Homily: The Prodigal Son and Our Own Journeys
Delivered March 30th, 2025 by Fr. Lendehl Rey M. Sallidao.
Today, I am reminded of Jose Mari Chan's song Constant Change:
We're on the road, we move from place to place,
And oftentimes when I'm about to call it home,
We'd have to move along. Life is a constant change.
This song beautifully reflects the reality of life's ever-changing nature. However, as Christians, change is not just about adapting to new circumstances—it is about growing into the full stature of Christ, becoming more like Him. Last Sunday, we baptized Mikayla Gianna Paa, and as a church family, we pledged to help her grow in Christ's likeness. This is our goal as Christians: to grow into the fullness of Christ. Each day, we must ask ourselves, Am I growing into the fullness of Christ?
Jose Mari Chan's lyrics remind us that life is a journey of constant change, and the Apostle Paul echoes this truth in 2 Corinthians 3:18:
And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit.
This verse captures the essence of our walk with Christ, depicting it as a process of transformation into His likeness. Paul describes this transformation as a deliberate turning of our hearts and minds toward Christ. As we fix our eyes on Jesus, we are gradually transformed, becoming more like Him in thought, word, and deed.
I would like to emphasize this word: transformation—a change that involves growth. Growth and transformation go hand in hand.
Today's Gospel brings us to the story of the Prodigal Son, a powerful narrative of both growth and transformation. The Oxford Dictionary defines transformation as a "complete change in the appearance or character of something or someone, especially so that it is improved." This aligns with what Fr. Bert emphasized last Sunday—metanoia, or a change of heart.
The story of the Prodigal Son is primarily about the unconditional love of God for all of us, calling us to Himself. What stands out to me in this parable is the love of the Father. Instead of judgment or condemnation, the father declares:
He was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!
The father's focus is not on blame or punishment but on restoration and renewal. His response is not about who was right or wrong but about the joy of reunion, redemption, and transformation.
But what brings about that sense of transformation for the son? He left home, was reckless and foolish, but his experiences led him to realization, recognition of his faults, humility, and ultimately, his return home. One lesson we can learn from this story is the importance of evaluating ourselves, humbling ourselves, and taking responsibility for our lives. Sometimes, transformation and growth mean leaving home, spending time in the pigpens of the distant country, and then returning home a bit more mature and grown-up.
Many of us, if not all, have come from distant places. I, for one, hail from the deep mountains of the Cordillera, in a town called Sagada. This parish is a diverse community, bringing together people from all over the world—Asia, Europe, the Americas, Australia, the Middle East, and Africa. Most of us understand what it's like to settle in places different from our own. While it comes with challenges, it also offers invaluable learning experiences that shape us, strengthen our resilience, and help us grow into better individuals.
One of the greatest privileges of my faith journey has been the opportunity to immerse myself in various cultural contexts, particularly in the United Kingdom and the United States. Each place presented distinct ministry settings, traditions, and even linguistic differences—each insisting they have the "correct" English, a debate I have yet to see resolved.
In my experiences of journeying to different countries, one thing remains constant-each time I return home, people tell me I have changed. Growth is constant and happens when we step out of our comfort zones. There are no shortcuts. Just as a baby must leave the womb to grow, a child must gradually gain independence to mature emotionally and spiritually. We leave home when we graduate, begin a new job, marry, retire, or embark on new ventures. Sometimes, we leave by choice; other times, life forces us into change—through loss, illness, or other challenges.
The prodigal son's journey away from home mirrors this experience. In his time of hardship, he faced adversity, wrestled with his limitations, and ultimately realized his need to return to the Father. His time in the distant country serves as a reminder that growth often comes through struggle and that no matter how far we stray, God is always waiting with open arms to welcome us home.
Returning Home:
Leaving home is not always physical or geographical—it can mean letting go of harmful values, questioning misguided beliefs, or breaking free from destructive habits. It is about stepping away from limiting worldviews, overcoming unhealthy patterns, and re-evaluating our choices, sometimes our negativity. Do you know Mr. Asimo, a well-known character from Bubble Gang? He is the perfect embodiment of extreme negativity, always expecting the worst in every situation. He always reacts negatively. In a job interview, instead of confidently presenting himself, he immediately assumes he is unqualified and undeserving. When asked about his strengths, he dismisses the question, claiming he has none, and jokes about stress being his only skill. His lack of motivation and deep-seated pessimism lead him to believe that life is just a cycle of mistakes and rejections. Leaving home sometimes means reassessing our character, how we see ourselves, and how we relate with others. Though difficult, these moments of "leaving home" are essential for growth, leading us closer to the life God has planned for us.
Leaving home for a distant country where the Prodigal Son lost everything represents the journey of life—where we encounter our own weaknesses, failures, and need for something greater. He found himself in a famine, not just of food, but of the soul. In that emptiness, he recognized his need for the Father. Life's challenges—the distant countries we face—can be messy and painful, yet they are necessary. There are no shortcuts in growth; we must confront our struggles, acknowledge our dependence on God, and seek transformation. As a prayer from the Book of Common Prayer beautifully expresses, "We thank you for those disappointments and failures that lead us to acknowledge our dependence on you alone." Sometimes, we must wrestle with the "pig pen" moments of our existence to come to our senses. That was the turning point for the Prodigal Son—leading us to our need and dependence on God's Grace.
What is the distant country you face today? What challenge is calling you to grow? What struggle must you confront to move forward?
Transformation has no age limit. Whether young or old, we are always in the process of becoming—learning, changing, and growing. Like the Prodigal Son, we are invited to make the choice: "I will get up and go to my Father." His return was not just about coming home, butabout rediscovering his dignity, worth, and true identity in the Father's love.
This is the essence of our faith journey—a call to continual transformation. As Paul remindsus, we are being changed "from glory to glory" (2 Corinthians 3:18), growing into the fullness of Christ and embracing our dignity as God's beloved children.
As a final point it has come to my attention that Today, in the Church of England—the mother church of the Anglican Communion—the fourth Sunday of Lent is marked by the celebration of Mothering Sunday, a tradition that honors mothers and the women who have nurtured us throughout our lives. While it is not widely observed in the Philippines, as the country follows the American version of Mother's Day, its origins are deeply rooted in the Church. Initially, Mothering Sunday was linked to the Feast of the Annunciation, which commemorates the angel Gabriel's visit to the Virgin Mary, announcing that she would be the mother of Jesus Christ. Dating back to the 16th century, this tradition involved people returning to their "mother" church—the place of their baptism or local parish—reconnecting with the spiritual family that had nurtured their faith. This idea of returning home mirrors the biblical story of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32), where the younger son, after straying and losing his way, realizes the love and mercy of his father and decides to return home. Just as the father in the parable welcomes his son with open arms, so too does the Church embrace those who return, offering love, restoration, and belonging. The good news? The Father never changes. No matter how far we stray, His arms remain open, ready to embrace us with love and grace, reminding us that we are a new creation, forgiven, and forever changed. As we journey through this Lenten season, may we remember that life is about continually returning to God, deepening our faith, and allowing His grace to transform us. Amen.
I would like to end my reflection with this prayer of Saint Anselm—a prayer for mothers and for our return home.
Thank you God for the love of our mothers:
thank you God for their care and concern;
thank you God for the joys they have shared with us;
thank you God for the pains they have borne for us;
thank you God for all that they give us;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.
Jesus, like a mother you gather your people to you;
you are gentle with us as a mother with her children.
Despair turns to hope through your sweet goodness;
through your gentleness we find comfort in fear.
Your warmth gives life to the dead,
your touch makes sinners righteous.
Lord Jesus, in your mercy heal us;
in your love and tenderness remake us.
In your compassion bring grace and forgiveness,
for the beauty of heaven may your love prepare.
Amen.