The prophet Micah ends with a question:

“Who is a God like you,
pardoning iniquity
and passing over transgression?”

It is not a question of doubt.
It is a confession of wonder.

Micah does not deny sin.
He names it.

But he names something greater.

“He does not retain his anger forever,
because he delights in steadfast love.”

God’s mercy is not reluctant.
It is chosen.

“He will again have compassion on us;
he will tread our iniquities underfoot.”

Sin is not treated as harmless.
It is crushed.

And Micah gives the reason:

“You will show faithfulness…
steadfast love…
as you have sworn to our fathers.”

Mercy is not improvisation.
It is covenant.

This prepares us for the Gospel.

Jesus tells a story
that reveals what that mercy looks like.

A father has two sons.

The younger demands his inheritance
before the father is dead.

It is not just selfish.
It is insulting.

He takes what is given
and goes into a far country.

There he wastes everything
in reckless living.

Sin begins in freedom
and ends in hunger.

“When he came to himself…”

This is repentance.

Not regret over poverty,
but recognition of truth.

He does not rehearse excuses.
He prepares a confession.

“I have sinned against heaven and before you.”

And he returns.

While he is still far off,
his father sees him.

He does not wait.
He runs.

The son begins his confession.
The father interrupts it
with mercy.

“Bring quickly the best robe…
put a ring on his hand…
kill the fattened calf.”

This is not a small welcome.
It is restoration.

The son expected survival.
He receives sonship.

This is what Micah meant:

God delights in steadfast love.

But the story is not finished.

The elder son stands outside.

He refuses to enter.

He has stayed.
He has worked.
He has obeyed.

But he has not loved.

“Lo, these many years I have served you…
yet you never gave me a young goat.”

He sees obedience
as leverage.

He sees mercy
as unfairness.

He does not call his brother “my brother.”
He calls him “this son of yours.”

Distance has moved inside the house.

The father goes out to him too.

“Son, you are always with me,
and all that is mine is yours.”

Mercy is offered
to both sons.

One needs forgiveness.
The other needs conversion.

One returns from sin.
The other must return from pride.

This is where Saints Perpetua and Felicity stand.

They lived in a world
that demanded loyalty to false gods.

They were young mothers.
One noble.
One enslaved.

Different in status.
United in faith.

They could have saved themselves
by denying Christ.

They did not.

They trusted mercy
more than safety.

They believed that the Father
would receive them.

Their martyrdom
was not defiance.

It was return.

Return to the God
who delights in steadfast love.

They show us
that the Gospel is not only about forgiveness of sins.

It is about belonging to the Father
even when it costs everything.

The younger son teaches us
that sin does not end the story.

The elder son teaches us
that obedience without mercy
can become resentment.

The martyrs teach us
that trust in the Father
leads beyond fear.

Micah says:

“You will cast all our sins
into the depths of the sea.”

The Gospel shows how:

By a Father
who runs.

By a Son
who returns.

By a household
that must learn to rejoice.

Lent is not only for those
who have wandered far.

It is also for those
who have stayed
but grown cold.

Not only for the reckless.
Also for the resentful.

Not only for those outside.
Also for those who refuse to enter the feast.

And the feast is not indulgence.

It is reconciliation.

The Father does not say
that sin did not matter.

He says:

“This my son was dead,
and is alive again.”

Death was real.
So is resurrection.

Saints Perpetua and Felicity
went to their death
because they trusted this life.

They did not fear losing the world
because they had found the Father.

So the question today is not:

Which son am I?

It is:

Will I enter the house?

Will I accept mercy for myself and for others?

Micah asks:
Who is a God like you?

Jesus answers:
A Father
who runs
to meet the lost.

And the martyrs show us
that this mercy
is worth everything.

Because the only tragedy
in the parable
is not that a son left.

It is that one refused
to rejoice
when he returned.