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A certain
telemarketer called a home late one afternoon. A little boy
answered the phone with a whispered, “Hello.” This is the
conversation that took place.
“Hello, what
is your name?”
Still
whispering, the voice said, “Jimmy.”
“How old are
you, Jimmy?”
“I’m four.”
“Good. Is
your mother home?”
“Yes, but
she’s busy.”
“Okay, is
your father home?”
“Yes, but
he’s busy too.”
“I see. Who
else is there?”
“The
police.”
“May I speak
to one of them?”
“They’re busy
also.”
“Any other
grown-ups there, Jimmy?”
“The
firemen.”
“May I please
speak to a fireman?”
“They’re all
busy.”
“Jimmy, all
those people in your house, and I can talk with any of them?
What on earth are they doing?”
In a still
whispered voice, little Jimmy said, “They are all looking for
me.”
Jesus told
several stories about an all-out search. He told the story
several times. Apparently it was a popular theme in his
preaching. One source is found in Matthew, chapter 18. But the
most powerful source is found in the 15th chapter
of Luke’s gospel. Luke 15 may be the greatest cluster of
parables in the New Testament. We have the parable of the lost
sheep, the lost coin, and the lost boy. There’s a lot of
lostness in these stories, and a lot of partying when the lost
are found.
All the
stories imply the same thing: no matter how insignificant you
think you are, no matter where you have been, no matter what
you have done, you matter to God. God wants to embrace you and
welcome you home.
There’s a
story about a time when the former conductor of the San
Francisco Symphony, Maestro Pierre Monteaux, came up to a
hotel desk to inquire about a room. “I’m sorry,” replied the
girl behind the desk, “but we have no rooms tonight. We’re
sold out.” Just as he turned to go, the other clerk behind the
desk motioned to the first girl and said to her quietly,
“Don’t you know who that is? That’s Pierre Monteaux, the
conductor of the San Francisco Symphony.” The girl hurried
back. “Oh, Maestro Monteaux,” she said, “I’m very sorry. Of
course we have a room for you. Why didn’t you tell me you were
somebody?” Replied Monteaux solemnly, “Young lady,
everybody is somebody.”
Everybody
matters, all the time. That’s the thrust of these three
parables. The setting comes at a time when Jesus is eating
with a group of people who had gathered to hear him. The
“establishment” is jealous and angry. Listen to how Luke opens
the chapter: “One time many tax collectors and outcasts came
to listen to Jesus. The Pharisees and the teachers of the law
started grumbling. ‘This man welcomes outcasts and even eats
with them.’” (Luke 15:1-2, TEV)
Jesus responds
to all of their grumbling. “Hey,” he says, “these people
matter to God.” The truth is, the Pharisees had little use for
little people or lost people. Jesus had enormous use for them.
Jesus first
talks about those who were outside the established religion.
These are the people of the land—the farmers, the shepherds,
the laborers. They were people who worked every day, 7 days a
week. The Pharisees’ instructions were very simple. “Don’t
relate to these people, don’t buy food from them, don’t lend
them money, don’t marry their daughters. They really don’t
matter to God. They are fundamentally lost.”
Jesus taught
and demonstrated that the Pharisees were wrong. John Wesley
did the same thing in 18th century England. Wesley
preached to the miners whom nobody else cared about. Wesley
showed up at the mines at 4:00 a.m. as they went to work. He
was there to greet many of them when they came out of the
mines 12 to 14 hours later.
Today these
so-called lost would be the marginally poor, those who work
60-80 hours a week and who do not receive a living wage. They
work all the time to keep family and home in place. They
represent single parents, ethnic groups, even the elderly.
Sometimes they represent the mentally handicapped.
Jesus offers
two parables about this particular group. First is the parable
of the lost sheep.
This parable
could have happened in any village in Palestine. If there were
100 sheep in the village, there was no one owner. Nobody could
afford 100 sheep. They were jointly owned by members of the
town—each person owning perhaps only 1 or 2 of the sheep. The
town would either hire shepherds to take care of the sheep
during the day or they would personally take turns grazing the
sheep themselves. One lost sheep could be a major economic
blow to any given household.
One evening
the shepherds return to town with the flock. However, one
shepherd is missing. “Where is Jacob?” the people ask. Other
shepherds respond, “He is out looking for a lost sheep.” The
people gather to wait. They light lanterns. They bring food.
Late in the evening they see Jacob coming. He carries a sheep
over his shoulders. Immediately a late-night party begins. The
lost has been found.
Jesus implies
that that’s exactly what happens in Heaven when the lost are
found.
Or there’s
the parable of the lost coin. This one has a slightly
different twist to it. A woman loses a coin. Obviously the
coin was valuable to her. Perhaps it was a part of her dowry.
Perhaps it was a special gift from her husband. Perhaps it was
her grocery money for the week. She needs the money.
Homes in
Palestine were dirt floors with straw covering them. The woman
is on her hands and knees, sifting through the straw, trying
to find the coin. Finally, in exasperation, she sweeps the
straw out of the house bit by bit. Suddenly she finds the
coin. Immediately she calls her friends and neighbors, and she
throws a party.
Jesus says
that’s the way it is in Heaven when the lost are found.
We have 3338
members at Christ Church right now. That’s a lot of people. So
if we lose track of one person it’s okay, right? No, says
Jesus. Everyone matters. Even the least matter.
For the last
few weeks I have tried to call 6 to 10 households a
week—persons whom we have not seen here for a while. The
purpose of the call is not to drag them back to church. Rather
it is an expression of care. “How are things at your house? Is
everything okay? We want you to know that we care, and that
you matter very much."
Someone has
suggested that there are four levels of activity in a
Christian community. First there are the nuclear
members—those who are present every weekend in worship and for
other events as well. Secondly there are the modal
members. These are folks who are here twice a month and
perhaps at a few of the events through the year. Thirdly there
are marginal members. Marginal members are around four
or five times a year. Finally there are the dormant
members. (I like that term a lot better than “dead wood.”)
Jesus simply says that Heaven rejoices when the dormant spring
back to life.
Every single
person is important to God. A few years ago “The Christian
Century” carried a column by Martin Marty that I clipped and
saved. Marty was recording some statistics that appeared in a
church bulletin where he went to worship one Sunday.
·
Members at the beginning of the year – 515
·
Transferred out – 23
·
Withdrew from membership – 15
·
Died – 7
·
Dropped – 1
Marty spent
the rest of the column speculating on what “dropped” means.
What happened to this poor soul? Was he simply forgotten
permanently?
The issue of
these two parables is the issue of finding that which was lost
and presumed worthless. It’s the manner and nature of God.
Jesus also
addresses another issue in the parable. He addresses those who
have wandered away, perhaps with some deliberateness—those who
have run away and gotten lost in the world. Jesus says that
God cares a whole lot about these people as well.
He tells a
parable about a young man who turns against his father and
leaves. Over time, the young man falls into major disarray and
misery. Eventually he turns back toward home. His father sees
him coming and runs to meet him. He throws a party. The
message is clear: no matter how bad it gets, when the wanderer
turns toward home, there is jubilation in Heaven.
There is an
old preacher story that some of you may have heard before,
about a young man who left home in anger and some disgust. As
it turned out, his life went terribly sour and he ended up in
jail for 3 years. After 3 years he was granted parole. He had
no place else to turn, and he wondered if he would be welcome
back home. He wrote a letter to his parents. He told them that
he would be coming home on the 3:00 p.m. train on Thursday
afternoon. The train passed by the yard of the home where he
lived. He said in his letter, “If you will accept me back,
please put something white on the big maple tree in the front
yard. If there’s nothing there I will certainly understand and
I’ll just keep on going.”
On Thursday
he boarded the train and started to his hometown. As he got
closer and closer to the town he became more and more agitated
and nervous. Finally he turned to the person next to him on
the train and told this person the story. He said, “I don’t
think I can bear to look. Would you look for me?” He closed
his eyes and waited. As they rounded the bend, the person in
the other seat said to him suddenly, “Son, look!” He opened
his eyes and looked, and there, in front of his house, was a
sea of white hanging from the maple tree, placed on the grass,
everywhere as far as the eye could see. His mother had used
all of her white linens and borrowed from the neighbors as
well.
Jesus says
that God wants us to return in that spirit.
Or, there is
the story of the woman who went through a painful divorce. She
was the granddaughter of a Baptist minister and her
grandfather had married her a few years earlier. She admired
him a great deal. She was sure, however, that he would scorn
and chastise her for not keeping her marriage intact. After a
few months she decided she would need to confront her family
and her grandfather. She decided to come to a family reunion.
She was prepared for the worst. She describes what happened.
I remember
starting to walk up the long grassy hill to where he stood.
When my grandfather saw me he immediately started down the
hill toward me, and before I could think of anything adequate
to say, he hugged me. Then he said, “You know, I’ve been
wondering what I said wrong.” I collapsed into his arms and
wept. When I finally regained control, I looked into his own
smiling, wet-eyed face. I couldn’t think of a word to say, and
he didn’t say anything either. He just put his arm around my
shoulder and we walked back up the hill and back into the
family.
The message in all these stories is the
same. You just have to start toward home. You need only to
make the turn toward home.
William Sloane
Coffin tells of an incident while he was chaplain at Yale. He
had just gone through a painful divorce. He was walking with a
friend, the theologian Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel. The
dialogue went something like this.
“I hear you’ve
had some trouble.”
“Yes, it’s
been very hard.”
“You should
have called me.”
“I didn’t
want to call you. I didn’t want to bother you.”
“Bill, you
should have called me. I could have helped.”
“How could
you have helped?
“I could have
told you about my own family and how my mother and father were
also divorced. I could have reminded you about the forgiveness
of God.”
Later, Bill
Coffin wrote in his autobiography, “He was so right. Here was
a Jew—reminding me, a Christian—that our salvation does not
lie in being sinless, but in being forgiven.”
Here is God’s
greatest good news in this life. We can get lost, but we never
cease to matter to God. Everybody matters to God. There are no
exceptions. Please know that you don’t have to go all the way
home. You just have to start toward home.
To receive this
glorious good news for the first time, or the fifth time, or
the fiftieth time, is to cause the halls of Heaven to start to
party. |
