The Mystery of Rebirth – The Return of the Prodigal Son

There comes a moment in every man’s life when the veil of time and space is torn apart, when the soul stands before the abyss, before the chasm of its sins, before the silence of its own fall. It is the moment when there is nowhere left to go—except back. When all that was of the world, all that glittered with false light, loses its luster, and the soul, stripped and hungry, realizes that the only thing left is: the return.

The return is not just a step. It is the breaking of the heart, the shattering of pride, the dying to an old life. The return is a mystery, for in it, there is no human merit; it is a gift, a call of love that has never ceased.

That love—boundless, unfathomable love of the Father—is what sets this story apart from all others. The world would expect justice. The world would demand punishment. The world would want the one who lost everything to now pay the price for his ruin. But God—ah, dear children—God acts differently.

Who can understand the Father who runs to meet his son? Who can comprehend the embrace that erases all sins? Who can grasp the mercy that knows no bounds?

This is not just a story about one prodigal son.

This is the story about me.

About you.

About every soul that has ever been lost in the darkness of this world, yet somewhere, deep inside, felt the call of a love that never ceases.

The encounter between father and son is the encounter between God and man. An encounter of two loves: the love that has always waited and the love that has finally returned.

But one question remains: Are you ready to return?

Night was falling over the dusty roads, and shadows stretched across the ground like silent witnesses of footsteps returning home. But this was no ordinary night, nor an ordinary road. This was the walk of a heart breaking, heavy as the chains of sin that bound it, yet light as the breath of mercy that called it.

He was walking. Tired, humiliated, starving—yet he walked. For somewhere in his wounded soul, there flickered an image, a voice that had never been silenced: the face of his father, the eyes that had never condemned him, the hands that had once held him.

“Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you…”—he repeated within himself, like a prayer of the hopeless, like the last cry of a soul that had nothing left to lose.

But what does he know of his father?

Does he know how the father’s eyes, in the silent nights, looked into the distance, toward the unknown roads? Does he know how his hands trembled as he pleaded with Heaven for the son who had left?

Does he know how every day began with the same word—his name—and a prayer: “Beloved child, return to the right path.”

And now, in the blink of eternity, in that moment where all things collide—past and present, sin and grace, despair and love—an encounter takes place.

Even while he was still far off, his father saw him.

And he does not wait.

He does not stand on the threshold as a judge, does not raise his hand to stop him, does not ask anything. He runs toward his son.

The old man, whose legs may no longer be strong, whose years have placed a weight upon his shoulders—he runs.

He embraces.

He kisses.

Tears fall upon his face, mingling with the dust of his son’s journey, and that embrace is not just love—it is baptism; a washing away of the dust of sin, a resurrection of the dead.

“Father, I have sinned…”

But the father does not listen.

He is not interested in words, in a confession already written in the very steps of his son’s return. For in his eyes, it is already finished: the son was dead and is alive again. He was lost and is found.

Oh, how that love shatters all that is human!

Where is justice?

Where is the deserved punishment? Where is the judgment?

It does not exist, for here, it is not a matter of law but of a heart that has kept a place for the returnee, despite everything.

As the estate lights up, as music begins to echo, one does not rejoice. One stands in the darkness, outside the feast, his hands clenched in anger. The elder brother, who was always there, who served, who obeyed, now cannot accept what is happening.

“For so many years I have served you, and you never gave me even a young goat… but this son of yours…”

But the father, the one who does not judge, is not angered even now. He enters into prayer, just as he did on the day the younger son left. For the father’s love is not only for the lost—it is for all.

“Child, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours…”

Oh, how difficult it is to understand this love!

It does not count sins, does not weigh merits, does not divide into “better” and “worse.” It knows only one thing: there was death, and now there is life. There was loss, and now there is finding.

And you, my child—my beloved child in Christ—where are you in this story?

Are you the one who is far away, who feels the hunger of the soul and thinks there is no way back?

Are you the one returning, step by step, afraid of judgment, with a bowed head?

Are you the one standing at the threshold, yet not entering, measuring justice by the weight of merits rather than the weight of love?

All of this is man.

Each of us is one of these three.

But the deepest question is: Are you ready to let yourself be held in that embrace?

For God does not wait for you to reach Him. He runs to meet you. He renews you in His embrace.

For the love of God is not only just—it is greater than justice.

It is an abyss that swallows all sins, a flame that does not burn but purifies, a force that does not compel but conquers the heart.

“Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you…”

Do not be afraid. Do not run. Do not look back.

The house is open. The table is set.

And the Father… is already running.

Oh, what was the road of the lost son?

The path he walked was lit by false lights, glittering like an illusion, like gold that turns to dust under the fingers. He left home certain that he was free, that his life was finally his, that he would shape himself as a god without God. But the world that was offered to him was only a mirage—a hand stretched in embrace, yet instead of love, an abyss lay within it.

Where was the moment when everything collapsed?

Was it on the night when the last coin slipped through his fingers, leaving his hands empty, his heart hollow? Was it when the faces that once smiled at him turned into soulless masks? Or was it when he first felt the hunger that pierced his stomach, and even more—the hunger that devoured his soul?

He had descended to the lowest depths of human humiliation. He tended swine—unclean creatures—and watched as scraps fell into their snouts, scraps that even the dogs had refused. And he? He would have leaned down to take it, but even there, even in that misery, there was no mercy for him. The swine had food—he had nothing.

Then, a voice appeared within him, a voice that was not his, yet one he knew.

“How many of my father’s hired servants have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger!”

Where had everything gone? Where were the mighty friends who sang with him when he had plenty? Where were the hands that had pulled him into the nights of debauchery? Where were those who encouraged him to break away from his father, from home, from the past? Where?

He stood alone, facing himself.

For the first time, after so long, he saw his own face reflected in the water of the swine’s trough. He saw what he had become. He saw the abyss in his own eyes. And a single thought passed through his heart—like a blade, like lightning tearing through the darkness:

“I will arise and go to my father.”

But how?

How do you return when you have burned all the bridges? How do you look into the eyes of the one you have wounded? How do you say the name of the one you have betrayed?

O beloved soul, awaken and rise again.

He does not know. But he walks.

Step by step, stone by stone, under the merciless sun that scorches his skin. The wind lashes his face like mockery, like the voices of the past shouting: “He won’t accept you! Have you forgotten what you have done?”

But his feet keep moving. His heart pounds in his chest. Beat after beat. Like a hammer breaking the last fortress of pride.

And now he is here.

He stands before the house he abandoned.

The doors are the same. The stone worn by the steps of those who searched for him. The air filled with the scent of what he had lost.

His legs tremble. He sees nothing yet, but he knows he is close. He dares not lift his head.

And then—a sound.

The sound of footsteps running.

But not his own.

His?

No! That is impossible!

Running is the one who should not run. The father.

The eyes that searched for him through the nights. The hands that waited in emptiness.

“Father…”

But there are no more words.

For the embrace has already fallen.

Tears on his shoulder. The scent of the robe he grew up in. The breath he had not felt for years.

Is this not a dream? Is it possible that love does this?

“Father… I have sinned against heaven and before you…”

“Hush. Enough words. Everything has already been said.”

And there is no judgment.

Only an embrace that holds eternity within it.

This son was dead and is alive again. He was lost and is found.

For the love of God does not return a man to where he left off. It lifts him to where he has never been.

Behold, Lord, I come to You…

Here I am, Lord, on the threshold of light, yet covered in shadows. Here I stand before the doors of mercy, my hands empty, roughened by sin, defiled by the touch of this world. Here I stand before the face of the Father, yet my own face is buried in the dust. Once, I thought I was a god unto myself; now, I cannot even lift my eyes to Heaven.

I come to You as the greatest sinner, as one who has betrayed love, who has severed his soul from the source of life, who has squandered the Father’s riches in the wastelands of lust, vanity, and forgetfulness. Lord, my path has been in the fire of passion, and now before You, I stand as scorched earth. I have no more steps to take without You.

I was dead, Lord.

Not dead in body, but in heart.

Every thought of mine, every desire, every word—everything was without You, without the One who is Life. I thought I was free, yet I was enslaved by myself. I sought joy, yet I found only a yearning that tore me apart. My heart was a desert, and every drop of pleasure was just another drop of bitterness that drowned me.

But now I have come.

Lord, I can no longer stand on the threshold. I can no longer gaze upon my own nothingness and not fall to my knees. I am not worthy even of the dust beneath the feet of the saints, I am not worthy of even the smallest morsel from Your table. But You do not look upon worthiness; You look upon the heart.

Here I am, Lord.

Broken, yet still alive.

Wounded, yet still full of hope.

Barefoot, yet I already feel that I am walking upon Your holy ground.

Lord, You see all.

You see my shame, my misery, my emptiness. You see the wounds I have inflicted upon myself. You see the scars of sin, see how I have separated myself from love, how I have squandered all that I was given, how I have lost what I never even understood I had.

But if You do not reject me, who am I to condemn myself?

If You run to meet me, who am I to flee?

If You wipe away my tears, how can I hold them back?

Lord, let it be as You will!

If You wish to punish me—punish me.

If You wish to humble me—humble me.

If You take everything from me—I will bless You.

Only do not leave me, Lord.

Let me be as one of Your hired servants, for it is better to be the last in Your house than the first in a world without You. It is better to be a shadow on the threshold of Your Kingdom than a ruler in the ruin of this world. It is better to lose everything, as long as I do not lose You.

For what is life without You?

Behold, Lord, my heart is laid bare before You. Here, in this place, in this moment, all that I was is dying. My lies, my desires, my delusions—all fall into the dust.

And a new man is being born.

A man who knows he is nothing, yet in You, he has everything.

A man who no longer walks alone but is led by Your hand.

A man who was dead, but now breathes deeply.

I am the lost son.

But I am still Yours.

Receive me, Father.

Receive me, and let this night become day.

Let this shadow become light.

Let this sinner become a son.

For You are the God who brings the dead to life.

You are the love that never ceases.

You are the mercy that is not measured by merit but by hearts that break before You.

Receive me, Lord.

And let Your will be done.

Amen.

With tears in my heart,

Text : Priest Aleksandar RTOC