Lost Coin

In this gospel we see a clash of world views. The Pharisees saw the world in black and white: themselves as the insiders, the righteous, virtuous, people of the law. They saw Jesus as a Rabbi; he belonged with them, they thought. Instead he consorted with the Others, people outside the law—those whom they called sinners. They included tax collectors, but also those who were disabled. The blind or lame, for instance--must be so because of some sin that they or their parents had committed. Even childless couples were objects of shame and scorn. In the Pharisees’ worldview there was no room for tragedy or accident. All was cause and effect. If you lived by the law, you were sure of God’s favor. If something was wrong with you, it must be your fault, your sin.

Jesus saw the world very differently—in all the complexity, all the shades of gray that we know exist—and with consuming compassion. Jesus knew that suffering, disability, misfortune are a part of life—that just as the rain falls on the good and the bad, that bad things happen to good people. The importance of this is enormous. It meant that God has no step children, none of lesser favor. In God’s kingdom, there are no outsiders. Every last soul is precious—precious enough to be sought out and found no matter what the cost, no matter what the risk—rescued by God, who then rejoices—God the tender shepherd who goes after the sheep, God the caring woman who finds the coin.

Some of us have wandered far from God’s will in our lives, sometimes for long periods. Some of us, like Paul, strayed spectacularly—as he attests in today’s epistle. We have flouted God’s law of love, turned our backs on God’s will to wander, even to flee from God’s flock. Folks like that, like me, may have to be sought out, even clobbered into receiving God’s love and forgiveness, be drowned in God’s grace before we get it, before we come home.

What about the rest of you? You who spent your lives in Christian community, who have always been faithful--like the older son in the story of the Prodigal Son that follows these two parables. You may not have had the blinding flash, the bath of grace, the feast of the fatted calf. You may feel cheated. I hope that’s not the case. If it is, thank God, at least, that you didn’t have to live with the pigs as the Prodigal did to get where you are!

But whether we have been brought back into the flock or never really strayed, we are in continual need of God’s grace. Today’s Collect is right: without God we are unable to please God. It’s not just once in a lifetime that we are the lost sheep, the lost coin. It happens over and over again, as it did to the Israelites in the desert, and as it does to me. That is why we need to say the confession weekly—better still, daily. If we use Morning Prayer I we admit the truth of being human—that we create and worship Golden Calves all the time: "We have erred and strayed from thy ways like lost sheep. We have followed too much the devices and desires of our own hearts." We need to admit that regularly so that we can be forgiven to try again. That’s why we have to say the Lord’s Prayer day after day, too—to recommit to God’s will being done rather than our own.

To follow Jesus Christ, we need to commit ourselves, our lives to God over and over again. We express that commitment, we live out that commitment with disciplines of prayer, of service, and of giving—returning to God a part of the bounty that God has given us. As we all think about the financial commitment we will make to the ministries of St. Matthew’s next year, I urge you to think of it in the context of the stewardship of your life. What time to you give daily, weekly, to prayer? How much to working for the kingdom, volunteering your time to help others. In the coming week, as you prayerfully consider what your financial pledge will be, I urge you to join me in renewing your pledge of work and prayer. Each of us should be striving, year by year, to do more, and to give more as a percentage—to give more back of what has been given to us by the tender shepherd, the lord of our lives.