A sermon for the 14th Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 19
September 11, 2022
In our gospel reading from Luke, we hear some parables. But first, Luke sets the scene. It’s important to know who it is Jesus is talking to. Luke writes, “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 we have two groups around Jesus: sinners on the one hand, and the religious leaders on the other. To put it differently, we have people who admit they do not know God and are coming to Jesus to hear more on the one hand, and we have the starched and pressed religious elite who have everything figured out and show up to church with their Bible verse memorized on the other hand. And those religious leaders, the ones with everything figured out, are grumbling about how cavalier Jesus seems to be with the company he keeps.
So Jesus tells them three parables, the two we hear today, immediately followed by the Parable of the Prodigal Son. Each parable has the same structure, the same dilemma, and the same celebratory outcome. Jesus is really trying to drive his point home.
Something or someone has been lost. They’ve been misplaced somehow. This happens in all sorts of ways. The Prodigal leaves home on his own accord, confident he can handle things himself. The sheep innocently runs off, gets lost, and doesn’t know the way back. As for the coin, an accident of some kind happens. It gets rolled off. Something knocks it off. It gets lost because someone else was careless or thoughtless or made a mistake. In the end, it doesn’t matter how they get lost. They are all lost.
Not only are they lost, but they are missed dearly. That’s the bigger point in the story. The shepherd goes out and searches until he finds that bleating sheep; the woman searches and searches until she finds her coin; the father waits and watches until his Son shows up and greets him on the road at first sight. Once reunited, there is a party. A big party. Because when something or someone we love is missing and missed dearly, we party when there is reconciliation and reuniting.
The gospel ends with the interpretation: Jesus says, “Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”
Then what happens? How does that original crowd–sinners on the one side, religious leaders on the other–how do they react to what Jesus has said? Luke doesn’t tell us. He leaves it to our imaginations in a sense.
It is, perhaps, easiest to imagine the reaction of those tax collectors and sinners. They know where they fit in that story. They are the lost sheep, the lost coin, the lost Son. Who knows how they ended up being lost. Maybe, like the sheep, it was an accident? They started walking down a path until one day they looked up, and they didn’t know where the fold was. Maybe they got lost like the coin? Someone pushed them, whether purposely or accidentally, off the table and they rolled under the couch, unseen and unheard. Maybe they were like the Son? They made a decision one day, and they left and didn’t look back until things got bad, and they’re trying to find a way out. Those tax collectors and sinners know what it’s like to be lost. And they know what it’s like to be found. After all, here’s Jesus who has come looking for them–calling them, asking them to follow him, searching them out wherever they are. He’s telling them, the forgotten about and the pushed aside and the wandering, that there is grace enough for them and that the God of the Universe loves them and wants to know them!
Maybe you have been there. Maybe you have been in that low, forgotten place. And maybe you saw the shepherd round the corner. Maybe you saw the woman light that lamp and search. Maybe you saw the father running for you as you crested the hilltop. My friend, you know the grace of God. You’re open to the grace of God. And the thing about being open to the grace of God–it means you’re open to giving grace freely, for you have received it freely.
But what about those starchy religious leaders? Their reaction is harder to predict, perhaps. They’ve spent their lives doing what they know is right. They’ve never left the sheep fold; they’ve never been pushed off and rolled out of sight; they’ve never packed up and left. At least, as far as they know. They’re the 99, the 9 coins, the older son. They are in their pew Sunday after Sunday. Their Book of Common Prayer is worn and falls open to page 355. They close the hymnal before the hymn ends because they know the last verse. They are the vestry members, the volunteer organizers, the good ones who show up.
Jesus is holding up a mirror to them. That’s what parables do. Like the elder son, they are grumbling that the prodigal has returned and is welcomed back. He has some rough edges and needs a good bath, and he has really caused some damage. Does he deserve to be here, too, after all he has done?
Like those ninety-nine sheep, they don’t understand why the shepherd leaves them, the ones who did everything right, to go after the one that always runs off and had it coming anyway. And sure, maybe they didn’t bleat when they saw him sneaking away. Maybe they didn’t try to alert the shepherd when this other fellow was wandering off, but are they their brother’s keeper? Can they be responsible for that?
Like those nine coins, they were just fine. What value did that tenth coin add in the end, really? Couldn’t he find a different collection to be with? And yes, they saw what happened. They saw when that other coin was rolled off the table and pushed out. Maybe they helped that process along, just a little, by isolating that tenth coin and not letting him be a full member of the collection. But he was expendable–he was a little dinghy anyway. Now they have grown used to being a group of nine, and they are happy just as they are. Reservations for nine are easier to get than reservations for ten. Groups of nine have more of that family feeling than groups of ten.
Why should the elder son, the ninety-nine sheep, and the nine coins have a party? Why should they celebrate? Foolish sons make stupid decisions. Wandering sheep get lost. Coins that don’t fit in aren’t trying hard enough to belong.
This second group, they don’t know the grace of God–not really. They’re closed off to the grace of God. And the thing about being closed off to the grace of God–it means you’re closed off to giving grace freely, because how can you give something freely if you haven’t received it already, freely?
All the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus. He was visiting St. Alban’s, and there might be a potluck or something. They crowded in–male and female, old and young, Republican and Democrat, rich and poor, black and white, straight and gay. The preacher said, “Blessed be God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.” They responded, “Alleluia. Christ is risen.” They stood up when they were supposed to kneel and didn’t know how to cross themselves. “The gifts of God for the people of God,” came the invitation. They came up to the altar, but didn’t know how to hold their hands. Maybe they didn’t even know what was going on. After they went back to their pews and talked about the dove hunt last weekend. And the Pharisees and the scribes, the religious folk who knew what to do, I wonder if they were grumbling. Or maybe they were smiling, and rejoicing, and praising God, because the whole family is here.
Storied Grace 