By Fr. Brian A. Graebe.

Of all the parables Jesus told, the two most famous are found only in St. Luke's Gospel. Both the Good Samaritan and the Prodigal Son are so familiar even to non-Christians that they've entered into the common lexicon. We have Good Samaritan laws, and we refer to anyone who returns from a wayward path as a prodigal son. That familiarity can induce a certain fatigue. Perhaps, though, we might take a different approach and look at such things, as we should look at all things, through the eyes of Jesus.

For after all, He is the true Prodigal Son, who leaves His Father's house and sets off to a far country. There, He squanders his inheritance, living among the filth of sin with tax collectors and prostitutes, and spends Himself completely, giving away all He has - His teachings and miracles, His own Mother, His very Body and Blood. And having taken our sins upon Himself, He then rises up and returns to the Father's house, where He is robed in glory, never to depart again.

It is a telling detail, then, that in his litany of grievances, the older son in the parable singles out the Prodigal's association with prostitutes. We cannot help but notice what a special place Jesus had for these women, how comfortable He was with them, and how kind He was towards them. A large part of that closeness is surely due to a certain identification that He felt with them. For as odd and even provocative as it may seem, it can be said that Our Lord, too, sold Himself, cheaply, for our benefit, lowering Himself, allowing His body to be used and rejected, simply because He wants our love. He spent Himself fully, this Prodigal of extravagant love.

And isn't that wastefulness a hallmark of Our Lord's ministry? He didn't make decent wine; He made the best wine, and lots of it. He didn't feed the thousands just enough; there was plenty left over. He didn't consent to being anointed sufficiently, but praised the lavish wastefulness - equal to an entire year's salary - that was poured on Him. And why? Because excess is a hallmark of love. Love never asks how much, doesn't know the word enough, never needs to see the price tag. It only asks, "What more?"

But what about us? For all of Our Lord's prodigality, how stingy we can be. How often we respond in mean and miserly ways, not overflowing but measuring, giving back just enough, and even that poorly - fulfilling the letter, with little spirit. We check the boxes: got to Mass, said my prayers, abstained from Friday meat, now on with life.

Too often we can find ourselves asking the spiritual equivalent of, "Is this going to be on the exam?" It's no different than a husband asking his wife what's the least amount he needs to spend on an anniversary gift without her getting mad at him. It doesn't exactly bespeak a flourishing relationship. Legalism might be a science, but love is an art.

So Our Lord calls us to share in his prodigality, to receive as abundantly and lavishly as He gives. This involves examining what parts of our life are not open to Him, honestly asking what interests, amusements, hobbies, perhaps even friendships are holding us back from all that He offers.

And as we see things more and more through the lens of Jesus, as we conform ourselves more to His Cross and carry it with Him, slowly and painfully and not without falls along the way, we can find that we look back on things that once held great attraction for us, only to wonder now what all the fuss was about. Why did I think that person's approval was so important? Why did I think that show was so funny? Why did I think that purchase was so necessary? The lines of that great Lenten hymn come to mind:

The vain delights that charmed me most, I sacrifice them to his blood.

Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all.

Yes, He demands everything, this jealous, Prodigal lover. Not just the time we consciously give to Him in our prayer; He demands our recreation, our conversations, our laughter and sorr...