Second Sunday after Pentecost
June 2, 2024

Who among You?

Tom Are Jr.
Interim Pastor

Philippians 4:4–7
Luke 15:3–10

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My friend Brant taught me this. He said, “Tom, when your kids turn thirteen, take them on a trip, just the two of you.” He had done it with his boys. I thought it was a great idea. So, in 2005 I took my daughter. She wanted to go to New York City to see some shows. We went to Branson, Missouri. We saw some shows, which were fun but not New York. We took a dinner cruise on Table Rock Lake. We played the funniest game of putt-putt either of us can remember. But it was the drive home we still talk about. On the road, I turned off the radio and I said, “There are some things I need to tell you. Some things I want you to know. You are growing older now and making bigger decisions. So, there are four things I want you to remember.

“The first is you are responsible for yourself. No one else is responsible for you. Take responsibility for yourself.

“The second is every decision has consequences. Some good, some not. Some you can anticipate. Some you can’t. Be mindful, particularly, of the impact of those consequences on others.”

Two years later, my son turned thirteen. We went to St. Louis. We watched the Cardinals beat Atlanta two days in a row, but Nathan got autographs from Jeff Francoeur and Peter Moylan. We played golf, and he made the first par of his life. And he still remembers a midnight cheeseburger as the best he ever had.

On the ride home, I turned off the radio and said there are four things I want you to remember.

“You are responsible for yourself. Second, every decision has consequences.

“The third one is you are baptized. You belong to God. You may not always trust that, but trusting it is not what makes it true.

“And lastly, I want you to remember that if in the providence of God you ever have a child of your own, then you will fully understand what I mean when I say I love you.”

They were thirteen, so the response to all of this was “OK, Dad. Whatever.”

But over the years we repeated it to each other. When they left the house I would say, “Remember the four things.” I got emails from college that just ended “four things.” From time to time when we depart from one another we just hold up four fingers.

Sometimes for things to sink in, they have to be repeated. Sometimes when things matter, they have to be said over and over again.

Jesus tells the same story over and over again. These are repeated parables. In these stories, something is lost. Something is found. There is rejoicing.

It seems Jesus wants to make sure something here sinks into our souls, so he tells us again and again.

These are stories of rejoicing, which is not commonplace.

Joy can be a challenge. Joy is a bit different from happiness, I think. Happiness is the result of the circumstances of our lives falling in pleasant places. My team winning makes me happy. Delicious food makes me happy. The coming of spring makes me happy.

But it’s not always spring. Life is hard. Sometimes brutal. Life will not always make us happy. There are the diagnoses we do not want. Jobs are lost. Friends can let us down. Sometimes even the church can disappoint us.

It’s hard to rejoice when we witness the realities of civic life. We saw that on Thursday, as the nation received the verdict for the former president. Reactions are predictable. Some celebrated. Some didn’t like the result, so they claim, without evidence, that the process is faulty. They claim that the institutions of civic life, be they elections or courts or other, are all conspiratorial institutions rigged against us. We are playing with fire. America is not a given. It is much easier to tear democracy down than to build democracy. We should not be casual about civic life. And it’s worth asking why are we acting this way?

Peggy Noonan, Wall Street Journal columnist and former speech writer for President Reagan, opines that we are living in a time when we seem to enjoy hating one another. We do not engage in dialogue in an attempt to persuade. She suggests we engage in rants to demean, diminish, and dehumanize. Noonan says we seem to enjoy this practice of hatred. If she is right, then for a people called to love our neighbors, it’s easy to feel out of step.

But I’m not throwing up my hands. I’m turning to scripture to see where I can find a better way. And these parables may be on point.

These repeated parables are all about rejoicing — a particular joy, in fact.

A sheep is lost, a sheep is found, there is rejoicing.

A coin is lost, a coin is found, there is rejoicing.

Keep reading, a son is lost, a son is found, there is rejoicing …

Clearly Jesus believes this is a lesson we need to hear over and over again.

Now I appreciate how respectful you were when the passage was read. It is scripture, and Jesus is the one telling these stories, so we take these stories as inspired and inspiring, but I hope you noticed that these stories are ridiculous. I am certain that when Jesus told these stories, the crowds just fell all over themselves laughing. They went home and told their friends, “You gotta hear this Jesus dude. He’s funny.”

Listen again. Jesus says, Which one of you if you had 100 sheep and you lost one — who among you would not leave the 99 in the wilderness, where there are lions and tigers and bears? Who among you wouldn’t traverse the hills and valleys of the wilderness in search of the one lost sheep who can’t follow the one rule for sheep? You know the rule. Stay with the other sheep. Because you know what a sheep wandering off by itself in the wilderness is called? Dinner. Because providence has not granted sheep defenses. They do not have the speed of a gazelle. They can barely outrun a slug. They do not have fangs or claws. Wool, that’s it. Their only defense is “stay with the other sheep.” So, if you lost one, who wouldn’t leave the 99 in the wilderness where there are lions and tigers and bears, oh my! And go and search for the one sheep who can’t follow the one sheep rule, and when you find that lost sheep, who wouldn’t throw a party for the whole neighborhood? I found my sheep. Now who wouldn’t do that?”

Or if you lost a quarter, who wouldn’t rip up the carpets? Move the heavy appliances out on the lawn, bring in those big search lights, search down the heating vents, and when you find your quarter, who wouldn’t invite the entire congregation over for a barbeque with a vegan option? You spend a bazillion dollars on a party because you found your quarter. Now who wouldn’t do that?

Nobody does that.

I’m not doing that.

You wouldn’t … Nobody does this.

We can calculate better than that. We know when to cut our losses. No reasonable person lives like this.

So, these aren’t stories about us. These are stories about God.

If I understand the text, Jesus is telling us that we have no idea how much joy God finds in us, in you. Jesus is clear: God knows an unreasonable amount of joy because of you. And that is something Jesus evidently thinks we need to hear over and over and over again.

I don’t know if you have a lot of people in your life who rejoice simply because you show up. I can think of one.

When we were growing up, my grandparents lived out of state. We would travel to their house for vacation. We drove from Montgomery, Alabama, through the swelter of the South to the small town in South Carolina where my father grew up. These were the days before cars had air conditioning. The family station wagon had vinyl seats that would leave the patterns of the seats pressed into the backs of our legs. And it was hot. So, we rolled down the windows to let that Georgia heat blow through the car. It was like traveling in a convection oven.

After hours of cooking, we would pull into my grandmother’s driveway, and she would be waiting on the front steps. Before we could even get out of the car she would be squealing, “Get over here, get over here, come give me a hug.” She was elated.

She would grab me by the shoulders, “Just look at you, you are getting so big. Just look at you.” I could feel myself growing just standing there.

Eventually, they would also recognize that our father, her son, had arrived as well. Now I don’t know if you have people in your life who are like that. Probably not many.

I came in this morning. There was John Sherer. He’s one of the kindest guys I know. But John didn’t say, “Tom, get over here and give me a hug. Look at you — you are getting so big.”

No. Just “Good morning.”

That’s it.

Of course, that’s what you expect.

That’s how it is with us.

We are more calculated. Oh, we find joy in one another. We do. And we find joy in God, of course. But it’s more measured, isn’t it? More reasonable. We don’t see one another as some lost treasure that once found causes rejoicing. But apparently God does.

I suppose that’s why Jesus feels he needs to repeat himself over and over and over again, so that we might begin to understand just how much joy there is in heaven. It’s the joy that God holds for her children, including you.

This might teach us something. In the words of Peggy Noonan, we seem to have found enjoyment in hating. But even saying that, we realize it’s not really joy that we feel. I’m not sure what it is we feel, but it’s something lesser. So, I’m grateful for these repeated parables.

Jesus asks, Which one of you, if you lost a quarter, wouldn’t move all the furniture out on the lawn, and when you find your quarter call all your friends to come and rejoice. Come and rejoice for I have found that which was lost? Now who wouldn’t do that?

Well, these aren’t stories about us. No, these are stories about God.

But people loved to hear these stories, they made them laugh and laugh. Nobody acts like this.

But I can’t help but notice that every time he begins the story with the same question:
Which one of you …? That’s how he starts: Which one of you …

You don’t suppose he is really asking, do you?

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Sermon © Fourth Presbyterian Church