Light of the world, your Word brings new vision and hope. Shine your Spirit on us as we listen to the Scriptures, to open our eyes on your Word at work in the world and show us the path we can follow. Amen.
Gospel Reading: Luke 15:11–24
Today we find ourselves just past the midpoint of the season of Lent. Last Thursday marked the halfway point, and this Sunday the Church invites us to pause and take a breath. Traditionally, this day is known as Laetare Sunday. The word “Laetare” means “rejoice”—a gentle reminder that even in a season of reflection and repentance, joy is never absent from the life of faith.
Laetare Sunday offers us a moment of light along the road, a lifting of our eyes toward the hope that lies ahead. It does not interrupt the seriousness of Lent, but deepens it, reminding us why we walk this path in the first place. Easter is drawing closer, and the promise of new life is already stirring among us. On this day, the Church encourages us to rejoice—not because the journey is over, but because God’s grace continues to meet us along the way.
And in our Gospel reading this morning we hear Jesus tell of a father who had a lot to rejoice about, his son, who had deserted his family to lead a life of wild abandon, has now returned in repentance. There can be no greater reason for rejoicing than when a loving parent opens their arms and welcomes a child back into the family.
This well known parable, the story of the Prodigal Son, is actually one of three stories which Jesus told his followers that day, each of them which involved something being lost and then found, and then the rejoicing which followed. The first is known as the Parable of the Lost Sheep. In it a shepherd has a hundred sheep and one of them has gone astray. He leaves the ninety-nine and goes and finds the missing one. And when he finds it, he calls together his friends and neighbours and says to them, “…rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.” (Luke 15:6)
The second parable is that of the Lost Coin. A woman has lost one of her ten coins and so searches the house until she finds it. And when she does, she too calls together her friends and neighbours and says to them, “…rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.” (Luke 15:9)
And thirdly, we have the Parable of the Prodigal Son. In it the younger of a father’s two sons demands that he give him his inheritance, as he wants to leave the family estate and start a new life on his own. The father gives in to his demands and so the boy leaves not just his home, but travels to a distant country where he falls into a life of wild living, the word “prodigal” means wasteful abandonment. To no surprise he soon runs out of money, all his newfound friends desert him, and he is left destitute.
With no food to sustain him and no place to call home, he hires himself out to a wealthy landowner, who sends him into the fields to tend the pigs. For a young man of the Jewish faith, this was a deep humiliation, for pigs were considered unclean, and he would have been forbidden to have anything to do with them.
We’re then told by Jesus, “But when he came to himself, he said, “How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.’” And so, the boy makes the long journey home, expecting nothing but disdain and ridicule when he gets there.
But instead, this is what took place, “But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him.” The first thing we should notice are these words, “But while he was still far off, his father saw him”. So, before he got anywhere near the home his father saw him coming. So deep was his love for his missing son that he spent much of his day checking the horizon, hoping beyond hope to catch a glimpse of his lost boy. Even though his boy had turned his back on him, even though his boy had shamed the family, still he watched.
And when the father finally caught the sight of his son of in the distance, what did he do? He “was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him”. He didn’t wait for him to come to the house and beg forgiveness, he didn’t stroll out to meet him, no, he ran. That’s something, a man of his age, dressed in long robes would never run, they would walk slowly. But run he did!
And the son began to say what he had memorized in the pigpen, “‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.’”, but the father cut him off after he had said, “worthy to be called your son”, and said to his servants, “‘Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it and let us eat and celebrate;’” No son of his was going to be treated like a hired hand, no, this boy of his had returned and it was time to rejoice.
And rejoice they do. The father could have told his servants to slaughter a young goat, that would have been more than enough to feed the family. But no, he calls for a fatted calf, at least fifty people would be required to eat a calf before it spoiled. The father intended to invite the whole village! It was time to celebrate and have a party; his son was back home.
Just as the shepherd, carrying the lost sheep on his shoulders, gathered his friends and neighbours and said, “Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep,” and just as the woman, having found her lost coin, called together her friends and neighbours to say, “Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin,” so this father, too, was ready to rejoice with the whole village over the return of his lost son.
In this sense, the parable should be called the Parable of the Loving Father, rather than the Parable of the Prodigal Son, because that is truly where the heart of the story lies. The attention is not on the foolishness of the younger son, but on the extraordinary love of the father. This father does not love his son according to what he deserves, nor does he measure his response by his failures or his faithfulness. He loves because love is who he is.
We see this in the way the father allows the younger son to leave without protest, absorbing the pain and shame of rejection. We see it again in the father’s constant watchfulness, scanning the horizon, hoping for his child’s return. And we see it most vividly when the father runs—undignified and vulnerable—to embrace the son before a single apology is finished. There is no lecture, no probation period, no demand to earn forgiveness. There is only welcome, restoration, and rejoicing. This is not a story about successful repentance; it is a story about extravagant grace.
As we think about this familiar story, we must remember that it is a parable—a story Jesus tells, drawn from ordinary life, to convey a deeper spiritual truth. It is not simply a tale about one reckless son or one patient father. It is about God’s grace and the joy that flows from it.
The joy we encounter in this parable is not a denial of sin, nor an escape from the seriousness of Lent. It is not shallow happiness or forced cheerfulness. Rather, it is a deep and steady joy—rooted in the truth that God’s grace is already at work, even before the journey is complete, even before everything is fully resolved. And that, friends, is reason enough to rejoice.
So, what is Jesus teaching us here? He is teaching that all of us, in one way or another, are like the younger son. We have turned our backs on God in countless ways. We have insisted on our independence. We have acted as though we could live well without him. That is not easy to admit—but it is true. And yet, the good news of this parable is that even when the relationship seems ruined, it can be restored when we come to our senses and turn toward him.
One of the most important details in this story is who introduces the joy. It is not the son. The son returns hoping only to survive, to be tolerated, to scrape by. It is the father who runs. It is the father who embraces. It is the father who throws the party. And in the same way, joy begins with God.
That matters deeply, especially in Lent. Too often, we imagine repentance as something we must complete before joy is allowed. We treat grace like a reward instead of a gift. We picture God waiting with crossed arms until we finally get everything right. But this parable tells us otherwise.
God’s joy is not delayed until we are perfect. God’s grace does not wait until we have said all the right words. God rejoices because a relationship is restored, because love has not been lost, because mercy triumphs over failure.
So why rejoice in the middle of Lent? Because grace is not something we wait for at the end of the road. Because forgiveness is not delayed until Easter morning. Because God’s love is already moving toward us. We rejoice because the Father still runs to us. We rejoice because silence gives way to forgiveness. We rejoice because what was lost is found.
On this Fourth Sunday in Lent, we need to remember what faith has always known to be true: even in repentance, there is mercy. Even in honesty, there is hope. Even in the wilderness, there is joy. So, rejoice—not because life is perfect, but because God is present. Rejoice—not because the journey is over, but because love meets us on the road. Rejoice—because God’s grace has the final word.
Let us Pray:
Gracious and loving God, we thank you that your mercy meets us even now, that your grace is already at work in our lives, and that your joy does not wait for us to be perfect. As we continue our Lenten journey, give us the courage to turn toward you, the humility to receive your forgiveness, and the freedom to rejoice in your love. Keep our hearts open to your mercy and our lives shaped by your grace, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen