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"In Search of the Lost"

Sermon by Dr. Greg Knox Jones
on Luke 15:1-10
given September 16, 2007

A colleague was visiting a Presbyterian church in California and found it to be one of the most fundamentalist churches in our denomination. While there, she met a couple who are members of that congregation, and she describes them as joyfully evangelical in their faith. Yet something had happened to the couple that dramatically altered their lives. Their son, their bright, devoted, beloved son, came home one day and told them that he is gay. The parents were stunned, and they felt a tremendous dissonance between what they had been taught to believe was right and pure, and who their son is. They did the only thing their hearts would allow them to do. They embraced their cherished child, and they accepted him unconditionally—partner and all. There is, of course, no one in their congregation to whom these parents can talk, because venom against gays and lesbians is regularly spewed from their pulpit. Yet this couple has decided for the time being, to stay in that congregation, because they feel called to figure out how they can become a witness in the midst of such hostile territory. They want to find a way they can confront a purity that is defined by law and transform it into a purity that is defined by love. 1

Religious people of all stripes strive for purity of faith. We strive to have pure thoughts, pure motives and pure behavior. However, as the Pharisees in the New Testament remind us, the desire to live pure and blameless lives can easily get sidetracked. We can become so rigid that laws become more important than people. If we’re not careful, the desire to be pure can lead to feelings of superiority. First, we strive to do what is right; then, we strive to become a good model for others; and then we gradually begin to believe that we are better than others. The desire to be pure, can so constrict the boundaries between right and wrong that only those who believe as we do have the correct faith and only those who do as we do display acceptable behavior. Everyone else becomes an outsider.

In today’s passage from the Gospel of Luke, Jesus tells two parables aimed directly at this type of thinking. The parables are meant to expose the arrogance of the Pharisees, and more importantly, to expose the dark side of purity when it is defined by law and not by love.

When we think of the Pharisees, many of us think of hypocrites who opposed Jesus and sought his demise. We often forget that they, more than any other group during the time of Jesus, sought to live godly lives. They were not one-day-a-week believers. They were devout individuals who took Judaic law seriously and were committed to living their faith 24/7. At first glance, they would appear to be precisely the kind of followers that Jesus wanted. Dedicated, devout, dutiful, disciples. Why weren’t they right for Jesus? No, it’s more than that. Why were they so wrong for Jesus?

The answer has to do with their manner of observing the law. Their extreme devotion to the details of the law became more important than their compassion for others. In fact, they used their strict observance of the law as an excuse for marginalizing anyone who did not believe or behave as they did. They constructed an elaborate system of belief built on purity rather than mercy.

A key component of the Pharisees’ beliefs was the distinction between pure and impure. They believed that certain foods, certain substances and certain people were impure, and if a Pharisee had contact with any of these, he would become impure. Thus, it was imperative for them to eat meals only with people who observed the identical laws. Jesus violated this cornerstone of their beliefs by eating with people who did not observe these purity laws.

Today’s text tells us that the Pharisees were grumbling about Jesus because he welcomed sinners and ate with them. For the Pharisees, “sinners” were not only people who violated moral laws, but also people who did not maintain ritual purity. 2

The Pharisees believed it was their job to maintain high standards. They also believed it was their job to point it out to those who fell short of their standards. Helpful fellows, these Pharisees.

Then Jesus came along and exposed the problems with their standards. He revealed God as one who is a lot more interested in loving people and bringing them into the fold, than scolding them and keeping them out. Luke records three parables of Jesus focused on God’s passion for the lost. The lectionary reading for today consists of the first two parables; one is about a lost sheep, the other, a lost coin.

In the first story, God is portrayed as a shepherd who has 100 sheep. When one of them wanders off, the shepherd leaves the 99 and goes searching for the one that has become separated from the fold. The text says that when he finds the lost one, he lays it on his shoulder and rejoices. And when he comes home, he calls his friends and neighbors and says, “Celebrate with me, I found my lost sheep!”

The second parable is similar to the first. In it, God is portrayed as a woman who has lost one of her ten coins. She tears the house apart, searching every nook and cranny until she finds it. And when she does, she calls in her friends and neighbors, and throws a party to celebrate the success.

The Pharisee that resides in many of us balks at the notion that God would embrace someone whom we deem sinful, unless that person repents of his actions. We’re all in favor of the love and mercy of God, but wrong is wrong, and people need to first straighten out their act. So, we cling to the one-line interpretation attached to each of the parables, verse 7 and verse 10, that say there is joy in heaven over one sinner that repents. We say, “If you acknowledge the error of your ways and turn your life around, then God will rejoice.” And that’s what the text says. However, on close inspection, perhaps that’s not what Jesus meant.

Remember how the New Testament writings came into existence. The gospels were not written for some 40 to 50 years after Jesus lived. New Testament scholars point out that, with some passages, it appears that the writers added a few of their own editorial comments. On a few occasions, we find that immediately following a parable of Jesus, there is an interpretation of the parable. And sometimes the interpretation looks suspicious because it does not fit the parable. Next week we will look at a parable of Jesus that was so perplexing that several interpretations were added.

Each of the parables we’re studying today are followed by an interpretation that says there is great joy in heaven over one sinner who repents. The problem with that line is it does not fit either parable. It has persuaded us to interpret these parables in terms of repentance, but the parables say nothing about repentance. In fact, on close inspection, such an interpretation seems a bit ludicrous. One of the sheep gets lost. The shepherd goes out and finds it. When he finds it, he rejoices, and he lets others in on the celebration. That’s it. The shepherd never says to the sheep, “Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson.” And the sheep never promises not to get lost again. God is simply overjoyed that the one that was lost is found.

The interpretation seems even more ridiculous when applied to the lost coin. The coin did not decide to strike out on its own and one day wake up to find itself buried beneath the sofa cushions. We don’t know what circumstances led to the coin becoming lost, but no one would blame the coin for its predicament. Imagining the coin repenting is silly.

The problem is that we have put the emphasis in the wrong place. These parables are not primarily about lost sheep and lost coins. Rather, they are parables about a good shepherd and a diligent sweeper who never give up searching for the lost.

Does God rejoice when someone admits he has been heading in the wrong direction and turns his life around? Absolutely. But God does not passively wait for it to happen. God searches for the lost and seeks to love them back into the fold before they even think of muttering a word about turning their lives around.

Barbara Brown Taylor tells of the time she took a ten-day hike in the wilderness. She went with fifteen other people and a trip leader, none of whom knew each other ahead of time. They were from all over the United States, and as the days passed, it became apparent that all walkers are not created equal. Some of them charged ahead while others lagged behind.

One person in the group was Pat. She was the eldest and the heaviest and the most unpleasant. She liked to walk alone at the rear of the group, which was just as well, since she had an irritating habit of listening in on other people's conversations and then breaking in to correct their grammar, geography, history, botany, or any of the other subjects about which she knew so much. She liked a full hour for lunch and threatened to be sick if she were rushed. Most of the spots the trip leader picked to stop were too sunny, or too wet, or too steep for her, but she would plunk herself down anyway and announce that she would “make do.”

On the fifth day out they were good and lost, They walked for nearly ten hours over three mountains before they made camp. When they arrived--after dark, in the rain, in the middle of nowhere—they realized Pat was not with them. They compared notes and discovered that no one had seen her since noon, when she had thrown rocks at the person assigned to bring up the rear of the group and told him to leave her alone.

Delighted, he had complied, but that meant no one had seen her for almost eight hours.

They were all trembling with exhaustion and soaked to the bone; no one could even imagine heading back up the last mountain in order to find her. But it was the trip leader's job, so he did it. Armed with hot soup, a jacket, a first-aid kit and a flashlight, he disappeared into the dark while the rest of them milled around, trying to stay away from the idea of what it would be like to be lost in the wilderness without a match or a map or a friend.

They paced and chatted until close to midnight, when Pat stumbled into camp hanging on to her shepherd. All those who had despised her at noon fell all over her in the dark, hugging her and welcoming her home, pressing mugs of hot chocolate into her hands and oatmeal cookies into her pockets. No one thought to ask her if she was going to be a nicer person from now on, or whether she had learned her lesson. They were too glad to have her back. Imagining her out there in the dark, they had all felt more than a little lost themselves, so finding her was as good as being found.

Pat acted rather nonchalantly about the whole thing, but the next morning she was up and dressed and on the trail before any of them, and from that day on she was part of the flock. Not everybody's favorite member, by any means, but part of the flock.

They all kept better track of each other from then on, and took turns walking with Pat, who surprised everyone by bursting into song one night and leading all of them in a medley of old camp tunes. Maybe it was getting lost that changed her—but then again, maybe it was being found that did the trick. Or maybe it was the welcome home that made the difference.3 Just knowing that the good shepherd was searching for her and would never give up until she was found, convinced her that she was truly part of the flock.

NOTES

1. Susan R. Andrews, “Purifying Purity,” May 9, 2004.
   
   
2. R. Alan Culpepper, “Exegesis,” in Lectionary Homiletics, August and September, 2004, p. 57.
   
   
3. Barbara Brown Taylor, The Preaching Life, (Boston: Cowley Publications), p.150.

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