Perhaps we spend our whole lives trying to find a path to God while behaving as though He were somewhere very far away, as though a great distance lay between us that we must first cross by our own strength.
I often thought that way myself. First I must put myself right, become better, stop repeating the same sins, learn to pray more earnestly, return to Mass, go to confession and sort out at least part of my life. Then, once I am a little more worthy of meeting Him, I can come before God.
In time, I began to wonder whether the order was actually reversed. Perhaps I do not have to become better before turning towards God. Perhaps I have to turn towards God precisely because I cannot change myself alone.
Jesus told this through a story we know so well that we sometimes no longer hear how unusual it is. A younger son leaves his father, takes his share of the estate and spends it. He makes bad decisions and eventually finds himself living in a way he probably never imagined. Only then does he decide to return.
Something here matters especially to me: he did not return once he had become a good son again. He did not first put his life in order, repay his debts and prove to his father that he had changed. He returned from the very heart of his defeat.
Then comes perhaps the most beautiful part of the story:
“While he was still far away, his father saw him, was moved with compassion, ran to him, embraced him and kissed him.”
(Luke 15:20)
While he was still far away.
That short phrase changes how I understand returning to God. The son has not reached home. He still carries the consequences of his decisions; he is still the man who left, and a distance still separates him from the house. But the father does not stand at the door waiting for his son to cross the final few metres and prove how sorry he is. The father runs towards him.
For years, I thought that finding God was one of faith’s greatest difficulties. Today, I increasingly think the difficulty lies elsewhere: in allowing God to find me. Not the version of myself I would like to be, but the person I am right now, with what is good, but also with mistakes, guilt, fears and the parts of life I would rather skip when telling my own story.
Perhaps the shortest path to God is therefore no great spiritual secret, nor a perfect prayer we have yet to learn. Sometimes it is simply the moment when a person stops running away and honestly says, “Father, here I am.”
Perhaps still far away. Perhaps without answers. Perhaps with much still needing to change.
But facing home.
For in Jesus’ story, the son did set out towards his Father.
But the Father ran towards him.
✍️ Slaven Vujić
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