Twenty-Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time

For those of you who travel, you probably know that airline cuisine is not what it used to be. This may explain a story I read about a nonstop flight from Orlando to Frankfurt.  A while after takeoff, a flight attendant announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m so sorry, but there has been a mix-up in our catering service. We have two hundred passengers, but we received only one hundred dinners. I truly apologize.” She continued, “Any adult kind enough to give up a meal will receive free unlimited drinks during the flight.” Two hours later, she announced, “We still have those one hundred dinners available.” So much for airline cuisine.

The word of God carries us back to a time long before airlines: to the thirteenth century before Jesus, to the charismatic leader Moses. On Mount Sinai, Moses is conversing with God like a friend, praying. But at the base of the mount, the Hebrews, just liberated from their oppressors in ancient Egypt, are breaking the covenant they just renewed with God, by worshiping replicas of false gods.

We do that sometimes, don’t we? Instead of focusing on the “things of God,” we create idols—for example, money, power, status—and make them our be-all and end-all at the expense of everything else, even eternal life. We forget who we are—mere creatures totally dependent upon an all-good Creator.

Moses here does some straight talking with God. He asks God to forgive them for their wrongdoings. And God does! The author challenges us not only to ask God for forgiveness but also the grace to live a life worthy of our calling.

Paul, in his letter to Timothy, confesses: yes, he fiercely persecuted Christians; he was the worst of sinners. And yet God in a mystical encounter with Paul in Syria turned Paul’s life upside down and graced him, to become one of the greatest evangelizers in Christianity. And then Paul cries out that prayer: “To the king of ages, incorruptible, invisible…to God alone honor and glory forever and ever.”  Paul challenges us to be grateful to God for our blessings.

In the Gospel, we have the famous parable of the prodigal son, or better, the parable of the forgiving parent. The parable has many levels of meaning. The younger son here asked for his inheritance, got it, and then squandered it—and then he “came to his senses.” An incredible phrase!

He realizes his true identity as a beloved son. He wants to be in a good relationship with his father, who unconditionally forgives and loves him and gives him a welcome-home party.

The older son finds this unconditional forgiveness and love and lavish generosity incomprehensible. And rightly so, from a human point of view. But from a divine point of view, the story emphasizes God’s unconditional love for us, no matter how far we have strayed. God’s love for us is as crazy as the love of the father for this prodigal son.

This parable may move us to forgive someone who has wronged us. And if we can’t seem to forgive on our own, pray for the grace to participate in the forgiveness of Jesus, who pardons those who are truly sorry and try to start their lives afresh. The parable also invites us to see ourselves in the characters. Are we the forgiving parent? The repentant younger son? Or the resentful older son?

Let me illustrate forgiveness with a favorite book of mine, The Hiding Place, in which the author, a concentration camp survivor, describes how she lectured in post-WWII Europe about the need to forgive one another. Some of you know her story. After one of her talks, a former SS guard came up to her. He didn’t recognize her, but she recognized him immediately. And suddenly, she remembered the laughing guards, the heaps of clothes on the floor, the frightened face of her own sister. And so, when this repentant former SS guard extended his hand to shake hers, she, who had preached so often about forgiveness, kept her hand at her side as she began to have angry, raging, and vengeful thoughts about this man. And then she remembered: Jesus Christ died for this man and forgives him. “Lord Jesus,” she prayed, “forgive me and help me to forgive him.”

She tried to smile, to raise her hand. But she couldn’t. And so again she breathed a silent prayer: “Jesus, I can’t forgive him for what he did to my sister and so many other people. Give me your forgiveness.”

She suddenly discovered that forgiveness depended, not upon her, but upon God’s grace. When Jesus tells us to love our enemies, he also gives us the grace to love.

To forgive as Christ forgives is sometimes impossible to do on our own. It calls for a humility, a generosity, a spirit of compassion that is beyond most people. But Christ doesn’t ask us to forgive on our own. He simply asks that we participate in his gift of forgiveness. Forgiveness is an act of the will that overrides feeling about someone who has wronged us, however much we are angry or resentful about it. God has already forgiven those who are truly sorry—and all he asks us to do is to participate in His forgiveness.

Forgiveness is possible, not when we try to forgive on our own but when we trust in God to bring healing and forgiveness and reconciliation to our broken relationships. And as God constantly searches out the lost and the stranger, so should we.

God never gives up on us. Like the “hound of heaven” in Francis Thompson’s poem, God relentlessly pursues us. The words of that poem are riveting:

I fled him [God] down the night and down the days.
But with unhurrying chase, and unperturbed pace,
Deliberate speed, the feet beat—and a Voice beat …
I am He [God] whom Thou seekest.

The point is even though we may give up on God, God never gives up on us. God loves us unconditionally, forgives us unconditionally, and accepts us unconditionally.

I pray that God will give all of us the grace to participate in the forgiveness of Christ, so that we can be at peace with ourselves and one another and with God, true disciples of Jesus, our way, our truth and our life. Am