Listen to your father who begot you, and despise not your mother when she is old.—PROVERBS 23:22

For the Christian, “To love or not to love?” is not the question (my apologies to Mr. Shakespeare). Our question is always, “How do I love?”

How we love changes from person to person, even within the life of one relationship. Think of a mother with her tiny son, cradling and cuddling, bathing and feeding. That same son grows to manhood, and his mother still loves him with all her heart—would perhaps die for him—but cradle, cuddle, bathe, feed? Hardly. A hug, maybe. A pat on the shoulder.

From making every decision for the welfare of this child, the good mother must learn to love without overstepping, even if—especially if—the boy/man does something dangerous or sinful or just plain dumb.

On the second Sunday of this month, we hear a Gospel story that details the complex nature of familial love. Jesus tells the Parable of the Prodigal Son, who drank and debauched his way through his inheritance; the resentful Elder Brother, who whines, “Where’s my goat?!”; and the Loving Father, who stands with open arms, ready to offer forgiveness.

I’ve known all of these characters from the inside. I’m embarrassingly familiar with the petulant attitude of the elder brother—that childish envy of the attention others receive and the sense of entitlement that’s so destructive to the soul and to relationships. I’ve come to know the repentant younger brother, too-late aware that all is gift, grateful for goodness I didn’t earn. That’s the grace of the convert.
And I’ve also known the ready-to-forgive attitude of the loving father, longing to welcome back into my life a friend or colleague or family member, no matter how grievous the estrangement.

Maybe inspired by Rembrandt’s painting The Return of the Prodigal Son, I find myself thinking about another character in the story. In many reproductions of this painting, only five figures are visible—the father embracing the younger son as the elder stands by, along with two servants. But look closely at the upper-left corner. I think the shaded figure, clearly female, is the mother standing in the shadows, helpless to do more than she already has to effect this reconciliation.

And don’t think she hasn’t done something. Who prays constantly for her younger son, anxious about his welfare every minute he’s away? Who listens sympathetically to her husband as he rants about this wasteful boy, yet persuades him to go out to meet him just one more time? Who pleads with her firstborn son to love his younger brother, maybe even sneaking him his own small goat? Yes, I know this woman. I know the demands of hands-off love as my sons have become men.

God is like the prodigal son’s father, granting us our inheritance of human dignity and freedom even when we’re likely to waste these gifts. And like that father, God is always ready to embrace us.

God is also like the mother in the shadows, pained at the way her children treat one another, patiently waiting for them to learn the hard lessons, longing just to feed them and hold them and welcome them into her house.

Paige Byrne Shortal writes from her home in rural Missouri. Contact her and read her weekly meditation at www.paigebyrneshortal.com.