NB: This Sunday we had the second scrutiny. The homily for the mass with the scrutiny can be found below. The homily for the Year C reading used at the other masses follows immediately:
Every family has its difficult chapters—moments when someone feels distant, misunderstood, or unloved. Each of us, in some way, has been that younger son, wandering far from the love that once grounded us. And each of us has, perhaps unknowingly, also played the role of the older brother, steadfast yet quietly resentful. The power of this parable is that it shows us God’s relentless desire to close those distances and restore every relationship.
Jesus is confronted by Pharisees who cannot comprehend why he chooses to eat with sinners, with those the world rejects. They see in him an unsettling welcome—a welcome that defies their expectations. It is this welcome we witness in the parable when the father sees his son returning: “While he was still a long way off, his father caught sight of him, and was filled with compassion.” That compassion, spontaneous and profound, moved him to rush out, embrace, and celebrate his son’s return.
This is not merely a story about forgiveness; it is a call to ministry, a call to reflect God’s love through our willingness to draw near to those who feel farthest away. Jesus did not merely tolerate sinners; he sought them out, sat at their tables, shared in their lives. He recognized in each person the beloved child whom God longed to embrace.
Our world, and perhaps our own families, are filled with prodigals—people who, for various reasons, feel disconnected, unworthy, and unable to imagine being loved by God. They may fear approaching God, believing themselves beyond redemption. It is our calling as the body of Christ to embody God’s compassionate welcome, to go out to them, to meet them where they are, and to remind them that their place at God’s table remains open.
Consider, for a moment, those in your life who hesitate at the threshold, unsure if they can step into the warmth of faith and community again. How are we reaching out to them? Are our doors truly open, or do we wait passively, quietly judging from a distance? The father did not wait; he watched actively, ready to run with open arms. His joy at the reunion overshadowed the son’s shame and guilt, transforming estrangement into a celebration.
We, too, must embody this active, seeking love. We must create spaces in our homes, communities, and church where the prodigal feels safe to return, knowing they will be embraced without condition. Imagine a community known for its mercy, a parish whose welcome mirrors God’s abundant joy, a place where conversations and meals become holy moments of reconciliation.
This is our ministry: to be Christ’s presence, seeking out the lost, the disconnected, and the fearful. In every act of welcome, every invitation to share life together, we become instruments of God’s grace, bringing healing and hope to those longing to come home.
The Second Scrutiny
When faced with suffering, our human instinct often pushes us toward finding someone to blame. The disciples saw a man born blind and immediately asked Jesus whose sin was responsible. Blaming gives us a false sense of security. It allows us to believe that bad things only happen to those who deserve it, reassuring us that we are safe. But Jesus redirects us away from blame and toward mercy: “Neither he nor his parents sinned; it is so that the works of God might be made visible through him.”
It is easier to assign blame than to embrace the mystery of God’s compassion. Blame is neat; mercy is messy. Blame lets us believe we are in control; mercy reminds us that we depend entirely upon God’s grace. The Pharisees, too, were caught in this cycle of blame. They could not accept the healing because it broke their rules. Their rigid understanding of God’s law prevented them from seeing the miraculous power of God right before their eyes. They refused to believe in a mercy that extended beyond their limited vision.
Yet mercy is precisely why Jesus came—to break through our blindness, to illuminate our lives with the light of God’s compassion. Like the Pharisees, we sometimes harden our hearts, skeptical of transformation in others, doubtful of the mercy shown to those we judge unworthy. Our hearts become barriers to healing, not just for others, but for ourselves.
Today, as we celebrate the Second Scrutiny of Lent, we are reminded that God’s mercy is infinitely greater than our capacity to comprehend or control. This is a day when the Elect among us publicly turn away from darkness and embrace the light of Christ. Their conversion is our invitation—not to doubt or dismiss, but to celebrate and give thanks. It is our call to let go of cynicism and skepticism, to abandon blame and rejoice in the transformative power of God’s grace.
As the man born blind experienced, true sight is not just physical—it is spiritual clarity that recognizes Christ, even amidst opposition and disbelief. God’s mercy frees us from the blindness of pride and judgment, from the darkness that comes with blame and fear.
Let us, therefore, open our eyes to the boundless mercy unfolding around us. Let us unite in prayer with our brothers and sisters who now embrace God’s healing light. May their courage inspire us to accept the same mercy God desires for each one of us.
Let us step out of the shadows of blame and control and into the radiant light of God’s infinite compassion—a mercy powerful enough to heal every heart and illuminate every soul.