I
am always struck when I reread the parable
of the merciful father;
it impresses me because it always gives me great hope. Think of that
younger son who was in the father's house, who was loved; and yet he
wants his part of the inheritance. He goes off, spends everything,
hits rock bottom, where he could not be more distant from the father.
Yet when he is at his lowest, he misses the warmth of the father's
house and he goes back. And the father? Had he forgotten the son? No,
never. He is there, he sees the son from afar; he was waiting for him
every hour of every day. The son was always in his father's heart,
even though he had left him, even though he had squandered his whole
inheritance, his freedom. The father, with patience, love, hope, and
mercy had never for a second stopped thinking about him, and as soon
as he sees him still far off, he runs out to meet him and embraces
him with tenderness, the tenderness of God, without a word of
reproach: his son has returned! And that is the joy of the father. In
that embrace for his son is all this joy: he has returned! God is
always waiting for us; he never grows tired. Jesus shows us this
merciful patience of God so that we can regain confidence,
hope-always! A great German theologian, Romano Guardini, said that
God responds to our weakness by his patience, and this is the reason
for our confidence, our hope (see Glaubenserkenntnis [Würzburg,
1949], p. 28). It is like a dialogue between our weakness and the
patience of God; it is a dialogue that, if we have it, will grant us
hope.
I
would like to emphasize one other thing: God's patience has to call
forth in us the
courage to return to him,
however many mistakes and sins there may be in our life. Jesus tells
Thomas to put his hand in the wounds of his hands and his feet and in
his side. We too can enter the wounds of Jesus; we can actually touch
him. This happens every time we receive the sacraments with faith.
St. Bernard, in a fine homily, said: “Through the wounds of Jesus I
can suck honey from the rock and oil from the flinty rock (see Deut.
32:13), I can taste and see the goodness of the Lord” (On
the Song of Songs 61:4).
It is there, in the wounds of Jesus, that we are truly secure; there
we encounter the boundless love of his heart. Thomas understood this.
St. Bernard goes on to ask: But what can I count on? My own merits?
No. “My merit is God's mercy. I am by no means lacking merits as
long as he is rich in mercy. If the mercies of the Lord are manifold,
I too will abound in merits” (61:5). This is important: the courage
to trust in Jesus' mercy, to trust in his patience, to seek refuge
always in the wounds of his love. St. Bernard even stated, “So what
if my conscience gnaws at me for my many sins? 'Where sin has
abounded, there grace has abounded all the more' (Rom. 5:20)”
(61:5).
Maybe
someone among us here is thinking, My
sin is so great, I am as far from God as the younger son in the
parable; my unbelief is like that of Thomas. I don't have the courage
to go back, to believe that God can welcome me and that he is waiting
for me, of all people.
But God is indeed waiting for you; he asks of you only the courage to
go to him. How many times in my pastoral ministry have I heard it
said, “Father, I have many sins”? And I have always pleaded,
“Don't be afraid, go to him, he is waiting for you, he will take
care of everything.” We hear many offers from the world around us;
but let us take up God's offer instead: his is a caress of love. For
God, we are not numbers, we are important; indeed we are the most
important thing to him. Even if we are sinners, we are what is
closest to his heart.
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