Today the Lord has summoned before us a father with his two sons and brought them into our midst, that through a beautiful figure he might unfold the immeasurable token of his own compassion, the savage envy of the Jewish nation, and the suppliant return of the Christian people. 'A certain man had two sons, and the younger of them said to his father: Father, give me the portion of the estate that falls to me. And he divided,' it says, 'the estate between them' (Luke 15). As loving as the father is, so impatient is the heir; who is wearied by his father's very life; who, since he cannot take away his father's span of years, strives to carry off his substance.
This one deserved not even to possess the very prerogative of a son, since he was unwilling to hold, together with his father, the things that were his father's. But let us ask what it was that swept the son into such daring, what confidence lifted him to so great a request. What was it? Namely, that by which he knew the heavenly Father to be confined by no end, bounded by no time, dissolved by no power of death. And therefore he desires to enjoy the freedom of an independent life, he who had been unwilling to be enriched by the resources of one who dies. In short, that this request was itself an offense the father's generosity proved. 'And he divided,' it says, 'the estate between them.' When only one asked, he straightway divided the whole estate between both, that the sons might know that what the father had held before was not of avarice, but of love;
that he had given it out of providence, not of envy, and had not refused it. The father held the estate in order to preserve it for his sons, not to deny it; desiring it to remain with his children, not to perish. Blessed are the sons whose whole estate is in their father's love! Blessed are those for whom the whole possession abides in obedience to the father, in the cultivation of the father! But riches split unity, sever brotherhood, scatter kinship, and destroy and violate the love of parents, as shines forth from what follows: 'Father, give me the portion of the estate that falls to me. And he divided the estate between them. And not many days after, gathering all together, the younger son set out abroad into a far country, and there he squandered his estate, living in dissipation.'
'And after he had consumed everything, a mighty famine arose in that region, and he himself began to be in want; and he went and attached himself to one of the citizens of that region, and he sent him into his farm to feed swine. And he longed to fill his belly with the husks that the swine were eating, and no one gave to him.' Behold what greed, plunging headlong after wealth, brings about. Behold how wealth, apart from the father, stripped the son bare rather than enriching him; wealth took the son from his father's bosom, cast him out of the house, removed him from his homeland, despoiled him of his good name, stripped him of his chastity. Of life, of morals, of piety, of freedom, of glory — it left nothing.
In short, it changed a citizen into a stranger, a son into a hireling, a rich man into a pauper, a free man into a slave; it joined to swine the one whom it had severed from his most loving father, so that he who scorned to obey holy devotion might serve a filthy herd. 'Gathering all together,' it says, 'the younger.' This one is 'younger' plainly not in age but in sense; who gathered up his father's goods and departed far more in mind than in place, so that, by paying rather than receiving a price, he wretchedly sold himself into servitude. Thus does that merchant come to such a bargain, who knows not how to pay the debt owed to his parents, who knows not how to render the recompense to the one who begot him.
With the father there is a sweet condition, a free servitude, an unfettered guardianship, a joyful fear, a caressing chastisement, a rich poverty, a secure possession. For the labor falls back upon the father, while the fruit overflows to the sons. 'He squandered,' it says, 'his estate.' What had been amassed under the father's management is squandered by the prodigal son, that at least belatedly he might understand that the father was the guardian of the estate, not one who brooded greedily over it. 'Living in dissipation.' This life is a dying one, for it dies to the virtues: he who lives in vices is buried to good repute, perishes to glory; he who abides in shamefulness grows in infamy. 'And after he had consumed all, a mighty famine arose in that region.' To luxury, to the belly, to gluttony, famine the tormentor is set, that the avenging punishment may rage in the very place where the guilt deserving punishment had blazed up.
'A mighty famine arose.' To such an end voracity always tends; to such a terminus comes the outpouring of pleasure, which ought to be shunned. 'And he himself began to be in want.' The estate given makes the son to be in want, which, had it been refused, would have kept him rich: so that he might fall into difficulty by his having, who with his father had abounded by his not having. 'And he attached himself to one of the citizens of that region, and he sent him into his farm to feed swine.'
Thus does he find his lot who denies himself to his father and entrusts himself to a stranger: that he should feel a stern judge, who fled from a most indulgent provider. A deserter of affection, a fugitive from piety, he is assigned to swine, consigned to swine, handed over to the servitude of swine; he runs through the muddy pastures of swine, is worn down by the restless herd, and is defiled by his wandering, that he may feel how wretched, how bitter it is to have lost the blessedness of the father's rest. 'And he longed to fill his belly with the husks that the swine were eating, and no one gave to him.' How cruel a servitude — he who does not even feast with the swine, though he lives for the swine! Wretched, who faints and hungers amid the fattening fodder of the squalid herd! Wretched, who craves even the quality of squalid food, and does not obtain it!
Taught by these things, instructed by such examples, let us remain in the father's house, let us abide in the mother's bosom, let us be bound fast by the embraces of our kin, let the father's inmost heart enfold us, lest the pitiable freedom of youth drag us to the evils named above. Let the father's reverence hedge us round, let the mother's affection compose us, let us be guarded by the affections of our kin. Amid the lights of near kinsfolk sins have no power to move about. As many eyes as there are of kinsmen, so many lamps. The mother's gaze is day; the sun glows ruddy in the father's face. Whence, for one who lives amid so many lights of the virtues, the darkness of crimes cannot draw near. But the father's table nourishes us with the food of virtue, the banquet of salvation, the delights of honor and glory. And because the lengthy course of the reading compels us to expound this parable more fully —
who the father is, easy in giving and easier in receiving back; who is the brother that is most sorrowful at his brother's salvation; who is the younger son, beginning in his departure yet most wise in his return — these things, in the following sermon and with our common prayers, we shall inquire into.