The Lost and Found
Sermon by Jamie Howison on Jeremiah 4:11-12, 22-28 and Luke 15:1-10
Ah, Jeremiah. He gets pretty wound up, doesn’t he? You might recall the opening section of the book that bears his name, that we read a few weeks ago. God comes to him with this call to a prophetic ministry, and he protests that he’s too young, not a great speaker, not at all fit for this task, to which God basically says, “sorry Jeremiah, I’ve had my eye on you for this from before you were even born. You can do it… you will do it. And from that point on, does he ever find his voice!
There are points along the way where he voices a very compassionate and hopeful vision for the people, but on the whole Jeremiah is simply the crankiest of all the prophets. There is even an English word—not much used in our day—that is based on his name: “jeremiad,” which the Merriam Webster Dictionary defines as “a prolonged lamentation or complaint.” Yep, that’s our Jeremiah, alright. A wee sample from today’s reading:
‘For my people are foolish,
they do not know me;
they are stupid children,
they have no understanding.
They are skilled in doing evil,
but do not know how to do good.’
And on and on it goes, as the people of Israel are essentially sentenced to loss and destruction due to their utter neglect of the standards of the torah. Yet there there is this one significant phrase tucked in there that speaks to something else; a phrase that you might have missed as it was read aloud. I’ll get back to that.
Along with dear, cranky Jeremiah, we also heard the voice of Jesus as carried to us in the Gospel according to Luke. For a moment let me sound as cranky as Jeremiah, for I fear that the architects of the lectionary have missed a rather crucial point in the way they present this gospel reading. In the 15th chapter of Luke, there are actually three parables of lostness: the lost sheep and the lost coin, which we heard tonight, and then the lost son, also known as the parable of the prodigal. As Luke presents these parables, it is notable that only the parable of the lost sheep appears in one of the other gospels—Mark—while the lost coin and the lost son are unique to Luke’s telling of the gospel. For Luke these three are meant to stand together—are meant to be read and heard and digested together—such that as Robert Capon notes,
…in Luke their proximity to the story of the Prodigal Son makes their common themes fairly leap off the page. Consider. For one thing, there is a party in every one of them. For another, the last, the lost, and the dead are held up as God’s chosen vessels. And for good measure, the first, the unstrayed, and the alive—the best and brightest—are displayed as being in no way God’s cup of tea.
But you do miss the force of this by reading only the little parables we have before us this evening, having read the story of the Prodigal way back on the fourth Sunday of Lent. Oh sure, the Prodigal did its own good work on us back then, but maybe the framers of the lectionary could have had us read the full chapter of Luke 15 back in Lent, or held off and had us read it all here. But alas, that’s not what they’ve done, so I’d just say to keep that story of the lost son in view as you consider these other two stories.
The set up here is that “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 Jesus told them this parable.” Or more accurately these three parables, because they are told one after another. First up, the lost sheep, which begins as follows:
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?
We’ve heard this oh, so many times, and can probably envision one of those good shepherd paintings with the smiling Jesus bringing a lost sheep back home with him. Yet there is a funny detail here that we easily miss: “Which one of you… does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost?” Well… maybe someone who is experienced with sheep doesn’t do that, because if you leave ninety-nine sheep alone in the wilderness, chances are rather good that you’ll have a badly diminished flock when you return, if you can even find the rather less than clever bunch when you get back to where you left them. Simply put, sheep are not the brightest of animals, and without a decent shepherd or two and hopefully a pair of quick-witted border collies, they’re not likely to survive out on the hillside.
So I think Jesus has actually got a wry smile on his face as he tells this story, in which the shepherd—who is a stand-in for Jesus himself—is prepared to go the full distance for the sake of the lost one, knowing that in truth he’ll do the same for each lost sheep… even if it is all ninety-nine of them! Which I believe is his point as he closes this parable by saying, “Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who need no repentance.” As N.T. Wright observes, “Try saying that sentence with a smile and a question mark in your voice and you will, I think, hear what Jesus intended.”
For Jesus, when people follow him and his way, that is the true repentance. And—he doesn’t say so in so many words, but I think it’s there by implication—the Pharisees and legal experts themselves need to repent in that way. ‘Righteous persons who don’t need to repent,’ indeed!
The little parable of the lost coin repeats the gist of this first one, though I’d have to say without quite the same ironic force. Here we have the figure of the woman, cleaning and sweeping her house from top to bottom in search of the lost coin, which when found occasions a party with her friends. What might be worth noting is the irony of spending your money to throw a party over having just found your money, but what is even more significant is that the “seeker” here is clearly identified as a woman. Jesus, in short, has first used a shepherd and now the figure of a woman to represent the meaning of his ministry, which is not without significance.
So it is grace from top to bottom for the lost ones in these parables—the lost sheep, the lost coin, the lost prodigal son, and even the elder son who sulks in the garden where he is met by a father who more than anything desires him to come and join the party. The ones who stand under criticism are the ones who bring only judgement and condemnation; the Pharisees and scribes who grumble because they can’t stand to see Jesus talking to broken down and sinful people, all the while being totally unaware of their own sins of judgementalism, legalism, and arrogance.
Well, wouldn’t it be grand to just have this text, and not have to worry about grumpy old Jeremiah? But here’s that one hopeful note that I referenced as I began. As he rages against the selfishness and legalism of the people, Jeremiah says, “For thus says the Lord: The whole land shall be a desolation; yet I will not make a full end.” “Yet I will not make a full end, because there is yet hope for this people. I will not make a full end, because I have promised to be their Lord. I will not make a full end, but will instead see them through beyond a life in exile in Babylon toward the rebuilding of their identity as my covenant people. I will not make a full end, but instead will become one with them, teaching and leading them from the very inside of their community and drawing them out into a fullness they can’t even imagine. I will not make a full end, because I will be one of them, one with them, one for them.
And that is a moment that is crystalized in this gospel, as Jesus lovingly, mischievously, and truthfully, tells them these parables of the lost and found.
These are good and important stories to hear, again and again and again.
