Reverend Marco Ste-Marie

Today Our scriptures are taken from Luke 15:11-24 in the First Nation Version

In this Lenten season, we often speak about repentance. But repentance is not only about feeling sorry. It is not only about naming what we have done wrong.

At its heart, repentance is a changed direction. Lent is about turning.

A conscious turning. A holy turning.

A movement of the heart that becomes visible in the choices we make.

In the story Jesus tells, the younger son leaves home with a hard heart and a false freedom. He wants life on his own terms.

Culturally, the younger son’s request is shocking. Asking for one’s share of the inheritance while the father is still alive amounts to saying, in effect, “I want what comes to me when you are dead.” It is a rupture, not a polite request.

He wants what he can take, what he can control, what he can spend. And so he goes far away. But sooner or later, the road he chose runs out. The money is gone. The dignity is gone. The illusion is gone. He is left hungry, empty, and alone.

Then comes one of the most important lines in the story: “Soon the younger son came back to his right mind.”

He came to his senses.

He woke up.

He saw clearly.

And that is where change begins.

Lent invites us into that same moment. To come back to our right mind. To notice where we have been living far from love. To notice where fear, pride, resentment, or hurt have been leading us. To notice where our hearts have grown hard. And then, by grace, to turn.

verse 18 the son says he has sinned “against heaven and before you.” “Heaven” here is a reverent way of speaking about God.

So the offense is both vertical and relational. It is not merely private guilt. It is a breach against God and family. That changed direction is the visible part of a changed heart.

But this story tells us something else too.

Transformation is not only about stopping bad habits. It is also about receiving grace and letting it soften what has hardened.

The younger son changes direction, yes. He begins the walk home. But what truly changes him is what meets him on the road.

“While he was still far away, his father saw him walking. The father’s heart opened wide and he ran to his son, threw his arms around him, and kissed him.”

That is grace. Grace that does not wait for a perfect speech.

Grace that does not keep score.

Grace that runs.

Grace that embraces.

Grace that restores dignity.

The father does not shame the son. He does not make him earn his place back. He calls for the best regalia, a headdress of feathers, new moccasins, and a feast. Love is received, and rejoycing becomes possible.

John Dominic Crossan’s broader work on parables treats them as stories of reversal that unsettle the normal world and force a fresh perception of God and society. That is a helpful lens here.

The parable overturns standard assumptions about honor, deserving, inheritance, family order, and who belongs at the feast.

That is important for us to hear. Joy is not denial. Joy is not pretending that nothing happened. Joy is not avoiding pain. The son was lost. There was hurt. There was brokenness.

But joy becomes possible when love is received. Joy begins when grace is allowed in. Joy rises when the heart, long closed, is opened again.

Theologically, the passage reveals a God who is compassionate, eager, extravagant in welcome.

The father does not wait for polished repentance, a probation period, or earned trust. He restores dignity first.

That does not erase consequences, but it tells us that mercy is not a reward for moral performance.

It is the climate of God’s heart. Marcus Borg’s larger reading of Jesus is: compassion, not purity, becomes the center of the divine life and of the community shaped by Jesus.

will notice that the father restores dignity before demanding proof. The robe, ring, sandals, and feast are acts of public belonging. That has strong implications for churches today.

Some of us this season may need to change direction. Some may need to turn away from habits that harm us. Some may need to turn away from shame, from harshness toward ourselves, from the belief that we are no longer worthy of love. Some may need to come home to God after feeling far away for a long time.

And the good news is this: when we turn, we do not walk toward a cold doorway. We walk toward a God whose heart opens wide.

This Lent, may we come to our senses. May we choose a new direction. And may we let grace soften what has hardened in us, until joy rises again, and we too join the feast, the singing, and the dancing. Amen.