Luke 15:1-10 & 1 Timothy 1:12-17
17th
Sunday after Pentecost/ 15th September 2013
No one likes getting lost. I know I
don’t. One of my first memories of
getting lost was when I was around five years old. It took place at a department store in
Kearny, New Jersey, called Two Guys (once a small store chain in Northern New
Jersey). I was there with my mother,
Grace, and my brother, Craig. Somehow, I don’t remember how, I got separated
from them. What I do remember is sitting
on the customer service counter, which was located on the first floor, in the
center of the store, and that I crying and very worried. I was scared.
Eventually my mother showed up with Craig in-tow. She reached out to me,
I reached out to her, and I cried all the more.
That really shook me up. It took
me a while to calm down. I think we
stopped to get some ice cream before making our way home. My mother always knew
what to do.
It’s not fun getting lost, especially having all
the associated feelings that come with lostness.
Feeling separated, feeling abandoned, cut off, alone.
One time I abandoned someone. Unintentionally, but it happened. It was the first tour of Scotland I led back
in 1996. We had 35 in our group. We were on the Isle of Skye, way up in the
north. We had stopped for a tour of the
Clan Donald Centre, on the south end of the island, and then headed north to
Kyle of Lochalsh, back on the mainland where we were to spend the night. When I lead tours, I always have the group
count-off before the bus pulls away from a stop (much to the consternation and frustration
of the group). One time we didn't count,
we drove off. Soon, someone asked,
“Where’s Madeleine?” We thought she was in the rest room on the bus. But she wasn't. Twenty minutes en route we had to turn the large bus around on a very narrow
single-track road we were on, using a farm lane to do a K-turn, and then headed
back to collect her. She was sitting
there in the parking lot, alone. The bus
stopped, I ran out, wrapped my arms around her and said, “Madeleine, I’m so sorry!” She laughed. She didn’t seem
too concerned. She said, “No worries,
Ken. As a mother of nine, I’m used to leaving one of my kids behind.” That’s the last time I left someone behind on
a tour (at least I think I so).
No one likes getting lost. With GPS
systems in our cars and Smartphones and the use of MapQuest or Google Maps,
fewer of us run the chance of getting lost these days. I wonder, though, if people are losing the
ability to read maps. They just go
wherever OnStar sends them.
But sometimes we do get lost. Lost,
not on the way to the Columbia Mall or to Costco, but lost in terms of purpose,
direction, and meaning. Increasingly, I
sense that there are more and more people who are wandering aimlessly through
life, not really clear about who they are or what they feel called to do. With the crisis of contemporary Christianity
upon us, with fewer people going to church, or practicing any faith, so many
turn to other things to fill the cravings of their soul: materialism, careerism, consumerism. Thinking
we can shop our way toward meaning, or that things will make us happy, or work
our way toward purpose, or medicate our way out of the anxiety of life through
addictions. The signs are everywhere,
we have lost our moorings and we’re set adrift.
It
might seem that it’s worse today than ever before. Each generation, I think, feels it was better
in an earlier time. Sometimes that’s
true. What’s clear though is that this feeling of being lost, of searching and
wandering in a world coming unhinged is not new to human experience. It’s universal. In fact, it’s part of the human condition. It’s been with us for a very long time. Poets and prophets are usually the ones who
are in touch with these feelings. The
poet John Donne (1572-1631) wrote:
Tis all
in pieces
all coherence gone. (“An
Anatomy of the World”)
Several
centuries later, William Butler Yeats (1865-1939) wrote:
Turning and turning in the
widening gyre,
The falcon cannot hear the falconer.
Things fall apart; the centre
cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the
world. (“The Second Coming”)
Perhaps
it feels like things are falling apart, that’s things don’t make any sense,
that we’re set adrift and lost, because we have a deeper memory or deeper feeling
that there was a time when we were whole, when things made sense, when we felt at home.
When I speak of being lost, I don’t
mean in a metaphysical sense, that is lost to God, the opposite of being “saved.”
I know plenty of Christians who trust in Jesus who yet feel lost and confused.
While they were “once lost, but now found” by grace, it doesn't mean that they
know where they are or where they’re going.
For the truth is, there are times,
even as faithful Christians, when we lose our way. We forget who we are and whose we are and we
fall, fall away from ourselves, fall away from God, fall away from the things
that matter most. There are times when
life becomes so overwhelming and complex or times when everything is going so well,
that we start to stray from the straight and narrow path; we lose our way, lose
our footing, and begin to wander away from who we are, wander away from God,
wander away from the things that give us life and meaning and purpose. It happens.
If we wander away for too long, go down
other paths, take detours, get stuck in cul-de-sacs, it’s difficult making our
way home, back to our true selves, back to God, back to a life of meaning. What happens then is that we settle for
living with falsehoods and falsity, in service to false and lesser selves; we
know we miss that relationship with God that we had at one time; we remember those
former times, but we’ve been away for so long it feels impossible to go back; perhaps
tempted by false gods and meaningless, mindless ways of living, you forget the
way back.
The Pharisees and scribes were
grumbling one day about Jesus. “This
fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them” (Luke 15:2). From the perspective of the Pharisees and
their scribes, Jesus associates with people who have lost their way, who have left
the straight and narrow, who have left the fold, as it were. Not only does Jesus welcome them, he eats
with them; he hangs out with them, which infuriates the religious leaders. Jesus probably prefers the company of honest sinners
than self-righteous religious. And so
what Jesus does is remarkable: instead of judging them for being sinners,
instead of keeping them at arms’ length, instead of being moralistic about it
all, Jesus offers them a still more excellent way (cf. 1 Corinthians 12:31).
Jesus tells the Pharisees a parable:
“Which 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…, ‘Rejoice with me…’” (Luke 15: 4-6).
Many
here have heard this parable before, of the shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine
to go after the one lost sheep. We know about
the story, but the text requires more than knowledge. It asks for something more: Are you in the story? Is this your story? Is it your experience? Can you feel what Jesus is saying here?
To
help us get there it might be useful to compare Luke’s version of the parable
with Matthew’s. In Luke 15, we have
three parables, the lost sheep, lost coin, and the lost (prodigal) son.
Matthew’s
take is different. Turn to Matthew 18:12. The parable of the shepherd is given
in the context of Jesus’ teaching on how we care for our children. “If a
shepherd has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not
leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go in search of the one that went
astray? And if he finds it, truly I tell
you, he rejoices…” Looks plain enough, doesn't it? Appears the same as Luke.
Now
turn again to Luke 15:4, …does not the shepherd “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.”
Did
you hear it, do you see the subtle yet significant difference, the contrasting
theological slant of Matthew and of Luke?
In Matthew, the shepherd goes looking for the lost sheep, but it’s uncertain
whether or not he’ll find it. “And if
he finds it…” The outcome is in doubt. What does Luke say? The shepherd will go after
the one that is lost until he finds
it and he won’t stop until he finds
it. There’s no question about the outcome
because it says “when he has found it” he will place it on his shoulders,
rejoicing all the way home. Luke adds, “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” (Luke 15:6).
My sheep that was lost.
My sheep that was lost. My
sheep! Luke’s version makes bold
theological claims. From Luke’s perspective, there’s no question that the lost
will be found. In fact, Jesus says that
even when lost, the sheep still belong to him.
Even when we’re lost, we’re not really lost because even when we stray,
we still belong to the Lord. The
psalmist knew this truth when he affirmed, “Where can I go from your spirit? Or
where can I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I
make my bed in Sheol, you are there” (Psalm 139:7-8). But when we do get lost (and we do and we
will), the good news is that the Lord never rests until we’re found and brought
back home. You see, this is who God is, this a profound image of God that Jesus is placing before us. This is who God is
and this is what God does. Indeed, God
never rests until all the lost have been brought home. The lost might not know it or even feel
it—when you’re lost, it feels like you’re all alone—but the Lord of Love is
searching for you. You might feel that
you’re not worthy of such love, that you’re beyond hope, beyond help, you might
feel that, but that’s not the full story. The full story, the deeper, broader story is
that you are worthy, worthy of God’s hot pursuit to find you and bring you
back, up on his shoulders, rejoicing all the way home. There’s
no judgment for getting lost, only rejoicing over being found. It’s a joy that the shepherd is eager to share
with his friends and neighbors: Come and see who’s back! Look
who is here! Look who’s home! This is what Scripture means
by grace. Grace finds us when we’re lost,
lifts us up, and then takes us home rejoicing. And this is what grace feels like.
The
irony here, though, is that for us to know what grace feels like, really feels like, we first have to be
lost or acknowledge that we are, already, lost.
It’s no mistake that Dante Alighieri (c.1265-1321) begins the Divine Comedy, his story of descending
into hell and ending before the beatific vision of God, with these words. The
first lines of the Inferno, part one
of the Comedy, are:
In the midway of this our mortal
life,
I found me in a gloomy wood,
astray
Gone from the path direct: …. (Inferno, Canto 1).
He lost
his way. And now the journey
begins. The one’s who have been to hell
and back know what it means to be found. The prodigal had to leave home and
fall, badly, hit rock bottom, eat with the pigs, in order for him to discover
who he was and discover how much his father really cared about him. We have to
get lost in order to be found. This is
what theologians call the happy fall,” felix
culpa.[1] Those who are never lost never know what it
feels like to be found. The history of
the church is full of women and men who give witness to this truth. Look at John Newton (1725-1807), who wrote
the hymn “Amazing Grace.” He knew what a wretch he was as a slave trader. It’s in the midst of his sin, his brokenness,
his apparent alienation from God that he discovers God’s transforming
love. The same was true for the apostle
Paul. Even though he was, as he admits, a “blasphemer, persecutor, and a man of
violence,” (1 Tim. 1:13), he still received mercy. “…and the grace of our Lord
overflowed for me,” he said, “with the faith and love that are in Christ
Jesus. The saying is sure and worthy of
full acceptance” - in other words, Paul says, trust me, I know - “Christ Jesus
came into the world to save sinners - of whom I am the foremost” (1 Tim 1:15).
I wish more people in the Church
knew that they’re not really lost, but are already found, that they ultimately belong
to the Lord. As J. R. R. Tolkien
(1892-1973) knew, “Not all who wander are lost.” I wish more people in the world knew that
they’re not really lost, but already found, that they ultimately belong to the
Lord. Always have. Always will. And that
the Lord will not rest until he finds us, until we know that we've been found,
until he gets to rejoice with us and over us.
But knowing about all of this is not
enough. We need to feel it within, to
see ourselves within the story. This might help, a guided imagery, a way into
the story.
I invite
you to close your eyes. Relax.
Imagine that lost sheep wandering
from the fold…
Look at that lost sheep…
Imagine it found.
Imagine the weight of the sheep
on Jesus’ shoulders,
being
carried along…
Now, imagine that you’re that
lost sheep,
afraid,
alone, cut off, anxious, worried…
See yourself found by the one who
loves you
and
has been searching for you…
See yourself lifted up by the Shepherd,
feel his strength underneath you,
as he carries you on
his shoulders, maybe the way your mother
or father used to carry you as a girl or boy.
Imagine the Shepherd rejoicing
because you've been found…
Now, see yourself arriving home,
hear
the joy in the Shepherd’s voice,
hear
it with the ear of your heart,
“Look
who I've found. Look who’s back. Rejoice with me….”
Home. Home, indeed.
[1]Cf. Aldo Carotenuto, To Love, To Betray: Life as Betrayal (Wilmette, IL: Chiron Publications, 1996), vii-viii,
145. G. W. F. Hegel (1770-1830) also
referred to this as the “upward falling.”
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