Sermon by His Grace, Bishop Parthenius of Antania, delivered on the Sunday of the Prodigal Son, during the Divine Liturgy, February 3/16, in the Year of Our Savior 2025
Your Eminence, dear Bishop Mark,
Most Reverend and Venerable Fathers,
Beloved brothers and sisters in Christ,
We are already entering the second preparatory week before the Holy and Great Fast. The past Sunday introduced us to the spirit of sincere and true repentance through the parable of the Publican and the Pharisee, and today, at the beginning of this new week, one of the deepest parables of Christ is revealed to us—the parable of the Prodigal Son and the Merciful Father. This is a story that urges us to reflect on man’s relationship with God, his estrangement and return, the boundless love of the Heavenly Father, and the mercy that He manifests toward each one of us.
Some of the Holy Fathers say that even if the entire Holy Scripture were to disappear, this one parable would be enough to restore the entire biblical message. Why? Because in it is contained the entire history of humanity—from Adam to this present day. In it, in a manner that is both profoundly simple and deeply mystical, are described the fall and return of man, the distance into which he may fall, but also the Father’s house to which he may always return.
In the parable, we hear about the two sons of the merciful Father. One is older, the other younger. Patristic literature teaches us that the older son represents the person who believes in God, who lives in communion with Him, remains in His house, and does not abandon the faith. For man is created with a natural sense of God, with an inner perception of faith and of God’s presence.
On the other hand, the younger son represents the person who forsakes God; abandoning and disbelieving in God is something that came later—it is not innate to human nature. He, therefore, takes his inheritance, that which was given to him as a gift—his life, grace, and all the blessings the Lord bestowed upon him—and decides to leave. This “departure” is not merely physical but, above all, spiritual.
Each of us can recognize the moment of “departure” in our own life. These are those moments when we forget that our life is a gift, that everything we have comes from God, and we begin to think that we can manage on our own, independent of Him.
In the parable, the loving parent does not oppose the son’s decision. He does not rebuke him, does not impose conditions, does not warn him that the place he intends to go is harmful for him, but instead gives him everything he asks for. This shows us how deeply God respects human freedom. He does not force us to stay with Him, and at the same time, He never ceases to love us, even when we distance ourselves from Him.
The son departs to a “distant country”. But what does this distant country represent? It is not a geographical remoteness, but spiritual estrangement. It is the moment when a person abandons his caring Father and Creator and believes that he can manage his life on his own—his “own” inheritance, his own freedom.
But what happens? The son squanders all his possessions, living in reckless indulgence.
Then famine strikes the land—not merely a physical famine, but a spiritual one.
A man without God will inevitably reach a state of complete spiritual destitution.
The prodigal son then makes an agreement with the master of that land—the devil—to tend his swine. And yet, he is not even allowed to eat the food given to the swine.
In Jewish culture, tending swine was considered the greatest disgrace. The pig was deemed an unclean animal under the Law, and there is no greater image of spiritual degradation than a man being reduced to eating alongside swine.
Here, the swine symbolize human passions—insatiable and destructive, consuming the soul of the one who surrenders himself completely to them.
But at that moment, a miracle occurs—the son comes to himself. How? Once again, through the inheritance from his Father, in which, among the many gifts, was also his conscience, the sense of belonging to the Almighty. Within him, the spark of repentance is awakened, and with it, the desire to return to his Father, to the place where everything exists in abundance.
Yet now, he considers himself unworthy to be called a son, and therefore, he thinks of returning as a servant. For he says to himself: “In my father’s house, even the hired servants have more than I do here.” A person who has fallen away from God often believes that he can never again be His son, that he is unworthy, that he can only return as a servant.
Thus, with repentance and longing, he sets off toward his Father.
And here unfolds the warmest and most moving moment of the entire parable: the Father is the first to run toward His son as soon as He sees the spark of repentance in him from afar. When the son approaches, the Father does not wait for him to reach the doorstep—He Himself runs to embrace him!
This is a moment of profound revelation: God does not passively wait for us to return—He is the first to come forth to meet us. The first embrace is not from the son to the Father, but from the Father to the son.
It is a love that sets no conditions.
A love that does not ask: Where have you been? What have you done? Why did you leave?
A love that seeks only to bring the son home—to safety, to warmth, to abundance.
The son, in repentance, confesses: “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you, and I am no longer worthy to be called your son!” But the father said to his servants: “Bring out the best robe and clothe him, and put a ring on his hand and sandals on his feet. Bring the fatted calf and slaughter it, and let us eat and be merry.” (Luke 15:21-23)
The father not only does not rebuke his son, but immediately restores to him everything he had lost: the finest robe—a sign of his renewed dignity; a ring on his hand—a symbol of royal inheritance, of his reinstatement in the family. This is precisely what happens in our Church. Baptism is the new garment we receive—the white robe of spiritual rebirth and renewal. The ring is the seal of the gift of the Holy Spirit
The parable of the Prodigal Son reveals one of the deepest aspects of life in the Church—the Divine Liturgy as the banquet of love, joy, and forgiveness. We heard that when the prodigal son returned, the Father commanded that the fatted calf be slaughtered. But why? Was it merely to hold a celebration? No, beloved. There is a much deeper, essential moment here. This is an image of the greatest sacrifice that God made for us—the sacrifice of Christ on the Cross.
In the Old Testament, the fatted calf was offered as the highest sacrifice for the forgiveness of sins. But in the New Testament, it is Christ Himself—the Word of God—the One Who came to take upon Himself the sin of the world. Therefore, this is not merely a historical story about a prodigal son. This is an image of the entire Divine Liturgy.
At every Liturgy, we who have wandered into the “distant country” of our sins are once again called to the banquet of love. The Eucharist is not merely a ritual. It is not just “something that is done on Sunday”.
It is the banquet of the Father, Who celebrates our return, our resurrection. When we approach Holy Communion, it is not ordinary food. It is not mere symbolism. It is the very essence, the very love of God, Christ Himself, Who gives Himself to us as a pledge of eternal life.
The Holy Church has placed this parable precisely at this moment, two weeks before the beginning of the Holy and Great Fast, because it is a mirror of our spiritual reality. It shows us who we are, where we are, why we live, and where we must return. In it, we see that the Father never forces the son to stay with Him. On the contrary, when the prodigal son desires to leave, everything is given to him. God respects human freedom above all else. Our God does not imprison us, nor does He force us. He is not a dictator who rules through fear. He is love, and love always implies freedom.
Man, however, without God, is not free. The prodigal son, thinking that he was becoming “free” far from his Father, ends up as the lowest kind of slave: a slave to his passions, a slave to hunger, a slave to the world that deceived him with its false glitter—ultimately, a slave to the devil. That is why we say that this parable, in the beginning, is the tragedy of man who abandons God, but in the end, it is the triumph of returning to God.
Saint John Chrysostom says that it is human to fall, but it is also human to rise again. Repentance is not merely a feeling. It is not just an emotional stirring. Repentance is the continual return of man to his true nature, to his freedom in God.
When a person refuses to struggle and remains in his fall, he gives himself over to his passions, and the enemy of human salvation—the devil—works against him, acting through his passions and depriving him of his freedom, enslaving him in a terrible way. That is why the Holy Apostle Paul, in today’s reading, says: “All things are lawful for me, but not all things are beneficial; all things are lawful for me, but I will not be brought under the power of anything.” (1 Corinthians 6:12).
In the world, many things may seem attractive, accessible, and permissible. But not everything is good and beneficial for our spiritual well-being. This is precisely why fasting exists—not as a punishment, not as a restriction, but as a return to our true freedom. For man was created with dominion, with the blessing to rule over his passions, and not for his passions to rule over him.
Therefore, brothers and sisters, let us be careful not to lose the dignity that God has given us. Our goal is not merely to live “well” or “morally.” Our goal is theosis, to become people of the Resurrection, people filled with God’s divine light. For this, we need spiritual vigilance, prayer, humility, and continual repentance.
Let us not be afraid of the mighty hand of the Lord. We see in the parable that the Father does not rebuke the son, does not judge him, does not remind him of his mistakes, saying, “Did I not tell you not to do this or that?” Instead, He simply embraces him. That same Fatherly embrace is here with us today, in the Church, in the Holy Liturgy, in the Mystery of Holy Communion. When we stand before the Divine Eucharist, we are not merely individuals who pray—we are returning home. We receive Christ within us, we unite with Him, and we become one with each other in eternal life. Therefore, let us always preserve a repentant heart, for it will keep us in unceasing vigilance, in watchfulness over ourselves, and in the true freedom that is in God.
Today, our hearts are filled with spiritual joy because we have had the honor and blessing to concelebrate with His Eminence, Metropolitan Mark of Berlin and Germany. We have heard much about his zeal and spiritual depth, and today, by God’s grace, we were granted the opportunity to meet him in person, to experience his humble love and his monastic dignity. His presence among us is not merely an ordinary visit—it is a testimony to the catholicity of the Church, a witness to the fact that Christ’s love unites all nations, languages, and cultures into one community of salvation.
The path of Metropolitan Mark in the Church is truly inspiring. He is German by birth, and his fervent dedication to Orthodoxy is truly uplifting. This shows us that the Church is not bound to any ethnic identity, any single nation, or any one language—it belongs to all. In the Church, it is not a person’s origin that matters, but rather how he lives in Christ. Metropolitan Mark is a living witness to this truth.
Furthermore, one of our brothers, Father Joachim, was once a novice in his monastery in Munich. This spiritual connection is yet another testament to the reality that the Church is one living Body, where all its members, though dwelling in different places, are united in the same Spirit and in the same Truth.
Your Eminence, dear Vladyka, from the depths of our hearts, we thank you for choosing to be with us today.
And now, we continue with the Mystery of the Divine Liturgy.
May it be for many years to all of you!
