What Pastor Jon Preached on Sunday, September 12th, 2010

Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost (Lectionary 24C)
Exodus 32:7-14 • Psalm 51:1-10 • 1 Timothy 1:12-17 • Luke 15:1-10

Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to [Jesus]. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, "This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them." So he told them this parable: "Which one of you, 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? When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.' Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance. "Or what woman having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? When she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.' Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents."

Some people just plain truly make us uncomfortable. Can we imagine someone we would least expect, least hope for, and least desire sitting at our dining room table. How would we feel? What would our reaction be? What if it was the homeless women we see begging every time we walk to work; or the very same credit card billing person who has been calling for weeks asking for our overdue payment; or, the disabled relative who requires our full attention whenever they visit? Could we tolerate these guests at our table, even as uncomfortable as they might make us?

The unwanted, uncomfortable ones are precisely who Jesus sits to eat with. He eats with the “wrong” people: tax collectors—who were always on the lookout for squeezing whatever extra Roman taxes they could out of people—and sinners—the lowest of the lowest of the bottom of society. And the Pharisees don’t like it one bit. Jesus is not supposed to be able to do this!

Jesus notices the hostile stares coming from the Pharisees, so he speaks up and tells them a parable about a lost sheep being found by a shepherd and the ensuing celebration. He says, “which one of you, 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?” (Lk 15:4) And what is our response?

Too often, we don’t want to admit that we’re more like the Pharisees in this scenario than we care to be. Jesus tells us this story not because we so readily want to answer him “yes, Lord, I would go after that one lost sheep”—really, who in our right mind would? It’s simple “bottom line” math: 99 sheep means more food on the table, more warm wool for the winter, more family income than just 1 sheep. Who would want to waste that? Jesus exposes us to be the bystanders, grumbling about the attention given for the marginalized when the needs of the many are so great.

But no matter how unworthy we may consider Jesus for going after the one who is lost, rather than to stay with the ninety-nine, that does not stop Jesus from restlessly searching to shepherd all who are lost back into the embrace of God. That is why Jesus-mercy rests on Jesus, and not on us. Jesus-mercy goes beyond our notions of who can eat at our tables and who cannot—beyond who is worthy of being sought out and who is not—because God in Christ is desperately passionate about redeeming all of us, no matter how foolish or risky or un-rational that may be. Jesus will not stop looking for the lost until they are found, no matter who “they” are. For God the 99 will not be complete and whole without the 1 who is not there, so that Jesus can not only feed and nourish all at his table, but can join the lost and found together under a celebration that unites all of us at his table.

The sense of longing for a place at the table, of truly being lost, is captured brilliantly in a 2007 film I recently watched called Into the Wild. It’s based on the true story of Christopher McCandless, a young man who after graduating from Emory University in the early 90’s, gave away his life savings and left home in search of an escape into the wilderness, away from his family where he didn’t feel he had fit in. Christopher thought he was running away from a family where he didn’t share his parents’ excitement at affording the newest, biggest car, and a family where he had learned only recently that his parents had never legally been married. In truth, Christopher was running away from feeling lost, and his itinerant journey of hitchhiking and backpacking only led him further and further away from what he was truly seeking. Near the end of the film, Christopher is alone in the Alaska wild, trapped, living in an abandoned school bus, and having poisoned himself by eating a plant he learned too late was toxic. Isolated, and nowhere near help, we see him write in the margins of his journal with big bold letters: “Happiness only real when shared.” Finally, Christopher saw that he would not find what he was looking for in nature, or in running away, but in community with others. Although it was too late for him to experience such community, Christopher saw that the restlessness with which he had pursued his journey of hitchhiking and living on little was ultimately the kind of restless passion with which God had always been seeking to find and embrace him, and join him to an accepting community.

So when someone like Christopher returns, when someone who is not like us, someone who is not worthy of God’s mercy by our standards, can we celebrate their return? Jesus concludes his shepherd parable with an invitation to rejoice with the shepherd who found the one lost sheep. Our celebration is not that someone has come back, but that God’s mercy has brought them back, and given them a place at the table. Each week God shows God’s determination, in the table we set, to welcome and feed all who are lost, all who are found, all who stand under the care of the one shepherd who is our Christ. That celebration does not flourish until we too can celebrate the grace not just given to us, but also to the one out of ninety-nine who has been found—the grace not just given to us but to others.

As school is getting started back up again, I’m reminded of one particular lunch table where a lot of choices are made about who sits with who—where who one chooses to eat with—and hang out with—makes a very big deal. And that’s at the high school cafeteria. Who we sit with in those years is so crucial to our social life, and whether we’ll have one, is it not, dear youth? Are we going to sit with the geeks, the popular kids, the sports jocks or the group of friends we’ve known since forever—these are life and death questions at this age, as they are at any age. At this early time of the school year, many of these groups are still forming, and it can be challenging both to be welcomed to a table, or to be the one to pull up an extra chair for someone else. Jesus-mercy rejoices at the tables in these cafeterias where both those already found and those looking for a place can eat and celebrate together. It may not make sense, we may lose social points for it, there may be grumbling from others, but we are invited to be a part of such tables, where God’s desperate shepherd love becomes real.

We are reminded today that for all of us, when Jesus finds us, it changes our place in the story…from grumbling bystander, to humble and thankful participant. The shepherd, Christ, is determined to show mercy to all people…all who are both 100% fully sinner, and 100% fully saint—all who are both 100% fully lost, and 100% fully found by God. That shepherd won’t stop until he finds his way to our hearts, where we can not only be grateful he finds and welcomes us, but that in his finding and welcoming others, we find that joyful mercy truly does become real when it is shared. Amen.