4th Sunday of Lent (C) – March 30, 2025

St. Paul – Lyons, KS

Joshua 5:9a, 10-12; Psalm 34:2-7; 2 Corinthians 5:17-21; Luke 15:1-3, 11-32

The Divine Physician

Just recently I went to the doctor—you know, because I’m getting old! First time I went to the doctor in 14 years (ha!). And again, the main reason I went is just because I’m getting old. No, I went because heart disease runs in the family and apparently that’s one of those things where prevention is the best medicine, and the sooner you address it the better—who would have thought?! The funny part about this visit was that—as you know—I’m just a peak physical specimen, and nothing looks wrong with me. And when the nurse and doctor were taking vitals, blood pressure, listening to my heart, asking all the questions, they just kept getting more and more confused, like, “Why are you here again?” Again, peak physical specimen.

So I had to keep telling them, over and over, “Oh, heart disease runs in my family, and my cholesterol is probably pretty high.” And so they ask me about my diet (very clean), if I exercise regularly (yes), if I’m experiencing any symptoms (no)—so just more and more confused. So eventually I just have tell them, “Just run some blood work and you’ll see. It’s probably very high.” And almost begrudgingly they order the blood work. Next day the blood work comes back, and it’s high, and I talk to them and they’re like, “Oh, we see what you mean. Yeah, this isn’t very good.” “Yeah…I know.”

But think! If I didn’t disclose that—if I didn’t tell them, insist to them that I needed to have my blood checked, I would have walked out that door, no problemo! If I didn’t disclose that, I would have walked out the door, no problem. They didn’t call me, I had to call them—took me 14 years, but I finally did. Got an appointment, told them that something was a off; now I’ll be fine.

And I’m not alone in this! 65% of men (go figure, this is mostly a man problem)—65% of men avoid going to the doctor as long as possible. Less than half of men in their 30’s and 40’s and 50’s get an annual physical. And there’s a lot of reasons but it’s because we think we’re invincible (never going to die), we’re too macho for it, we fear hearing that something is wrong with us, or we’re just too busy to prioritize it. And even though that sounds pretty typical, there’s a real cost from that attitude and way of operating: diagnoses are delayed and as such there are higher mortality rates; and because of that, it has a harder impact on families and communities, and even ends up having harsher economic impacts. And so this is the point: if we don’t take the step to see the doctor, if we don’t disclose our issues when we do go—we only end up hurting ourselves and those around us even more.

St. Jerome, he said it this way, “If the sick person is too ashamed to show his wound to the doctor, the medicine cannot heal what it does not know.” But do you think St. Jerome was trying to give us good medical advice? No. What do you think he was talking about? Yeah, St. Jerome talked about this in the context of talking about the healing that comes in the sacrament of Reconciliation, the sacrament of Confession—this powerful sacrament of healing. St. Jerome said, “Consider a physician: if a patient conceals his wound out of shame or fear, the doctor, unaware of the injury, cannot apply the remedy. Likewise, the soul’s sins, if not confessed and laid bare before God, remain unhealed. For just as a doctor does not heal unknown wounds, so too God does not forgive unconfessed sins. Thus, to receive mercy, one must not flee but reveal all to the Divine Physician.”

For us, here in the midst of this Lenten season, here in the midst of this series dedicated to experiencing and receiving the healing power of Jesus Christ—Confession, this potent sacrament of healing known as Confession—this is something we cannot avoid.

The Father with Two Sons

One of the most commonly used teachings or parables of Jesus to talk about the Sacrament of Confession is this Gospel reading that have today: the parable of the prodigal son. We even have a reproduction of Rembrandt’s Return of the Prodigal Son in the confessional. But really, this is not just the parable of the “prodigal son”; there is another son, the older son. So really, it’s the parable of the father with two sons. In the parable, hopefully kind of obviously, the Father is representative of God the Father. And the sons—well, the sons are us. And we can hopefully see ourselves in both sons. We are both, one more than another depending on where we’re at in life—but both are in need of healing, both are in need of renewal.

The younger son—well, the younger son is who we usually identify with: here is the son that has sinned, big time. The younger son goes to his father and says, “Hey you ol’ bucket of bones: I wish you were dead. But since you’re not, just give me my inheritance now.” And the father, respecting the son’s freedom—the father lets him go. And within a few days, the son takes his inheritance and goes off to a distant county, squandered his inheritance on a life of dissipation, swallows up his father’s property with prostitutes.

Again, this is something that we either can or have been able to identify with. At different times in our lives, to greater and lesser degrees, we have rejected God, and gone off to do our own thing. We focus on work and cast God aside; we get consumed with shopping, or sports and traveling for sports, or just having fun on the weekends; we fall into sexual sin with others or by ourselves (pornography is a real issue in the lives of our young people and families and marriages today); we get an abortion, or help someone get an abortion; we use contraception in our marriage; we fall into the use of alcohol, or binging on Netflix or the news or football; getting involved in weird spiritual practices; we stop coming to Mass, stop praying, and something else takes over. All of it. We can identify with this younger son, the son who commits nice juicy sins.

But there is another son. The older son. Again, we usually forget about him. But at times, we can be this son too. This is the son who stays home, follows all of his father’s rules; he’s the good kid. But what’s the issue? He resents his father. He resents all of it.

Again, this can be us as well. Sure, we may not be the “prodigal son,” off doing all of these things. But we can easily be the “good kid,” the one who follows all of the rules. We never miss Sunday Mass, we don’t eat meat on Fridays, whatever it is. We’re following all the rules. But what is the older son’s problem? He resents it; he resents his father, he resents his brother. What can our problem be, fellow “good kids”? We can begin to resent others, and even resent our faith.

The younger son leaves home and regrets it; the older son stays home and resents it. Again, for many of us, we can identity with both the older and the younger son. We can see ourselves in them to a greater and lesser extent.

The Younger Son: Our Model

The reason that the younger son is held up more, the reason most people call this the parable of the “Prodigal Son”—it’s because we ought to imitate the younger son’s response. Because what does the younger son do that the older one does not? He “comes to his senses.” In other words, he acknowledges that there is a problem, he takes that step toward home, and he owns up to his mistake. Again, just like going to the doctor, he comes to his senses that things aren’t ok, he takes that step, and then he discloses what is wrong. And what happens? He is restored, he is healed, forgiven. He is welcomed back into relationship with the Father.

Again, think of that quote from St. Jerome. “If the patient conceals his wound out of shame or fear, the doctor cannot help.” Let’s be honest: many people have not been to Confession in years—years. And it’s not because we think we’re angels, or because we think we have done nothing wrong, no. What holds us back? Just like young men, we think we’re invincible and don’t need to worry about it, we have a real fear of admitting we aren’t well, we are ashamed to admit we aren’t as perfect as we think we are, we’re just too busy to make it a priority to go. But especially in our day and age, I think the fear and the shame—I think those are big ones. And like the prodigal son, we flee, we go off to a “distant country” so to speak. 

I know even for myself, the biggest things that held me back and still hold me back from Confession—fear and shame. And even though I have the extraordinary privilege of having heard thousands and thousands of confessions; even though I know, as a priest, that the priest isn’t judging me or the priest just wants to know the hot gossip—even though I know that nothing makes me happier than when someone comes to Confession and just lays it all out there—I get it: there is still a fear, a shame, something that holds us back.

If we’re more like the younger son, shame can easily be that something. If we’re more like the older son, our own pride and self-righteousness holds us back. But whichever we identify with more—to each and every one of us, the Father “goes out,” he runs to us, goes out to invite us back. The question is: will we open up, disclose what’s going on, confess our sins?

I really want to encourage you: in these next couple of weeks, make the best confession of your life. Really think about it, maybe even write it down. In two weeks we’ll have or usual parish penance service, several extra priests here. And especially if you haven’t been in years: take this opportunity to return to the Father, to disclose it all, to just lay it out there. Reject the shame that says that you won’t be forgiven or that the priest is going to judge you. Reject the pride that you don’t really need it. And just come. Come and confidently place everything into God’s hands.

Because when you do—that’s when the Divine Physician is able to do an incredible work of healing and renewal within you. When we return to the Father like the prodigal son, acknowledging that the life we chose isn’t doing it for us, and has only left us more empty and broken and alone—then will be able to heal us in ways we can’t even ask or imagine.