The parable of the Prodigal Son is a timeless tale of grace and redemption. It resonates through the ages as one of Jesus’ most profound and moving stories. More than a familiar Sunday school story, it stands as a transcendent message, rich with theological depth and psychological insight, encapsulating the heart of the Gospel: the surprising grace of God.

Found in Luke 15:11-32, Jesus shares this parable in response to the murmurings of the Pharisees and scribes, who were scandalized by His companionship with sinners and societal outcasts. It is no coincidence that this story directly follows the parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin. Each builds upon the theme of divine pursuit, culminating in the image of a father who runs to embrace his wayward child.

At its core, the parable speaks to every soul that has ever strayed—and every soul that has ever stood in judgment. The younger son’s rebellion is striking: demanding his inheritance early, he essentially declares his father dead to him. His descent into destitution and despair in a far-off land reflects the inevitable consequence of severing ourselves from the source of love and life. And yet, it is precisely at the lowest point—among pigs and husks—that the young man “comes to himself.” This moment of clarity and humility becomes the catalyst for his return.

But the real shock of the story is not the son’s fall; it is the father’s response. With total joy, the father runs to meet him, embraces him, and clothes him in honor. There is no lecture, no reproach—only restoration. This image of the father defies conventional expectations of justice and upends the cultural norms of honor and shame. It mirrors the heart of God, who delights not in punishment, but in reconciliation.

The older brother, however, presents a more subtle and dangerous form of lostness. His dutiful obedience masks a heart estranged from the father. He measures worth by performance and finds the celebration of grace offensive. His protest, “I never disobeyed you”—reveals a transactional view of relationship, devoid of love. In many ways, he represents the  spirit of the Pharisees that prioritizes rule-keeping over relationship, merit over mercy.

Jesus masterfully holds up a mirror to His listeners: Are we the prodigal in need of mercy? Or are we the elder brother, blind to our own need of mercy? The parable ends unresolved—the elder brother stands outside the feast. The invitation is open, but will he come in?

This dynamic of grace versus judgment is echoed in countless stories across history. The woman caught in adultery (John 8), whom Jesus refused to condemn, illustrates the same mercy that transforms shame into dignity. John Newton, the former slave trader turned abolitionist, embodied the power of grace to reroute a life toward righteousness. His authorship of “Amazing Grace” testifies to this radical transformation. As Newton himself wrote, “I once was lost, but now am found; was blind, but now I see.”  And even in recent history, Nelson Mandela’s emergence from decades of imprisonment to become a symbol of reconciliation offers another powerful example of this redemptive power.

In the economy of God, the metrics of worth are inverted. The first will be are last; the last will be first. Those most aware of their brokenness often become the greatest recipients of God’s grace. Perhaps the parable’s most enduring challenge is this: Whom do we resemble in our spiritual journey? The rebellious younger son, the resentful older brother, or the radical, welcoming father whose love transcends all offense?

In a world steeped in division, outrage, and retribution, the message of the Prodigal Son rings with fresh urgency. It calls us not merely to admire mercy, but to practice it—to run toward those who have failed, to restore rather than reject, and to celebrate every return home, no matter how late it comes.

For we are all, in the end, prodigals—dearly loved, mercifully found, and joyfully welcomed home.

—Fr. Hugh Duffy, Ph.D.