Sunday Reflection on the Parable of the Prodigal Son (longer version)
Introduction: Rejoice, Return Home!
Laetare Sunday – the Fourth Sunday of Lent – is a day of joy in the middle of a penitential season. “Laetare” means “rejoice”. The Church wears rose vestments, lightening the Lenten purple, to signal hope. And what gives greater cause for rejoicing than a sinner coming home? Fittingly, the Gospel for this Sunday is the Parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:1–3, 11–32). This beloved story of a wayward child’s return and a father’s merciful love leads us “to the heart of God, who always forgives… [He] not only welcomes us back, but rejoices and throws a feast” for the return of His child . It’s a story Jesus tells to reveal who God is – a loving Father eager to reconcile with His children – and to invite all of us to return to Him and share in His joy.
Most of us know the outlines of the parable: A father has two sons. The younger son demands his inheritance early, leaves home, and squanders everything in a far-off land. Broken and starving, he decides to return, hoping at best to live as a hired servant. The father, astonishingly, runs out to meet him with open arms and celebrates his return. Meanwhile, the elder son, who stayed dutifully at home, grows angry at this lavish welcome for his wayward brother and refuses to join the celebration. The father goes out to plead with the older son to come in and share their joy. Jesus ends the tale on a cliffhanger – we are not told whether the older brother ever reconciles. The parable thereby invites us to consider our own response to God’s mercy. Will we accept the invitation to grace and joy, or will we stand apart?
In reflecting on this Gospel, let’s focus on a few striking elements: the image of the Father who “goes out” to meet both of his sons; the question of when true repentance happens for the prodigal younger son; the hinted presence of the mother “between the lines” of the story; and finally the open-ended invitation to the elder son (and to us). Along the way, we’ll see how this ancient story resonates with our own experiences and even with Pope Francis’s call to “go to the peripheries” in ministry. Let’s walk with the characters of the parable and discover what new insights God has for us this Laetare Sunday.
A Father Who Goes Out to Meet His Sons
One of the most beautiful images in the parable is the father running out to meet his returning son. Jesus says: “But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion. He ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him” . The son is still on the road, far from home, when the father’s mercy rushes out to embrace him. This detail reveals a father who has been watching and waiting daily for his child’s return. He does not even wait for an apology – he moves toward his son first, bridging the gap with love.
Equally significant, though sometimes overlooked, is that the father also goes out to meet his elder son. When the older brother refuses to enter the house out of resentment, the story says: “His father came out and pleaded with him” . Again, the loving parent leaves the comfort of the home to seek out his child. The father meets the elder son exactly where he is in his bitterness and tries to invite him into the celebration. In both cases – with the younger and the older – the father takes the initiative to reconcile. He doesn’t wait behind closed doors for his children to come to him; he goes out to them.
This outward movement of the father reflects what Pope Francis often emphasizes about God and the Church. Pope Francis says the Church must “come out of herself and go to the peripheries” – to go out to those at the margins of life, to seek those far away geographically or spiritually. Is this not precisely what the father in the parable does? He runs to the periphery of the village to meet the ragged younger son “who was lost,” and he steps outside the festive banquet to find the estranged elder son who has distanced himself. The father’s actions illustrate mercy in motion: love that doesn’t sit still waiting for the sinner to stumble back on their own, but love that goes forth, reaches out first, and meets people where they are. In the father, we see the heart of God Himself, who ventures out to find us in our need.
For us today, this is a powerful model. God comes out to meet us in our brokenness. And we, as Christ’s body the Church, are called to do the same for others. Whether it’s reaching out to someone who has fallen away, or seeking dialogue with those who feel hurt or angry, we imitate the Father’s mercy by taking that first step. The father didn’t mind looking undignified as he ran down the road – love compelled him. We too may be called to leave our comfort zone (our “home”) to show compassion on the highways and byways, in the “peripheries” of society. That is where lost sons and daughters are waiting to be found. As one commentary notes, God’s patience is active, not passive – God doesn’t just wait; in Jesus Christ, God comes running toward us . What a reason to rejoice! Laetare – God’s mercy is on the move.
The Prodigal Son’s Conversion: When Does It Happen?
We often call the younger son “the prodigal,” focusing on his wastefulness and repentance. But when did he truly repent? This is an intriguing question the parable invites us to ponder. Initially, the younger son “came to his senses” in the pigsty when he was starving. He rehearses a speech: “I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you…” . On the surface, it sounds like repentance. Yet, we might wonder: is he sorry for his sin or just hungry and desperate? His motive seems to be survival – “here I am starving to death!” he says to himself – and perhaps a bit of calculated self-interest in hoping to work as a servant. In theological terms, we’d call that imperfect contrition: he’s mainly sorry about the consequences of his actions (his poverty and hunger), not necessarily the wrongdoing itself.
But watch how the story unfolds: When the son arrives, the father runs to him and embraces him before any apology can even be uttered. The son does begin his prepared confession – “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I no longer deserve to be called your son…” – but notably, he never gets to finish the part about being a hired servant (Luke 15:21). The father interrupts with overwhelming acts of forgiveness and restoration: ordering the best robe, a ring, and sandals for him, and organizing a feast . It’s as if the father’s exuberant love dissolves the son’s plan to ask for hired-servant status. In that moment of being embraced and welcomed as son again, the younger man experiences a profound inner transformation.
Many spiritual writers suggest that the true conversion of the prodigal son happens when he is in his father’s arms. Up until that point, he may have been returning primarily out of misery and need. But the father’s lavish mercy – the kiss, the robe, the unexpected celebration – breaks his heart open to real repentance and joy. The parable subtly shows that it is the father’s unconditional love that makes the son’s conversion complete . One reflection notes that “it is precisely the Father’s joy that made possible the conversion of the son” . In other words, grace itself generates the repentance it desires. The son moved toward home with an imperfect contrition, but the father meets him with such grace that his heart is utterly changed – he regains his dignity as a beloved son.
We can see ourselves in this dynamic. How often do we return to God with mixed motives – a bit of fear, a bit of self-interest (“I don’t want to go to hell”), perhaps not entirely for love of God at first? And yet, God still runs to meet us and embraces us with mercy. It is God’s very mercy that converts us. Scripture says, “God’s kindness leads you to repentance” (Romans 2:4). When we experience the tender forgiveness of the Father, that’s when our contrition deepens from “attrition” (sorrow for consequences) to true contrition (sorrow for the sin itself, born of love). The younger son probably didn’t comprehend the gravity of his offense until he felt the depth of his father’s love healing it. Only after being welcomed home could he weep for joy and sorrow together – joy at being found, sorrow for having hurt such a loving father.
The parable invites us to consider that repentance is not a mere transaction or a prerequisite for love; it is a response to love. The father didn’t condition his embrace on a perfect apology. He simply loved his son back into life, and in that loving embrace, the son’s lost soul is restored. In our lives, too, conversion is often a process and a gift. Yes, we must make the decision to “set out and go back” like the prodigal did. But even that decision is aided by grace, and when we finally experience the Father’s embrace – perhaps in the Sacrament of Reconciliation or an unexpected answer to prayer – that is what empowers us to truly “leave the old life behind.” Mercy precedes merit. God’s forgiveness isn’t the reward for our conversion; it’s the cause of our conversion. On this Laetare Sunday, we rejoice because no matter how impure our initial motives, if we at least start toward God, He will run the rest of the way to meet us and change our hearts with His celebrating love .
The Mother “Between the Lines”
In Jesus’ parable, only the father and the two sons are explicitly mentioned. But anyone who knows family life might ask: where is the mother in this story? It’s an interesting exercise to “read between the lines” of the parable and imagine the presence of the mother. While this is not in the biblical text, many have mused that the mother of the prodigal and his brother was there all along, just not mentioned – perhaps a quiet yet pivotal figure in the background.
Picture the household in those painful days after the younger son’s departure. I imagine the mother watching her husband scan the horizon each evening. She likely shared the father’s heartbreak and longing. Perhaps it was the mother who first noticed the silhouette of their son on that fateful return day – a mother’s eyes recognizing her child even from afar – and maybe she cried out, “There he is!” prompting the father to run out. We can also imagine that it was the mother who made sure the best robe was cleaned and ready, the ring polished, the sandals prepared, on the slim hope her boy would come back. The text says the father had those gifts at hand immediately; perhaps a mother’s loving foresight was at work “between the lines.”
When the feast is thrown for the returned son, surely the mother is in the kitchen, happy tears streaming down her face as she cooks all his favorite dishes. And later, when the elder son refuses to come in, perhaps it’s the mother who gently nudges the father: “Please, go talk to him. He’s hurt. He needs to hear from you.” The parable doesn’t tell us these details, but our faith allows us to use sanctified imagination. In fact, some poets and writers have given the prodigal’s mother a voice. One modern poem, “The Prodigal’s Mother Speaks to God,” poignantly portrays the mother’s anguish and prayers during her son’s absence . Truly, any mother (or father) of a wayward child knows that the suffering and hope of the prodigal’s parents would have been a shared burden.
In Filipino culture, there is a saying that a mother’s heart is a deep abyss of patience and love. “Ang ina ay ilaw ng tahanan,” we say – the mother is the light of the home. Even if unmentioned, the mother’s presence might illuminate this parable. I think of so many Filipino mothers who pray novenas for their sons and daughters who work abroad or wander far from family. That unseen prayer, that steadfast hope, is a powerful force. Couldn’t we imagine the prodigal’s mother each night lighting an oil lamp and placing it by the window, hoping her distant son might see a warm glow beckoning him home? The father in the parable symbolizes God, but the mother can symbolize the Church or the community – those who patiently intercede and support the return of every lost individual.
Bringing the mother into the picture also reminds us that no one returns to God completely alone; there are usually family or community members “in the shadows,” praying and encouraging. Perhaps you yourself are praying for a prodigal child, or you are that prodigal child because someone’s prayers lit your way home. The parable, as Jesus told it, highlights the father’s mercy in order to teach about God. But it’s certainly fitting on this Laetare Sunday to also acknowledge and rejoice in the often invisible contributions of mothers (and fathers, siblings, grandparents, friends) who never give up on us. Their quiet presence and prayers participate in God’s work of mercy. In the end, the prodigal son was welcomed by both of his parents – even if the mother’s embrace is not described, we know the joy would have been incomplete without it. The whole family rejoiced, for “this son of ours was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found.”
The Elder Son: An Unresolved Invitation
Finally, we turn to the elder son – in many ways, the mirror of the younger. If the younger brother’s sin was recklessness and lust for independence, the older brother’s sin was pride and resentful obedience. It is often said that this parable actually has two lost sons: one lost in a far country, and one lost in his own backyard. The elder son, hearing the music and dancing when his brother returns, refuses to enter the house. He angrily vents to his father: “All these years I served you and never disobeyed your orders, yet you never even gave me a young goat to celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours returns who swallowed up your property with prostitutes, for him you slaughter the fattened calf!” (Luke 15:29-30). His bitterness is palpable. Notice, he doesn’t call the prodigal “my brother”, but rather “your son” – distancing himself . In his self-righteous anger, the elder son isolates himself not only from his brother, but from his father as well. He has lived in the same house, but perhaps without the joy of a true relationship.
The father’s response is just as tender toward this resentful son as it was toward the repentant one. “My son,” he says – addressing him with love – “you are always with me, and everything I have is yours” (Luke 15:31). He gently corrects the older man’s perspective: Your brother (the father pointedly says “brother,” reuniting them linguistically) “was lost and has been found. We had to celebrate and rejoice!” . In other words, please share my joy. The father is essentially pleading, Don’t hold onto your hurt and envy; come into the feast! This is the same plea our Heavenly Father makes to those who may outwardly appear righteous but inwardly wrestle with lack of compassion. It’s a plea against the poison of self-righteousness and jealousy that can creep into faithful hearts. How tragic if the elder son, who lived in his father’s house all along, missed the party because he couldn’t rejoice in mercy! The father doesn’t chastise him harshly; he invites him: “It was fitting to make merry and be glad” . The door is open; the choice is the elder son’s.
And here Jesus ends the story without telling us the elder brother’s decision. Did he relent and go in? Did he embrace his brother and join the dance, or did he turn away and remain outside in the dark, nursing his grievances? We are left to wonder – intentionally. The conclusion is open because it is directed to the listeners’ hearts. Jesus was speaking to the Pharisees and scribes (who had been complaining that Jesus welcomed sinners in Luke 15:1-3). The elder son represents those religious insiders whose rigidity and envy keep them from accepting God’s extravagant mercy for others. By not finishing the story, Jesus effectively asks them (and us): What will you do? Will you share in God’s joy when a sinner repents, or will you stand aloof?
The unresolved ending puts the elder son’s fate in our hands. Each of us must finish that story in our own life. Perhaps sometimes we are the elder sibling – dutiful but begrudging, obedient but lacking charity. The Father comes out to us, too, entreating us to soften our hearts. He wants us inside the house, at the table, united with our brothers and sisters. The only thing that can keep us out is our own refusal to love. Pope Francis, in an Angelus reflection on this parable, warned of living our faith merely as duty, without joy – he said the elder son “based his relationship with his father solely on commands and duty… and consequently shows rigidity toward his brother” . The cure for the elder son’s attitude is to remember that all is grace: “you are always with me and all that I have is yours,” says the father. The Christian life is not meant to be slavish toil but living in the Father’s love. When we realize that, our hardness toward others can melt away.
So, does the elder son go in? The Gospel hands that question to each of us. Whenever we find ourselves reluctant to forgive, or envious of God’s generosity to someone else, we face the elder son’s choice. God is saying, “Come, join the feast!” This is especially true for those of us active in the Church. It can be easy to fall into the trap of the elder brother – thinking we “deserve” more because we’ve been faithful, or getting angry when the Church reaches out to those who have been away. Laetare Sunday challenges us to truly rejoice – to rejoice in God’s mercy for others, and thereby to experience it more deeply ourselves. The father needed the elder son to share in his joy – “we had to celebrate,” he insists . Our Father in Heaven desires each of us to be united in joy. The family is not whole if the elder son stands outside.
Imagine if Jesus had given the parable an explicit epilogue. Perhaps we would see the door of the house opening and the elder son finally walking in. The father’s face lights up, the musicians strike up a new song, and the younger son runs to embrace his older brother – who, after a stunned moment, hugs him back with tears. The mother is clapping with joy (yes, let’s include the mother here!), and the whole household breaks into cheers because now both sons have come “inside.” What a beautiful ending that would be: the family fully reconciled, hearts reunited in love. In fact, that is the ending God desires for every human story – that we all be united in the feast of His Kingdom. The question is left for us: will we accept the Father’s invitation to rejoice? Will we allow God’s grace to overcome our grudges? The season of Lent – even as it calls us to repentance – ultimately aims at this joyful communion.
On this Laetare Sunday, the Church urges us to rejoice because our God is merciful and “rich in compassion”. We rejoice because no one is beyond the reach of the Father who goes out to seek the lost. We rejoice because even our imperfect efforts to repent are met with a perfect love that transforms us. And we rejoice because we are invited to the banquet – to “make merry and be glad” with the Father at the return of each lost son or daughter. The Lord pleads with us, as the father pleaded with the elder son, not to hold ourselves back from sharing in His mercy. Let’s not keep standing outside in the cold of isolation or self-righteousness. Instead, let us enter into the warmth of God’s house, where forgiveness and celebration await.
In the lyrics of the Filipino song “Anak” (Child) by Freddie Aguilar – a song that many consider a modern prodigal son story – we hear of both parents from the start: Nang isilang ka sa mundong ito, laking tuwa ng magulang mo
At ang kamay nila ang ‘yong ilaw
At ang nanay at tatay mo’y ‘di malaman ang gagawin
Minamasdan pati pagtulog mo…”
(“When you were born into this world, you were a source of great joy to your parents, and their hands were your light. Your mother and your father who did not know yet what to do were watching you even as you slept.”) In this Filipino version of the parable, it is the mother whom the prodigal son first approaches upon his return: “At ang una mong nilapitan ay ang iyong inang lumuluha…” (And the one you first approached was your tearful mother…)
Our Heavenly Father and our Mother Church feel this joy at every return. So no matter which son we identify with – the one who strayed or the one who became bitter – the Father’s message to both is “Come home, all is forgiven. Come inside and rejoice with Me.”
As we continue our Lenten journey, let’s carry this image of our God: a Father on the lookout, running toward us; a Mother quietly praying and hoping; a welcoming home where a feast of reconciliation is spread for all. Today, we take a break from penance to celebrate the tender mercy of God. Rejoice, because we have a Father who wants us with Him. Rejoice, because “he was lost and is found”. Rejoice, because we too were lost and now are found. May we never tire of returning to God, and may we never tire of sharing the Father’s joy whenever any lost one comes home. Laetare – rejoice in the Lord, who opens His arms to us all.
