here are two extraordinary films that created such visceral emotions within me when I saw them in the theatre that I have been unable to watch them again. I own both films on DVD, but have never opened either of them and to be honest, I’m not certain that I ever will. However no movie collection worth its salt could be without either of them. Incredibly both films are from one director, Steven Spielberg. And both films deal with the same subject matter; World War II. The first movie I refer to is “Schindler’s List”, which was released in 1993 and went on to win seven Academy Awards, including Best Picture, Director, and Adapted Screenplay. The second film, “Saving Private Ryan”, came out five years later and starred Tom Hanks. It won five Oscars, including Best Director, and was nominated for another six.

A couple of nights ago, I was flipping through the channels on my cable box and what should appear, but the opening credits for “Saving Private Ryan”. I wanted to change the channel, but something prevented me from doing so. I wound up watching the film again and remembering precisely why I had chosen not to see it again since the week it was released nine years ago. If you haven’t seen it, the opening scene of the movies recounts the D-Day Invasion and it is literally a bloody, horrific mess. To the best of my knowledge nowhere has a more realistic or more terrible view of the ravages of war ever been filmed. But the movie isn’t really about D-Day.

The movie is about an attempt to rescue Private James Francis Ryan, who is behind enemy lines in Europe. The mission is started because three of his brothers were killed in action on the same day, and he is now the sole surviving son. The mission to save Private Ryan succeeds, but at considerable cost. Tom Hanks, the commander of the detail sent to find Ryan is mortally wounded near the end of the film and as he is dying, he tells Private Ryan to make it worth the cost. The scene shifts forward in time, and as an old man, Ryan stands before the grave of Hanks’ character. Ryan asks his wife if he was a good man, and his wife tells that him that he was.

The reality is though that this man lived his entire adult life under the shadow of wondering if what Hanks had done for him was repaid by his good life, always wondering if how he had lived was enough to repay Hanks for saving him. Despite his wife’s assurances, Ryan will always secretly believe that the sacrifice, what was given could never be repaid, no matter what he had done with his life. Had he repaid the debt? Probably not. Could anyone? Probably not.

That’s a pretty inconvenient truth for us to have to live with. As Christians this truth forces us to reflect upon our own lives and once again consider what Christ did for us. He determined to go to Jerusalem and there face what was certainly a death sentence, so that He might free us from the bondage of sin and death. How could we possibly ever deserve His sacrifice? How could we ever possibly repay so great a debt? Simply put, we can’t. The reason that we can rejoice today, on this Laetere, Rejoicing, Sunday, is that we don’t have to concern ourselves with whether we have earned what has been done for us, or worry about how we shall repay Him for it. It is finished, and it is the freely offered gift of His great love.

The Gospel for today is one of the most well known in all of Scripture. Nearly everyone knows of the Prodigal Son. We know how he asked for and was given his share of his father’s estate and that he took it and went to a far off country where he “squandered it in loose living”. So thoroughly had he wasted everything that he had, that he envied the pigs for the corn husks that they had to eat. But something remarkable happened to him at this point. The Scripture says that he came to himself. The implication is that while living the profligate, wastrel life that he did, he was not in his right mind. He was blinded and stupefied by the insanity which is sin. But wondrously he comes to himself, picks himself up out of the pigsty and begins the trip home, intending to ask his father if he may be the lowliest of servants in his home.

But again, something remarkable happens in the life of the Prodigal. His father sees him from a long way off. He sees his wayward child and he runs out to meet him. He clothes him with a robe, gives him his signet ring, symbolizing his ability to act in his father’s name and authority and he sets in motion a feast of unquantifiable proportions because his son who was lost is found. His son who was dead is alive.

It’s unfortunate that this story has come to be known as the Parable of the Prodigal Son, because truly no greater misnomer could have been applied to it. This is really not a story about a lost or wandering son. This story is really about the Loving Father who runs to meet his lost son, who bestows upon him gifts and authority and position and honour he has not earned, could never deserve, and will never be able to repay. When the elder brother grouses, and refuses to even acknowledge that the other son is his brother, the Father continues to show his great and abiding love for all of his children. He makes it clear that He could do nothing else but what he has done, because whether the elder son likes it or not, his brother has come home, is alive and well, and has been restored and reconciled to the family.

So it is with us. God in His incomprehensible mercy has run out to meet us. He has clothed us in the mantle of His own Son and placed upon our hand the sigil ring which gives us the ability and authority to act in His Name. He has even prepared the sacrifice and invited us to partake of the great Feast. Do we deserve it? No. Can we ever repay Him for it? No. Can we ever be good enough to make it seem worthwhile? No. We can never justify the sacrifice of Jesus any more than Private Ryan could justify the deaths of so many of the men who sought to rescue him.

Still this is what God has chosen, in His love, to do for us. He has chosen to embrace the hard and unyielding wood of the cross. He who is immortal has chosen to embrace mortality. He who is Life has chosen to embrace death. All for love’s sake. And for that we can rightly rejoice.