A Sermon for the 16th Sunday in Pentecost
September 12, 2010
Pastor Laura Gentry
Luke 15:1-10
Don’t you just hate it when you lose something and you have to go searching around for it? Have you ever lost something really important? What did you do? How did you seek it?
I once lost a turtle in the garden outside my office in the church where I interned. I turned the place upside down. I even let the children’s choir mess up the landscaping in an attempt to locate the wayward reptile. “Izzy!” they shouted wildly as they hunted around. I had to chuckle when I overheard one little girl pleading. “Izzy, Izzy!” she cried, “please come back or I think Pastor Gentry’s going to cry!” When we found Izzy five months later, we rejoiced. It even became the headline story for our Christmas letter that year.
In today’s gospel reading from Luke, Jesus tells two parables in a row on being lost and found. Now these parables are probably quite familiar to us and so they might sort of fly under the radar. They seem so nice. Even sentimental. Especially the one about the lost sheep. That is even cuter than my turtle story.
But what we might not realize is how shocking these parables really are. So let’s try to unpack Jesus’ radical message in them, shall we?
First of all, let’s look at the context. It begins with Jesus getting criticized by the religious authorities. Now we have religious authorities today too, me, for example. And we’ve got our church council members and our Sunday school teachers, who we will be installing this morning. They’re good people. They work very hard to know God’s will and obey it. But these folks are having a hard time understanding Jesus’ actions.
You see, Jesus isn’t behaving the way they expected him to behave. They don’t mind his message so much as the company he’s keeping. He’s hanging out rather extensively with sinners. We’re taking about tax collectors—traitors who worked for the oppressive Roman government, and sinners so bad they couldn’t even move in polite society. And if that weren’t bad enough, he’s eating with them. In biblical times, that implied a closeness, a familiarity. You only eat with people that you’re really connected to. So why would Jesus, this famous rabbi, be eating with this band of scumbags? It is not surprising, then, that the religious authorities felt obligated to say something about this to Jesus. His behavior was driving them through the roof.
Jesus, however, in typical Jesus-fashion, has a ready answer for their complaint. In fact, he’s got two parables ready to go. He unleashes them to help them understand that God is not at all like they thought.
"Which one of you," he asks them, “having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it?”
Now at first, you might think that this is a logical anecdote. Ah, but wait a minute. Think about it: who would you leave their ninety-nine safe and sound sheep to go search for their stray? Well, perhaps if they had a nice clean pen to put them in so they’d be safe. But that’s not what Jesus is asking. He’s asking who would leave them out in the wilderness where they would be in peril to go search for the lost one? Um, well, then I’d have to say nobody. Nobody would be that ridiculous and reckless. That makes no sense. No. You cut your losses and move on. That's what a normal shepherd would do.
Well, what about the second parable? This one makes a bit more sense: if you had only ten coins and lost one, you'd search, too, sweeping and sweeping until you find it. Hey, you’ve probably done this! But once you found it, would you really call your friends and invite them to rejoice? Keep in mind that in biblical times to have a party means to serve a meal. So with that in mind, let's try that again: which one of you would search all night for your silver coin and then spend at least twice that much in celebrating your find with your friends? Again, nobody! At least nobody with sense.
But that's just it. When it comes to God's children—God's lost children—God hasn’t any sense. At all. God would eagerly risk everything to find one of them—one of us—and having found a lost child, would give everything to celebrate. There's only one kind of word for this behavior: desperate. We don’t usually think of God as being desperate but that’s the exact picture Jesus is painting of God in these parables. God is desperate for us. God wants to throw all caution to the wind in hopes of finding us and drawing us back into the fold of God’s love.
It is in Jesus that we see most profoundly that God is desperate for us. God sent Jesus to come and claim the wayward children who are lost. This is radical news.
Have you ever been physically lost? It’s a frightening feeling. When we traveled to Bulgaria 3 years ago, we were surprised to discover they rarely post street signs so having a map doesn’t really help. We joked that we had no idea where we were until the third day. But seriously, being lost is no fun.
And when you're lost, at least according to this parable, there's not much you can do. Jesus doesn't set out a formula about how you have repent first or earn your salvation by saying the appropriate "sinner's prayer." He seems to understand that when you’re lost, you’re lost. Sometimes, you don’t even know you’re lost. You need someone to come find you.
And Jesus finds us. The good news is that you and I have been found. Now that we’ve been found, we are free and we can rejoice. That’s why the Christian life centerd around joy. We were lost but now we’re found. When we can let this fact sink in, we cannot help but be happy.
Perhaps that’s what the Pharisees have forgotten—how amazingly joyful it is to be sought, found and loved by desperate God. They remember the importance of obedience, discipline, and morality, but they’ve lost touch with the pure joy of being found.
Thanks to these parables, we are reminded again of our own joy. It is easy to forget amid the stress of our everyday lives that what we’re called to is rejoice. How comforting to know that God is still desperately searching, sweeping, and looking for God's lost and beloved children and won't ever stop until we're all found.
I understand this because that run-away turtle I told you about earlier, well, she ran away again. So if you happen to see a box turtle who answers to the name of Izzy, please let me know. I’m desperate to find her.
Now may the peace of Christ, which passes all understanding, keep our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.
© 2010 Laura E. Gentry
