Seized by Christ

They are experiencing Christianity as joy and hope, having thus become lovers of Christ.

Category: Heroism and the Call to Adventure

The Christian life as a heroic journey, blending Scripture, myth, and psychological growth.

  • Pilgrim and Hero: Two Paths, One Journey

    How the pilgrimage and the hero’s journey reveal our call to transformation

    When we speak of journeys, two powerful images come to mind: the pilgrim’s pilgrimage and the hero’s adventure. At first glance, these seem like very different paths. The pilgrim walks slowly toward a holy shrine, while the hero marches boldly into battle or descends into the unknown. Yet the more closely we look, the more we see that these two journeys are deeply connected.

    The Pilgrim’s Path

    A pilgrimage is a journey toward God. The pilgrim leaves behind the comfort of home, accepts hardship, and moves step by step toward a sacred goal. Along the way, he is changed—not only by the external trials of the road, but by an inner transformation. His destination is not simply a place but a Person: the living God who calls him deeper into union with Himself.

    The Hero’s Journey

    By contrast, the hero’s journey, as told in myth and story, is a passage into trial, danger, and transformation. The hero departs from the ordinary world, faces challenges, suffers losses, confronts evil, and returns home with new strength or wisdom to share. Though not always framed in religious language, the pattern points to something higher: that true growth requires leaving safety, facing suffering, and returning transformed.

    How the Two Overlap

    Looked at side by side, the pilgrim and the hero seem to walk parallel roads:

    • Departure – Both leave behind the ordinary world
    • Trial – Both endure hardship, temptation, and loss.
    • Transformation – Both emerge changed by what they encounter.
    • Return – Both bring something back: the pilgrim brings blessing, the hero brings wisdom.

    The difference lies mainly in their destinations:

    • The pilgrim walks toward God and the holy.
    • The hero seeks victory, meaning, or renewal.

    But even here, the two roads converge. For the Christian, every true quest for meaning ultimately points toward God, whether or not the hero realizes it.

    Can a Pilgrim Be a Hero?

    Yes. The pilgrim shows heroism not by slaying dragons, but by enduring the long road, the weariness of the body, and the trials of the spirit. His courage lies in perseverance, in choosing God above comfort, in taking one more step toward the holy.

    Can a Hero Be a Pilgrim?

    Yes again. Even when a hero is not explicitly walking to a shrine, his journey mirrors pilgrimage. His battles are stations on the way. His quest is a hidden search for the sacred. His transformation is a kind of conversion. In this way, the hero is a pilgrim without realizing it—walking toward the same mountain, but naming it differently.

    Two Roads, One Mountain

    Every pilgrim is a hero. Every hero is a pilgrim. One sets his eyes clearly on the shrine of God; the other may name his quest as truth, wisdom, or meaning. Yet in the end, both are called beyond themselves, both must pass through trial, and both are changed in the journey.

    And perhaps this is why these two images—pilgrim and hero—speak so powerfully to us. They remind us that every human life is a journey. Every road leads through suffering and transformation. And every true journey, if followed faithfully, brings us closer to the One who waits at the summit.

    ✨ What do you think? Can a pilgrim be heroic? Can a hero be a pilgrim? Share your thoughts in the comments below.
    If this reflection spoke to you, please like, share, and subscribe so others can join the journey.

    Developed with cooperation from ChatGPT

  • Valley of the Shadow of Death

    The choice of every lost soul can be expressed in the words: “Better to reign in hell than serve in Heaven”

    In the actual language of the Lost, the words will be different, no doubt. One will say he has always served his country right or wrong; another that he has sacrificed everything to his art; and some that they’ve never been taken in; and some that, thank God, they’ve always looked after Number One; and nearly all, that, at least, they’ve been true to themselves.

    There is always something they insist on keeping, even at the price of misery. There is always something they prefer to Joy – that is, to reality.

    Of some sinful pleasure they say: “Let me but have this, and I’ll take the consequences”, little dreaming how damnation will spread back and back into their past and contaminate the pleasure of the sin. 

    The process begins even before death. The bad man’s past already conforms to his badness and is filled only with dreariness. And that is why the Lost will say: “We were always in hell”

    They are those to whom God says, in the end: “Thy will be done.” 

    All that are in hell choose it. Without that self-choice, there could be no hell.

    Ye can call those sad streets the Valley of the Shadow of Death. if they leave that grey town behind it will not have been hell. To any that leaves it, it is Purgatory.

    For those who remain there it will have been hell even from the beginning.

    C.S. Lewis – The Great Divorce

  • The Hero in the Margins

    Why the greatest stories often begin far from power — and what that means today

    When we think about heroes, we often imagine people with special powers or big titles. But in the real world — and in most great stories — heroes don’t start at the top.


    They start in the margins. In fact, that’s where the real transformation begins.

    What Do We Mean by “The Margins”?

    The margins are the places that feel far from the center.
    Not just physically — but socially, economically, or culturally.

    It might be:

    • A small town
    • A poor neighborhood
    • A group that doesn’t get much attention
    • Or someone who feels like they don’t fit in

    In today’s world, we often talk about “the marginalized” as people who need help. And while it’s true that life can be harder on the edges, it’s also true that powerful things grow there.

    Every Hero Starts Small

    Think about famous stories from history or religion:

    • Moses was in the wilderness.
    • David was just a forgotten shepherd.
    • Jesus came from a town nobody respected.
    • In mythology, heroes like Harry Potter lived in cupboards before they found their calling.

    They didn’t start in palaces. They started in places of struggle, loss, or invisibility. And that’s exactly why they changed.

    The Margin Builds Something the Center Can’t

    When you’re not in the spotlight, you gain other things:

    1. Clarity: You’re not surrounded by noise and pressure. You can see what matters.

    2. Creativity: With fewer tools, you learn to build smarter.

    3. Drive: When things are harder, you learn to push.

    4. Perspective: You know what it feels like to be left out. That shapes your heart.

    These qualities are what turn a person into a leader, a thinker, or a force for change.

    Why This Matters Now

    Today, we often try to “fix” the margins by making them more like the center. We offer comfort, attention, and resources — all good things. But what if we also need to look to the margins for leadership? What if the most important voices are not in the spotlight yet? What if the next big idea — or movement — is growing quietly on the edge?

    Don’t Just Help the Margins. Listen to Them.

    The margins aren’t just where people are struggling.

    • They’re where new stories are being written.
    • Where courage is being shaped.
    • Where heroes are being made.

    So yes — let’s support those in the margins.
    But let’s also remember: Heroes don’t come from the palace. They rise from the wilderness.

  • 🎺 Trouble in River City

    Why America Needs a Hero’s Journey, Not Just a Marching Band

    How The Music Man, myth, and modern comfort expose our spiritual apathy—and what we can do about it

    What if America’s crisis isn’t scarcity—but too much abundance with too little meaning?

    There’s an old quote—often attributed to Alexander Tyler—that outlines the cycle of civilizations. It begins in bondage, rises through faith, courage, and liberty, peaks in abundance, and then falls through complacency, apathy, and dependence, finally returning to bondage. If that cycle rings true, we have to ask: Where is America right now?

    Most signs point to somewhere between abundance → complacency → apathy. And that’s why so few seem interested in growing in faith, taking on responsibility, or answering the call of purpose. We’re not hungry for transformation—because we don’t feel the need.

    But here’s the problem: bondage doesn’t always look like chains.

    Sometimes, it looks like endless entertainment. Like ultra-comfortable lives that make us restless, numb, and detached. In other words, like a pool hall in The Music Man.

    🎱 “Ya got trouble… right here in River City!”

    In Meredith Willson’s The Music Man, Professor Harold Hill warns the town of River City that their boys are sliding into ruin—through the game of pool. Of course, he’s a con man, using fear to sell band instruments. But there’s an ironic twist:

    He’s right.

    The pool hall becomes a symbol of a deeper drift. The boys aren’t just wasting time—they’re losing direction, virtue, and vitality. Hill’s proposal—form a boys’ band—is more than a scam. It accidentally becomes a call to purpose, discipline, and beauty.

    That’s myth in action. Even flawed messengers can stir people toward the Hero’s Journey.

    🧭 Apathy is a disguised form of bondage

    In myth, bondage is always the starting point. Think of Israel in Egypt, Odysseus stranded far from Ithaca, or Luke Skywalker stuck on a desert farm. There’s always something wrong, and the Hero must see it before he can leave it.

    But what if the enemy isn’t external?
    What if it’s spiritual numbness?
    What if our “Egypt” is a dopamine-soaked feed full of shallow pleasures?

    In that case, we’re in bondage—and we don’t even know it.

    That’s why abundance alone won’t save us. It’s not enough to be comfortable—we need to be called. Until people realize they’re stuck, they won’t rise. And that’s where myth, music, and moral imagination can crack open a soul.

    🎺 The Band Must Play

    In the end, The Music Man is a strange but beautiful parable.

    • The boys need something higher to aim at.
    • The town needs to remember what virtue looks like.
    • And even the con man finds redemption when he stops running and chooses to care.

    Today, we don’t need another hustle. We need a band—a higher aim, a moral discipline, and a song to march toward.

    The Hero’s Journey always begins in bondage. But only if we see it. Only if we hear the call.

    So let the music start.

    Written in collaboration with ChatGPT (OpenAI, 2025)

  • Why Civilizations Collapse:

    What Myths Teach Us About the Fall of Democracies

    The Tytler Cycle isn’t just political theory—it’s the story of the soul, told in every great myth.

    “A democracy cannot exist as a permanent form of government. It can only exist until the voters discover that they can vote themselves largesse from the public treasury…”
     —Attributed to Professor Alexander Tytler (1787)

    You’ve probably come across some version of the so-called Tytler Cycle. It claims that all democracies follow a predictable pattern: from freedom to abundance, to complacency, to dependence, and finally back into bondage.

    For some, it’s just a cynical take on politics. But looked at through the lens of myth and archetype, it becomes something much more profound:

    It’s not just the fall of a government.
    It’s the rise and fall of the soul.

    The Cycle Through Mythic Eyes

    Let’s walk through the Tytler Cycle as a moral and spiritual journey—one that appears in countless myths and scriptures across time.

    🔗 Bondage → Spiritual Faith
     This is the beginning of the hero’s story. In myth, this is Egypt before the Exodus, the desert before the call, the dungeon before the sword is drawn. It’s when people suffer under something oppressive—and realize they can’t save themselves.

    Mythic truth: Suffering awakens the soul to something higher.

    🔥 Spiritual Faith → Courage
     Faith gives birth to boldness. This is Moses facing Pharaoh. It’s Odysseus setting sail. It’s the moment someone stops asking “Why is this happening to me?” and starts asking “What must I do?”

    Mythic truth: Faith creates purpose. Purpose demands courage.

    🗽 Courage → Liberty
     Through sacrifice, real freedom is earned. The tyrant falls, the dragon dies, the sea is crossed. Liberty here is not comfort—it’s earned order. It is hard-won.

    Mythic truth: Freedom without cost is not freedom.

    💰 Liberty → Abundance
     With order in place, prosperity grows. Cities rise. Systems thrive. The people enjoy peace. But this stage is where many heroes (and nations) fall asleep.

    Mythic truth: Abundance is not the goal—it’s the test.

    😴 Abundance → Complacency → Apathy
     Now the real decay begins. Warriors become managers. Builders become consumers. The sacred becomes boring. The heroic is replaced with the comfortable.

    Mythic truth: Without struggle, the soul forgets its mission.

    🧷 Apathy → Dependence → Bondage
     In the final stages, people no longer protect what they’ve inherited. They vote for comfort over courage, safety over freedom. The tyrant returns—this time invited.

    Mythic truth: The abandonment of virtue always leads back to slavery.

    The Eternal Message

    This isn’t just about nations. It’s about you.

    We all live through this cycle in miniature.
    When we stop striving, stop sacrificing, and stop remembering the cost of freedom—we fall.
    When we trade meaning for comfort, truth for ease, or courage for conformity—we begin the long slide back into bondage.

    But here’s the good news, written into every myth:The cycle is not inevitable.
     It can be broken—if the hero awakens.

    Developed with assistance of ChatGPT

  •  Is Procrastination Laziness or a Trauma Response?

    Understanding the Path to the Adversary

    You’ve probably heard it said—or told yourself—that procrastination is a sign of laziness. But what if it’s not? What if it’s something much deeper, more human, and more dangerous?

    A viral quote puts it like this:

    “Procrastination is not laziness. It is a trauma response.”

    At first glance, that may sound dramatic. But modern psychology—and ancient wisdom—both affirm the same truth: avoidance often hides fear, and fear often hides trauma.

    Trauma and the Freeze Response

    Trauma doesn’t always look like panic or breakdown. Sometimes it looks like numbness. Stillness. Delay.

    When our nervous system perceives danger, we might fight or flee—but we also might freeze. That’s where procrastination often lives. Not in comfort, but in a kind of paralysis. We avoid the task, not because we’re unmotivated, but because the task feels threatening. Failing might prove we’re unworthy. Succeeding might expose us to expectations we’re afraid to carry.

    So we wait. And wait. And beat ourselves up for waiting.

    Peterson: The Seed of the Adversary is Laziness

    Jordan Peterson often frames this “laziness” in moral and spiritual terms. In Maps of Meaning, he explores how small acts of avoidance can evolve into resentment, and then into outright destruction.

    The person who refuses responsibility becomes bitter. The bitter become vengeful. And eventually, the vengeful become adversaries—not just of others, but of Being itself.

    So what begins as “laziness” is often a refusal to confront suffering. But beneath that refusal is usually pain—unprocessed, unresolved, and growing in the dark.

    The Progression: From Trauma to the Adversary

    Here’s how it unfolds:

    1. Trauma — A betrayal, a failure, or a moment of chaos shakes our sense of order.
    2. Fear — We begin to dread further pain, judgment, or exposure.
    3. Avoidance — Procrastination kicks in, disguised as laziness.
    4. Stagnation — Inaction compounds. Life doesn’t move. Self-contempt grows.
    5. Resentment — We start blaming ourselves, then others, then the world.
    6. Formation of the Adversary — We harden into a posture of defiance or decay, no longer seeking healing—only power, revenge, or numbness.

    This is how the adversary is born: not in grand acts of evil, but in a thousand quiet refusals to face suffering with courage.

    The Hero Responds Differently

    The difference between the hero and the adversary is not that one suffers and the other doesn’t. They both suffer. The difference is what they choose to do with it.

    • The adversary avoids, freezes, and resents.
    • The hero confronts, moves forward, and transforms.

    To break the cycle of procrastination, we must stop condemning ourselves as lazy and start asking deeper questions. Where does this fear come from? What pain am I avoiding? What burden am I afraid to lift?

    Redeeming the Pattern

    If procrastination is a trauma response, then the solution isn’t punishment—it’s healing.

    That healing begins with:

    • Understanding that your inaction may be protective, not passive.
    • Compassion toward yourself as someone doing their best with past pain.
    • Courage to take one small step into the unknown—despite fear.

    You are not lazy. You are a soul that’s been wounded. But you don’t have to become the adversary. You can become the hero instead.

    Developed with assistance from ChatGPT

  • The Mythological Significance of Baptism

    How Christian Baptism Unites Us with the Hero’s Journey and the Cosmic Battle Between Order and Chaos

    Baptism Is a Myth Made Flesh

    Yes — Christian baptism is deeply mythological, in the truest and richest sense of the word.

    But let’s be clear: “mythological” here doesn’t mean false story. It means a symbolic narrative that expresses deep, eternal truths about human existence and the divine. In fact, in Jordan Peterson’s language:

    “Myth is a dramatic description of the patterns that govern our being.”

    Myths don’t compete with reality — they reveal it. And baptism is one of the clearest examples of that.

    Baptism as Myth-In-Action

    Baptism is not just a symbol — it’s a sacrament, which means it does what it signifies. But to grasp its full meaning, we need to see it through the mythological lens:

    1. Chaos and Creation

    • In Genesis, water represents chaos: the deep, the void, the unformed.
    • God brings life and order from it.
    • Baptism takes that chaotic symbol and makes it the very place of new creation — you are born again from the deep.

    2. Descent and Return (The Hero’s Journey)

    • Baptism imitates the classic pattern: death → descent → rebirth.
    • The baptized person “dies” with Christ and rises again in a new identity.
    • Like the mythic hero, the person descends into the unknown and returns transformed.

    3. The Great Battle and the New Kingdom

    • Christ’s baptism marks the beginning of His public mission — a battle against evil and a mission to restore the world.
    • Your baptism draws you into that same cosmic conflict: it ends your slavery to sin and brings you into the Kingdom of God.
    • In mythological terms, it is the transition from one world (chaos, tyranny, death) to another (order, truth, life).

    Why It Matters

    Baptism is not just an initiation rite. It is a real participation in the structure of meaning itself. It ties you personally to:

    • The universal drama of creation and chaos
    • The eternal role of the hero confronting the unknown
    • The sacrificial path of death and rebirth

    In a world where people are starved for meaning and afraid of the unknown, baptism reveals the ancient truth:

    You are meant to enter the chaos, confront it, and return renewed.

    Through baptism, you do that not alone, but through Christ — the True Hero, the Logos, who makes sense of the world.

    St. Paul Saw It Too

    When St. Paul writes:

    “Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?… so that we too might walk in newness of life” (Romans 6:3–4),

    he is thinking in mythological structure: a symbolic death and resurrection that becomes real in you.

    You are enrolled in the battle. You are joined to the Hero. You rise into the new world.

    Conclusion: Baptism as the Path of Meaning

    Christian baptism is mythic, sacramental, and real:

    • Mythic, because it speaks in the language of archetype and transformation
    • Sacramental, because it causes the very rebirth it symbolizes
    • Real, because it unites your personal story with the cosmic pattern of death and resurrection

    In a culture drowning in meaninglessness, baptism is the true Water of Life — and the gateway to becoming fully alive.

    Developed with assistance from ChatGPT

  • Even If You Don’t Come Back: The Hidden Hope of the Hero’s Journey

    An Easter Conversation on Risk, Myth, and Resurrection

    Q: My son made an interesting observation. He said that hero stories are “success-biased”—we only hear the stories of the ones who made it back to tell them. Most who go on the hero’s journey probably don’t make it back, and we don’t hear those stories. So maybe we’re misled in thinking it’s worth going. But I’ve been wondering: maybe the message of the myths is actually that it’s better to go and not make it back, than to never go at all?

    A: (from ChatGPT)
    That question hits right at the heart of what myth—and particularly the Christian story—has always tried to say. Yes, your son is absolutely right: hero stories are success-biased. They’re remembered because someone survived to tell them. And it’s true that most people don’t return from their battles unscarred—some never return at all.

    But that doesn’t make the journey meaningless.

    In fact, your reflection gets to something deeper—the idea that it is better to go and not make it back than never to go. That’s not just a mythic truth. That’s a Christian one.

    The Christian story flips the script on worldly success. It says: the one who loses everything is the one who gains it all. Jesus doesn’t return from His journey with treasure or a triumphal parade. He returns wounded, rejected, and killed—but through that death, He brings life.

    And the earliest Christians saw that. That’s why they remembered the martyrs—not for escaping suffering, but for embracing it with courage. That’s why they honored missionaries who died far from home, parents who quietly gave their lives for their children, and ordinary believers who bore their crosses unseen by the world. They didn’t make it back in any normal sense. But their stories became part of a deeper narrative of hope.

    The hero who never comes home still teaches us something profound:

    • That courage is not about guaranteed success.
    • That the going itself is transformative.
    • That the journey may be unfinished, but it is not wasted.
    • And that even death does not erase meaning—especially in light of Easter.

    The Resurrection is not just a happy ending—it’s the redemption of the journey that seemed like failure. It’s the great answer to your question: even if you don’t make it back, it was worth it. Because in Christ, nothing offered in love is ever lost.

    So yes—your question has merit, and your intuition is right. The hero stories may be success-biased, but the Gospel is sacrifice-biased. It tells us that the ones who go, even when they never return, are not forgotten. They are part of something eternal.

    And in that, there is real hope.

  • Unpacking the Prodigal Son Story: A Mythical Hero’s Journey

    The Prodigal Son is one of the most beloved parables from Christian tradition, but when examined through the lens of the mythical hero’s journey, it reveals a deeper, universal narrative of transformation, redemption, and reconciliation. This timeless tale offers a rich exploration of personal growth, rebellion, and the cyclical nature of life. In this post, we’ll delve into how the Prodigal Son mirrors the structure of the mythical hero’s journey and what we can learn from his story.

    1. The Call to Adventure: A Desire for Freedom

    In mythological narratives, the hero often begins their journey with a call to adventure — a desire to explore the unknown. The Prodigal Son’s request for his inheritance marks his own “call” to freedom. He wants to leave behind the familiarity of his home and step into a world where he can forge his own path. This moment reflects the universal human desire to break free from constraints and seek independence, much like a hero departing from their original world to pursue a personal quest.

    2. Crossing the Threshold: Venturing into the Unknown

    The son leaves his father’s house and enters the “distant country,” symbolizing the crossing of the threshold into the unknown. It is here that he begins to indulge in a life of excess, squandering his inheritance. This chaotic journey mirrors the hero’s descent into the “wild” or underworld, where they encounter temptations and distractions that often lead them astray. In mythology, heroes face these temptations as part of their transformation, and the Prodigal Son is no different. His descent represents the dangers of excess and unchecked desires.

    3. The Abyss: Confronting the Crisis

    Every hero must face a crisis — the abyss — a moment of profound despair and self-reflection. For the Prodigal Son, this moment occurs when famine strikes and he finds himself feeding pigs, longing for their food. This marks his lowest point, symbolizing a metaphorical “death” — the hero’s confrontation with their mistakes and the consequences of their actions. The “famine” represents life’s harsh realities and the price one pays for straying too far from balance and wisdom.

    4. The Return: Transformation and Rebirth

    In many myths, the hero returns home after their trials, but they are forever changed. Similarly, the Prodigal Son’s decision to return home represents a moment of transformation. His journey back is one of repentance and self-awareness, symbolizing a rebirth. When he arrives, his father greets him with open arms, demonstrating that redemption and reconciliation are possible, even after great mistakes.

    5. The Hero’s Reward: Celebration and Integration

    After the son’s return, he is celebrated by his father, who restores him to his rightful place. This is the reward phase of the hero’s journey, where the hero integrates the wisdom they’ve gained into their previous life. For the Prodigal Son, this celebration includes gifts such as a robe, ring, and sandals — signs of his full reintegration into the family. In myth, the hero often returns with newfound wisdom, and the Prodigal Son’s return symbolizes the potential for growth and healing, no matter how lost or estranged one might feel.

    6. The Shadow: Conflict with the Elder Brother

    In many myths, the hero’s return disrupts the status quo, often sparking tension with those who remained behind. The elder brother’s resentment toward the Prodigal Son reflects this mythical conflict. The elder son represents the “shadow” — a figure resistant to change, loyal to the old ways, and unwilling to embrace transformation. His anger symbolizes the internal and external conflicts that arise when old paradigms are challenged, and growth or redemption occurs.

    7. Rebirth: Death and Resurrection

    The narrative concludes with a powerful statement by the father: “This son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.” This moment echoes the cyclical nature of death and resurrection that is central to many mythic stories. The Prodigal Son’s “death” represents his metaphorical fall, and his return symbolizes a form of resurrection — a fresh start rooted in humility and wisdom. The cycle of life, death, and rebirth is essential to the hero’s journey, illustrating that transformation often requires loss and renewal.

    8. The Theme of Repentance and Redemption

    At its core, the Prodigal Son story embodies the theme of repentance and redemption. In many myths, the hero returns after making mistakes, and their journey is celebrated because they have learned from their trials. The father’s willingness to forgive, rather than punish, the Prodigal Son challenges the notion that heroism is about perfection. Sometimes, the hero is celebrated not for their unwavering goodness but for their capacity to learn from their errors and return transformed.

    Conclusion: Lessons from the Prodigal Son

    The Prodigal Son is more than just a biblical tale — it is a powerful reflection of the hero’s journey. Through his story, we learn about transformation, the importance of self-awareness, and the possibility of redemption, no matter how far we’ve strayed. By examining the Prodigal Son through the lens of mythology, we can see that the challenges of life — the mistakes, the temptations, the crises — are all part of the journey toward self-discovery and reconciliation.

    Whether you’re exploring the parable for personal reflection or analyzing it from a mythical perspective, the Prodigal Son’s journey offers timeless wisdom. Embrace your journey, accept the lessons that come with both failure and triumph, and remember that redemption is always within reach.

    Written in collaboration with ChatGPT (OpenAI, 2025).

  • The Parable of the Prodigal Son: A Preference for the Repentant Son Over the Loyal Brother

    The Parable of the Prodigal Son: A Preference for the Repentant Son Over the Loyal Brother

    The Parable of the Prodigal Son is one of the most well-known biblical stories. While often interpreted as a lesson on forgiveness, there’s a deeper, subversive message embedded in the narrative. The story emphasizes the redemption of the repentant son over the loyalty of the older brother, challenging us to reflect on the nature of grace, transformation, and true faith.

    Let’s break down why this story shows more favor to the repentant son than the dutiful older brother.

    1. The Repentant Son’s Journey

    The Prodigal Son embarks on a journey of transformation. He leaves home, squanders his inheritance, and experiences deep suffering. But the key moment in the story is when he “comes to his senses,” realizing that his life has gone astray. Returning home isn’t just about apologizing—it’s about a profound change of heart.

    His journey isn’t just physical; it’s deeply moral and spiritual. Without experiencing loss and humility, the son wouldn’t have gained the wisdom necessary to understand what truly matters. His repentance is not merely saying “sorry”; it’s taking full responsibility and seeking reconciliation.

    2. The Older Brother’s Stagnation

    In contrast, the older brother represents the opposite of transformation. He has remained “loyal” and “dutiful,” yet he lacks the deeper compassion and self-awareness that the younger son gains through his fall. His loyalty is tied to a transactional understanding of his relationship with his father. He believes that following the rules entitles him to rewards.

    However, when he sees his brother return, he becomes bitter and resentful. His jealousy reveals his inability to comprehend the true nature of forgiveness and grace. While he believes that loyalty should be rewarded, he struggles to accept the father’s generosity toward the repentant son. This exposes the flaw in his view of faithfulness: it’s not just about staying loyal; it’s about embracing grace, forgiveness, and love.

    3. The Father’s Preference for the Repentant Son

    The father’s actions in the story speak volumes. He doesn’t just forgive the younger son—he goes out of his way to restore him to his rightful place in the family. The father’s joy and celebration of the son’s return show that he values transformation over mere loyalty. To him, the younger son’s repentance signifies a deeper, more meaningful change.

    The older brother, on the other hand, cannot understand why his brother is being celebrated. His view of loyalty lacks grace, focusing solely on merit. The father’s actions reveal a profound truth: that genuine transformation and repentance are more valuable than blind obedience or duty.

    4. The Parable’s Subversive Message

    What makes the Prodigal Son so powerful is how it subverts conventional expectations. The older brother, who has done everything right, is not the one the father celebrates. Instead, it is the one who has made mistakes, strayed, and then returned with genuine repentance.

    This aligns with a deeper spiritual principle often emphasized in Christian teachings: God values repentance and the willingness to transform oneself over mere outward adherence to rules or social norms. The story challenges the idea that it’s enough to simply “do your duty” or “stay loyal.” True faith requires openness to growth, change, and grace.

    5. The Call to Radical Grace

    The parable points to a radical message: true grace and forgiveness are not about rewarding those who follow the rules but about welcoming the lost, the broken, and the repentant. The father’s unconditional love for the Prodigal Son serves as a model of divine love—extending forgiveness even to those who have fallen farthest, as long as they return with a sincere heart.

    This challenges conventional ideas of justice based on merit and points to a more inclusive form of love. The older brother’s sense of entitlement contrasts sharply with the father’s generosity, showing that grace operates outside systems of merit and deservingness.

    6. The Lesson for the Faithful

    There’s a deeper challenge here for the “faithful” or “loyal” figures in the story, such as the older brother (who represents the “righteous” or those who follow the rules). The story teaches that loyalty and obedience don’t automatically entitle you to special treatment. Instead, the lesson is about embracing the joy of redemption and the value of grace.

    The older son’s bitterness reveals a misunderstanding of true loyalty. Loyalty isn’t about comparison or competition; it’s about love, compassion, and the willingness to rejoice in the redemption of others. The parable emphasizes that doing the right thing is important, but it must be coupled with a generous, forgiving heart.

    Conclusion: The Preference for the Repentant Son

    The Prodigal Son’s story clearly favors the repentant son over the older brother. It places a higher value on transformation, humility, and the willingness to embrace grace over mere fidelity or rigid adherence to rules. The father’s response teaches us a profound lesson about the nature of divine love and forgiveness, encouraging us to look beyond our assumptions about justice, loyalty, and merit.

    The older brother’s jealousy and anger reflect the common human tendency to measure worth based on performance. But the parable calls us to embrace a more radical, compassionate vision—a vision where even the most flawed and broken can be redeemed, and their return is celebrated, not condemned.

    Yes, the story of the Prodigal Son does show a preference for the repentant son—and in doing so, it calls attention to the importance of grace over judgment and transformation over stagnation.

    Written in collaboration with ChatGPT (OpenAI, 2025).