Before Rembrandt’s monumental work, The Return of the Prodigal Son, the believer pauses, challenged by the tenderness emanating from an elderly father embracing his broken son. It is not just a painting: it is a window to the Gospel of mercy (cf. Luke 15:11-32), a silent catechesis on the heart of God the Father, and a mirror in which every Christian can discover their place in the history of salvation.

A painting that speaks the language of the soul

Rembrandt painted this work in the final years of his life, when fame, success, and material goods had slipped through his fingers like sand. It is a testament, not only artistic but spiritual. The warm colors, the light bathing the figures of the father and kneeling son, and the faces marked by time and life, immerse us in a mood of contemplation.

Saint John Paul II said that “beauty will save the world” (cf.  Letter to Artists, 1999), and this beauty—deeply Christian—has a name:  mercy.

Mercy, the center of the Christian message

Pope Francis has insisted from the beginning of his pontificate: “Mercy is the main beam that sustains the life of the Church” (MV, 10). Contemplating this painting, we understand that art not only beautifies, but also educates the heart. The father of the parable—and of painting—does not ask for explanations, does not demand guarantees, nor does he rehearse errors:  he embraces.

That embrace is the culmination of the story, the same gesture the Church is called to imitate in its evangelizing mission: opening its arms to those who return, even when they have not yet spoken a word.

A living meditation for today

In times of quick judgment, polarization, and personal wounds, the Prodigal Son reminds us that all of us, at some point, have been far from the Father. And that we are all invited to return. This return is not an act of weakness, but of courage, humility, and hope.

Henri Nouwen, a Catholic priest and writer, spent years meditating on this painting. In his book The Return of the Prodigal Son, he shared:

“I have been the prodigal son every time I have sought love away from its true source. And I am called to become the embracing and forgiving father.”

Where are you in the picture?

This question resonates like an echo of the Spirit. Are you the younger son who returns? The older one who stands and watches, perhaps judging? The silent servant? The father who has not yet learned to love like this?

Christian contemplation of art is not passive. It transforms us, it launches us into a mission. The face of the Father in Rembrandt’s painting resembles that of God. But it must also resemble yours, mine, and the face of every Christian community that opens its doors and hearts.

Coming back is always possible

The parable of the prodigal son doesn’t have a closed ending. The text doesn’t tell us whether the older son entered the party. Nor do we know what happened next. Because each person writes the ending. The Church writes it today. We write it when we forgive, when we confess, when we embrace, when we return.

May the contemplation of this masterpiece inspire us to welcome and return, to forgive and be forgiven. Because in the Father’s house there is always light, bread… and celebration.