Catholic Life Ministries

By Lori Fontana

Our recent Sunday Gospel was the story of the Prodigal Son. Often the homily for this Scripture story focuses on the question – “Which character in the story do you relate to?” Would I be the prodigal, the older brother, the father?

Truth be told, I’d probably be the “older brother,” who says to his father, “All these years I served you and not once did I disobey your orders: yet you never gave me even a young goat to feast on with my friends.” [Luke 15:29]

I’m the oldest of nine children, the oldest daughter, the older sister – very much the “go-along, get-along” type and so responsible. I follow the rules, and I have high expectations that others will do the right thing too.

That’s why a recent visit to the post office was so challenging. I arrived at our neighborhood post office mid-day, with my package ready to mail. It was neatly wrapped in brown paper, taped with mailing (not Scotch) tape, address written clearly with black Sharpie and the return address affixed in the upper corner. In other words, my box was completely ready to hand to the postal clerk for mailing.

As always, there was a line. As always, there were only two clerks working, though there are four customer windows. At the one window, a young lady was insisting that she was supposed to be picking up a package here. The conversation went back and forth for 5 minutes until finally the young      customer held up a message on her phone. “Oh!” exclaimed the clerk. “You want UPS, not USPS. We’re the Post Office – USPS. There is a UPS store down the street.” The confused customer hurried away.

At the other open window, a young woman brandished a “Package Delivery” notice left at her address just that morning. She wanted to pick up the package NOW; it was medication, she insisted. The clerk, with great patience, repeated over and over that the package was not there as it was still with the mail carrier out on his route. This was a Saturday morning. The package wouldn’t be available for pick-up until the following Tuesday because the office was closed on Sunday, and Monday was a holiday. So…Tuesday. “I’m sorry,” said the clerk. The young woman stomped away, huffing and puffing her displeasure.

“Next,” chirped the clerk. The customer stepped forward. “Excuse me,” she said. “Do you have a pen?” The clerk handed her a pen, and the lady proceeded to scroll through her phone, mumbling, “I have the address here somewhere.” Then she laid her box on the counter and began to address it. The clerk waited a few seconds and then politely asked the customer to move to the side to finish addressing her package.

“May I help the next person?” the clerk sang out. This time it was an older gentleman with a large box, open at the top to reveal several spray-type bottles. “I need to ship these cleaning supplies,” the man remarked. The clerk, patient as ever, replied, “It looks like you need a bigger box. Also, what exactly is in these bottles?” There ensued an extended back-and-forth conversation about the bottle contents, the size of the box, the restrictions on sending certain substances via mail, and so on and so forth.

Meanwhile, those of us waiting in line were growing restless. As I surveyed this scene, clutching my well-prepared package, I couldn’t help but think of the wayward prodigal and his smug older sibling; and I laughed. Clearly, these folks were my Post Office Prodigals, unprepared and uninformed. Either they didn’t know or they didn’t care that the post office has rules that need to be followed. Clearly, I was the older brother – I came prepared, I knew the rules and followed them. My package was good to go. Yet I had to wait in line with everyone else.

How these folks even dared show their faces and their packages here was a mystery to me.

The lesson for me was crystal clear: just like the older brother, I was feeling self-righteous because MY package was “right,” and all these others had done it “wrong.” Yet these kind postal clerks were serving each customer, ready or not, with respect and patience. Truly, these two busy clerks were the welcoming ones, just like the father in the story.

It’s so easy to see with eyes of judgment, to look around and feel superior. But who am I to judge? The larger truth is that we are all prodigals in some way. And we all long for someone to be patient with us, to gently lead us in the right direction, as the clerks did with each customer.

No matter how you see yourself in the story of the Prodigal Son, the truth remains: God loves each one of us fully, completely, just as we are. The clerks treated me just the same as they treated each person in line. God doesn’t love me any more or any less because of how I wrap a package for mailing. God says to each one of us:

“My child, you are here with me always; everything I have is yours.” [Luke 15:31]