The Rev. Carol S. Wedell
September 16, 2007

Here's a question for you:  would you rather hang out with a group of grumbling complainers, or a group of joyful partiers?  That's a no-brainer, isn't it?!  Who among us would rather be with folks who are whining all the time?  

Grumbling is so much a part of our lives, that a pastor in Kansas City even began a campaign - challenging folks to go 21 days without complaining.  They used some of those little plastic bracelets that you see folks wearing.  This one is purple and it says, "no complaining."  If you agree to the challenge you put the bracelet on.  If you catch yourself complaining, you move it to the other wrist and start over.  It took the pastor about three and a half months to go 21 days straight.  Others took up to 7 months. I don't want to think how long it might take me!  Volunteers at his church now assemble the bracelets and send them out, in a movement that has caught hold.  What' amusing is that there has been such a demand for the bracelets that there is a huge delay on receiving them - leading more than a few to complain!

It's interesting to me that this idea was spawned within the church, a place where you would hope there would be a contagious amount of joy - not griping.  Yet I'm guessing that many of you can attest to the fact that the church (and by that I mean the whole church - not this congregation in particular) has done a relatively poor job of sharing the true joy of God's love.  Perhaps we take ourselves too seriously.  Perhaps we are overwhelmed by the pain and sorrow we see in the world.  Perhaps we simply grew up being taught that you must be quiet and somber in church.  I don't know the root causes.  I do know that on far too many occasions, joy is not apparent.

Some of you have heard me tell the story of attending a wedding at a small Presbyterian church in Michigan many years ago.  Communion was served, and as the pastor stood up, he intoned the familiar words of invitation.  I don't have a low, bass voice, but use your imagination.  He began, "Friends, this is the joyful feast of the people of God...."  Between the dour expression on his face, the apathy of his voice and the little paper fans compliments of the local funeral home that people were using to try and cool off, I nearly fell off the pew trying not to laugh.

How easy it is for me to mock that pastor - and how difficult it is for me to see the ways in which I contribute to a less than joyful atmosphere!

Our gospel reading this morning draws attention to both the grumblers and the party celebrants.   The entire 15^th chapter of Luke summarizes the whole of Luke's gospel, with three parables of the lost and found.  The final parable, which we often call the "Prodigal Son" is one of the most beloved and well-known stories in the New Testament.

Today, however, we are going to focus on the first two parables.  One lost sheep that is found, and one small coin that is found.  There are some important things to remember about parables - one of Jesus' favorite teaching tools.  First is that they rarely have only one thing to teach us.  They are rich with meaning.   So what we pull out one day might be totally different than what jumps out at us on a different day.  Another issue is our tendency to quickly make them into allegories, where we decide that God is one character in the parable, while we might be another.  Rarely is it so neat and clean.  (This will really be true next week - but that's a different story!)

The parables we heard this morning are challenging for another reason:  many of us have heard them so many times that we think we know exactly what they mean.  Oh yeah, these are the stories of the lost sheep and the lost coin.  And my guess is that most of us quickly put ourselves into the place of that lost sheep - grateful that the good shepherd has sought us out, and carried us home when we were lost and wandering around in the wilderness.  It's a warm and comforting image - well supported by art work throughout the ages.

It reminds me of a story one of my online colleagues shared this week.  During a children's time, the pastor divided the group into sheep and shepherds.  The sheep were invited to "get lost" within the sanctuary, and the shepherds were to find them.  This all went well until a while later when the pastor was partway into her sermon.  A frightened, small voice cried out, "I'm still lost!"  One lone sheep had been overlooked - a good reminder that the lost can be found even in the midst of us.  (As told by Anna Murdock, Broad Street UMC, Statesville, NC online). To be sure, you and I have felt lost more than a few times in our lives, and it is a reassuring image to know that God keeps searching until we are found.

But let's back up a minute, to the opening verses of this chapter, this time as paraphrased by Eugene Peterson, in The Message:  "By this time a lot of men and women of doubtful reputation were hanging around Jesus, listening intently.  The Pharisees and religion scholars were not pleased, not at all pleased.  They growled, ‘He takes in sinners and eats meals with them, treating them like old friends.'  Their grumbling triggered this story." (Luke 15:1-2).

Notice that these parables aren't addressed to the "lost" - to the tax collectors and sinners whom Jesus has befriended.  No, these stories are told to the Pharisees and religious folks.  They have been watching Jesus, and can't understand the ways in which he has challenged the status quo.  He hangs out with folks who have no regard for their way of living, who are truly the scum of society - "of doubtful reputation" is a nice way of putting it.  Think sex offender or gang member.  Think unscrupulous business person or drug dealer.  Think of the kinds of folks that would make you more than a little nervous if they sat down next to you this morning.  I'm guessing those are the folks with whom Jesus would be eating lunch today- probably not you or me!

No, you and I are more in line with the Pharisees than any one else in these stories.  We are the "good church folks," the ones who keep things going, who play by the rules, who really try to be responsible, faithful people - just as the Pharisees did.  We come to church, pay our taxes, try to be kind. And like the Pharisees, we probably grumble or complain a bit when Jesus steps on our toes, by challenging the way things are, by giving so much attention to those who always seem to be lost.

Maybe you've been the "good kid" in class (or the parent of such a child), who wonders why all of the attention seems to go to those who are misbehaving.  Ever get irritated with that?  I sure have.  After all, that's not really fair, is it?  Grumble, grumble.  Maybe, like me, you've wondered where the police are when someone nearly runs you down speeding.  Grumble, grumble.

Yet seemingly, these parables tell of an unbelievable amount of attention being directed toward those who can't seem to stay with the program - a sheep that wanders off, a coin that falls away, or in the prodigal son, a son that wastes it all.

But as quickly as we hesitantly align ourselves with the Pharisees, Jesus moves us into a different place.  "Suppose one of you had 100 sheep and lost one."  One of you!  Jesus asks the Pharisees - and so, asks us, to put ourselves in a different place.  Imagine if you had all these sheep and one wondered away.  Wouldn't you leave all the others and go find it?  Suppose like the woman, you lost one coin, wouldn't you spend all day cleaning around the house, upending furniture and dusting under beds to look for it?

Logically, the answer is clear:  no, we wouldn't do that.  We wouldn't risk the lives of 99 sheep in order to save one.  Rational thought doesn't support that risk. 

But what if that sheep was a loved one - a daughter or son, a spouse or close friend.  Imagine if it was one of the precious children of this congregation - like Austin, whom we baptized this morning.  Could we just let them wander off, lost forever?  All of a sudden the logical answer doesn't hold up.  Love wouldn't let us give up.  One matters when that one is deeply loved.

So we would go out and search until that lost lamb was found, no matter how long it took.  And when that lost one is found, our hearts would be overflowing with joy - deep and rich and contagious.  It's not surprising that the words "joy" or "rejoice" occur 5 times in the short ten verses we read this morning!  There is unbelievable joy in "finding."

Barbara Brown Taylor, in a sermon on this text, tells this story:

A few summers ago, my husband Ed and I went on a ten day hike in the wilderness with fifteen other people and a trip leader, none of whom we knew ahead of time.  We were a motley crew from all over the United States, and as the days passed it became apparent that all walkers are not created equal.  Some of us charged ahead while others of us lagged behind, and while we encouraged one another along, we soon learned that we could only travel as fast as our slowest member.

Her name was Pat.  She was the eldest member of the group, and the heaviest, and the most unpleasant.  She liked to walk alone at the rear of the group which was just as well, since she had an irritating habit of listening in on other people's conversations and then breaking in to correct their grammar, geography, history, botany, or any of the other subjects about which she knew so much.  She liked a full hour for lunch and threatened to be sick if she were rushed.  Most of the spots our trip leader picked to stop were too sunny, or too wet, or too steep for her, but she would plunk herself down anyway and announce that she would "make do."

Around the fifth day out we got good and lost, walking for close to ten hours over three mountains before we made camp.  When we arrived, after dark, in the rain, in the middle
of nowhere - Pat was not with us.  We compared notes and discovered that no one had seen her since noon, when she had thrown rocks at the person assigned to bring up the rear of the group and told him to leave her alone.

Delighted, he had complied, but that meant no one had seen her for almost eight hours.  We were all trembling with exhaustion and soaked to the bone; no one could even imagine heading back up the last mountain in order to find her.  But it was the trip leaders' job, so he did it.  Armed with hot soup, a jacket, and a first-aid kit, he disappeared into the dark while the rest of us milled around, trying to stay away from the idea of what it would be like to be lost in the wilderness without a match or a map or a friend.

We paced and dozed until close to midnight, when Pat stumbled into camp hanging on to her shepherd.  Those of us who had despised her at noon fell over her in the dark, petting her and hugging her and welcoming her home, pressing mugs of hot chocolate into her hands and oatmeal cookies into her pockets. No one thought to ask her if she was going to be a nicer person from now on, or whether she had learned her lesson.  We were too glad to have her back.   Imagining her out there in the dark, we had all felt more than a little lost ourselves, so finding her was as good as being found.

Pat acted rather nonchalant about the whole thing, if you ask me, but the next morning she was up and dressed and on the trail before any of us, and from that day on she was part of the flock.  Not everybody's favorite member, by any means, but part of the flock.  Maybe it was getting lost that changed her - although she denied even a moment's fear during her ordeal - but then again, maybe it was being found that did the trick.  Maybe it was our welcome home that made the difference, that convinced her she was part of the flock, but at any rate it was hard to separate her repentance from ours, or the repentance from the rejoicing.  We all kept better track of each other from then on, and took turns walking with Pat, who surprised everyone by bursting into song one night and leading us all in a medley of old camp tunes. (from The Preaching Life, pp 151-3).

One matters.  When one is missing, there is a hole that is left.  When one is lost, the community is diminished.  One matters.  And when one is found, what incredible joy there is! Everyone benefits when the one is found.  The invitation to move from grumbling to rejoicing, it seems to me, is found in joining the search party. 

Grumbling or rejoicing?  The choice is ours.