September 15th, 2013 Luke 15:1-10

Luke 15:1-10 

¹Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. ²And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, "This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them."

³So he told them this parable: ⁴"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? ⁵When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices. ⁶And 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.' ⁷Just 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.

⁸"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? ⁹When 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.' ¹⁰Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents."

***

            Will said all his shirts had holes, and I was sure they did. He always had a penchant for old shirts, those which had long since died, and might not even make good rags. I could imagine how bad his clothes were if he was actually noticing. He’d been living out his car since November, and traveling in it as well for the last couple months. On his way back to Missoula, where he’d been living, Will called to see if he could grab some stuff from the basement in the manse, which sits like a hidden time-warp of his past, like a complex underbelly, below my white and pastel feminine decor. Before I saw him, I smelled him, all the way from the top of the stairs, that smell of stale body odor, like a homeless man in a closed subway car. I had never smelled that smell from someone I know. Walking downstairs into its funk I saw him, his hair outgrown and wild, bleached and dry, his skin weathered and tan, his eyes old and tired. To think, not long ago, he was once so dashing and handsome, and looked far younger than his age. After he finished packing what he could fit in his old Volvo station wagon, with a busted passenger window, and a history of breaking down, I offered him a shower, a snack, some coffee for the road, and hug. It was all I could do, beside ask a particular congregation member who keeps Will in his prayers to keep praying. But I asked for that prayer, because I believe that there is a Good Shepherd continually searching for the lost.

            I think Emmylou Harris, believes this too when she writes about a lost daughter, in her song, “My Baby Needs a Shepherd.”  I will sing you her story, but I know with a few words changed, the story of someone who is lost, is one many of us share.

My baby needs a shepherd, she's lost out on the hill

Too late, I tried to call her when the night was cold and still

And I tell myself I'll find her but I know I never will

My baby needs a shepherd, she's lost out on the hill

My baby needs an angel, she never learned to fly

She'll not reach sanctuary just by looking to the sky

I guess I could have carried her but I didn't even try

My baby needs an angel, she never learned to fly

Oh, I ran so far through a broken land

I was following that drummer, beating in a different band

Somewhere on the highway, I let go of her hand

Now she's gone forever like her footprints in the sand

Toora loora loora lo, first the seed and then the rose

Toora loora loora li, my kingdom for a lullaby

My baby needs a pilot, she has no magic wand

To help her part the troubled waters of the Rubicon

But in my soul, I know she'll have to go this one alone

After all that is the only way she's ever known

But there is no lamp in all this dark

That could chase away her shadow from the corners of my heart

I pray she rides a dolphin but she's swimmin' with the shark

Out where none can save her, not even Noah and his ark

Toora loora loora lo, to the cradle comes the crow

Toora loora loora li, my kingdom for a lullaby

My baby needs a mother to love her till the end

Up every rugged mountain and down every road that bends

Sometimes, I hear her cryin' but I guess it's just the wind

My baby needs a mother to love her till the end

            After describing letting go of her daughter’s hand, Emmylou Harris ends her song, with the words, “My baby needs a mother to love her till the end.” Emmylou Harris knows that there is a Good Shepherd, whose promise is to go and search for the lost, until they are found. I believe that there is a Good Shepherd continually searching for the lost.

            I look at this scripture, and I notice the tax collectors and the sinners, drawing near to listen to Jesus. After all the others have left, those who remain have nothing to loose, no social standing from which to fall, and I can only imagine how odd it was that someone who was neither a tax collector, nor a sinner, paid much direct attention to those lowly groups. This absurdity is echoed by the Pharisees and the scribes grumbling that,  "This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them." It may seem as though Jesus tells these parables for the tax collectors and sinners, but it is to all four groups Jesus is speaking. His message is also for the Pharisees and the scribes. He has a message all need to hear.

            The tax collectors and sinners need to know that they are sheep, and the Good Shepherd is going out in the wilderness to find the lost. That Jesus is standing in a crowd, preaching his controversial message of grace, and walking toward his death, that these few may be saved, that even one of of the lost may be found. That the habitually sinful might turn their lives around, and is so doing bring joy to heaven and the angels of God. He wants them to believe that there is a Good Shepherd continually searching for the lost, and rejoicing when they are found.

            The Pharisees and scribes need to be reminded of the enormity of God’s welcome. That grace is not only for the righteous, but for all. That unlike the Pharisees, those in power, with holy lives, God does not sit content with the saints, but came for the sinners that, “there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.” Jesus wants them to believe that there is a Good Shepherd continually searching for the lost, and rejoicing when they are found.

            If we take time to notice, we will see Jesus welcoming the lost. This week I visited the Compassion Center at the Nazarene Church, and talked with Cliff Cole who runs one of their ministries. He teaches year long classes for perpetrators of Domestic Violence. He showed me his classroom. On one side of the room was a list of ways perpetrators think, and beside it was a drawing of a frog jumping out of hot water, eyes bugging in anger, red exclamations from its head. On the other side was a list of healthy ways people deal with stress or anger. Beside this list there was a charicture of the same frog, sitting and relaxing in boiling water. The question I was most curious about, was how do these perpetrators get it, or change. What makes the switch? Cliff explained that not all do, but that if they stick with the program and want to change, there will be a moment when they get it. He told a story of a man who looked at the perpetrator chart and said, “I did every single one of those things.” Cliff described knowing that man was changed, knowing that man had been lost, but now was found.  I believe that there is a Good Shepherd continually searching for the lost, and when they come home there is rejoicing.

            We the church, in our best moments do the same. In droves, the middle schoolers, have been coming, down the corridor of staircase and hall, to the florescent yellow glow of the multicolored PYG pen. Backpacks are chucked toward the wall, like an afterthought, rearranging the reason for getting up early, from the duty of school, to the bounty of Open Door. The eyes of many youth still waking, and cheeks full of the puff and discolor of sleep. Others are excited as if no one told them you aren’t supposed to be a morning person in your teens. Perhaps the smell of sausage, or the lure of smoothies, have tricked them into our basement. But food alone is not reason enough for this church ministry to be thriving. It thrives because people like Luke, or Shannon, or Zach Ellis, are down there to ask kids how they are doing, to listen to their answer, and to simply play together.  Already this school year, hardships and blessings have been shared from youth to adult, and one has to wonder in those moments have the lost become found, the excluded become included, the hungry truly fed. Open Door serves because we know there are kids who are lost. Likewise, adult volunteers, many of whom are in retirement, or empty nesters, or others of whom come before work, have found a place to give back, a place to belong, a place which gives meaning to their lives. Whether we are adults or children, I believe that there is a Good Shepherd continually searching for the lost. I can only imagine if the Pharisees and scribes had an Open Door for the tax collectors and sinners, how Jesus might have rejoiced.

            In our own church, Mark Ferns shared that Andy was able to cook at a friend’s wedding, and even go to batchlor party, and remain sober. There was rejoicing in Lectionary Bible Study when this news was heard. I believe that there is a Good Shepherd continually searching for the lost, and when they come home there is rejoicing.

            In many congregations children are not welcomed in worship, or in the life of the church. With the words, ‘shhhh,’ children are lost to a quiet sanctuary, a back nursery, or not in the building at all.  Here at First Pres. it is hard for me to imagine anyone telling a child they cannot bring a balloon in church. Likewise, I am thankful for a congregation willing to let the kids, or the youth, have a Sunday geared toward them. Last week when Alex shouted after the Rembold’s special music, “That was the best song ever,” his praise was welcomed with rejoicing. In this place, the children of God are found, whether they be young or young at heart, or even just old plain old curmudgeonly. In this place, I believe that there is a Good Shepherd continually searching for the lost, and when they are found there is rejoicing.

            I believe that there is a Good Shepherd continually searching for the lost, and inviting us to come and rejoice when they are found. I believe that there is a Good Shepherd who will never stop searching for Will, and I believe that part of that Shepherd exists in the prayers of that congregation member. I believe Andy Ferns right now is a testament to the Good Shepherd. I believe that there is a Good Shepherd for the lost girl in the Emmylou Harris song. I believe that there is a Good Shepherd in Cliff Cole of the Compassion Center and I believe that there are Good Shepherds of all ages in our basement for Open Door in the mornings. I believe there is a Good Shepherd who sits each Sunday in this Sanctuary and reminds us to welcome these children in all their exuberance, and to rejoice with them in in song and celebration. I believe there is a good shepherd who is continually searching for the lost, and I know when they are found that the angels of God and heaven itself is rejoicing. Alleluia, Amen.