Rembrandt to the Rescue

Running to our mother in this Year of Mercy

Luke 15:1-3, 11-32

Jesus told this parable: “A man had two sons, and the younger son said to his father, ‘Father give me the share of your estate that should come to me.’ So the father divided the property between them. After a few days, the younger son collected all his belongings and set off to a distant country where he squandered his inheritance on a life of dissipation. When he had freely spent everything, a severe famine struck that country, and he found himself in dire need. Coming to his senses he thought, ‘I shall get up and go to my father and I shall say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I no longer deserve to be called your son; treat me as you would treat one of your hired workers.”’ So he got up and went back to his father. While he was still a long way off, his father caught sight of him, and was filled with compassion. He ran to his son, embraced him and kissed him. His son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you; I no longer deserve to be called your son.’ But his father ordered his servants, ‘Quickly bring the finest robe and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Take the fattened calf and slaughter it. Then let us celebrate with a feast, because this son of mine was dead, and has come to life again; he was lost, and has been found.’ Then the celebration began.

          Archbishop Fulton Sheen tells the story of when he was a small boy and had a toothache. Have you ever had a toothache? They’re not very fun, are they? Well, the archbishop said, “Whenever I had a toothache, I would always go to my grandmother, never to my parents. My grandmother would put a little ointment on the tooth and make the pain go away. My parents, on the other hand, would take me to the dentist, and the dentist would poke and probe and pull and make the pain worse!” Does that story sound familiar, maybe happening in your own family? If you had a toothache, would you run to your mother or to your father? Most of us would answer, “I would run to mom!” Why? Well, because most mothers are merciful and tender and gentle. They just make the pain go away.

          My absolute favorite painting by the famous Dutch artist Rembrandt is titled, “The Return of the Prodigal Son.” Have you seen it?  If you had, you’d never forget it.  It was completed in 1667, just two years before he died, and so in many ways this embodied his crowning achievement. The painting captures the touching scene when the younger son (the prodigal son) returns home to beg his father’s forgiveness for wasting his wealth. In the painting, the son is kneeling in front of his father, with his head buried in his bosom. The father’s hands are on the son’s back and shoulder. But there’s something strangely symbolic in the father’s two hands. His left hand is clearly a man’s hand: strong, firm and authoritative. But his right hand is distinctively womanly: tender, soft, gentle and caring. Why these different hands? Well, Rembrandt wanted the father to depict God’s masculine but also feminine virtues: his justice but also his mercy. And nothing means mercy like a mother’s hand. That’s why we look for a mother’s hand when we suffer from a toothache.

          Today’s gospel is the great parable of mercy in Luke 15. This is the parable that Rembrandt immortalized in paint and canvas 350 years ago. Now, even though the point of the parable is mainly about mercy, there’s someone conspicuously missing, namely, the mother. Where is the mother of this family? If you were the prodigal son and you had to return home after how you had lived this profligate life, would you run to the arms of your father or your mother? I mean, the prodigal son’s problem and pain was a little worse than a toothache! Well, this is where Rembrandt comes to the rescue. Through his masterpiece he interprets this Scripture, and we see that the reaction of the father is both fatherly and motherly, both just and merciful, because the father’s hands are both masculine and feminine. In other words, the prodigal son’s father and mother are present in the parable embodied in the fabulous figure of the father, who is an earthly reflection of the heavenly Father. You see, the prodigal son really ran into the arms of his father and mother; the mother was not missing.

          You’ve heard by now that Pope Francis wants the Church to celebrate a Year of Mercy. What on earth is that? Well, it’s not just something on earth, but also something in purgatory. To put it simply, he wants us to take the place of the prodigal son in Rembrandt’s painting and feel the love of those two hands on our shoulders, especially the tender merciful hand of the mother. One way the pope wants us to feel God’s motherly mercy is by granting Catholics a “plenary indulgence.” Now, let me ask you, who indulges their children? Well, mostly mothers do, and grandmothers really do. When you indulge someone you give them what they desire, not what they deserve; you give them ice cream not broccoli.

          Now, let me be more specific. A plenary indulgence is like a “get out of jail free card,” because it excuses us from the punishment we deserve for sins in purgatory. But to obtain this plenary indulgence, you have to fulfill four conditions. First, you must go to confession and be in the state of grace. If you don’t like to go to confessions, you’re out of luck. You have to go to confession. Second, you must receive Holy Communion, preferably within Mass. Third, you must pray for Pope Francis – typically saying one Our Father and one Hail Mary for him suffices. And fourth, you must make a pilgrimage to an official “Holy Door,” which in Arkansas is located in Little Rock, at Our Lady of Good Counsel Church. If you fulfill those four conditions – confession, Communion, prayer for the pope and going through the Door – it will feel as if the pope has laid his right hand – the hand of motherly mercy – and indulged you as all good mothers and grandmothers do. This is why Catholics frequently refers to the Church as “holy Mother Church,” because in her arms we find the marvelous mercy of God.  Mother Church makes the pain of purgatory go away.

          You know, most people who behold Rembrandt’s masterpiece sit in front of it and try to imagine what it felt like to be the prodigal son, with the father’s two hands on their shoulders. In this Year of Mercy, however, you don’t have to imagine that at all, you can actually experience it first hand (pun intended!). If you fulfill the four conditions of the plenary indulgence, you can spiritually step into Rembrandt’s priceless painting, and into Jesus’ parable, and enter the warm embrace of the heavenly Father, and be wrapped in the mantle of God’s motherly mercy. Why? Because whenever you have a toothache, you run to your mother.

          Praised be Jesus Christ!