Proper 17.C.25
Luke 15:1-10
Melanie L. McCarley
Few people set out with the intention of getting lost. It’s just something that happens—generally when we’re not paying attention. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that for most of us, we feel as though we are moving merrily along until something causes us to pause in our tracks. We stop, lift up our heads, look around, and notice—we have no earthly (or heavenly) idea as to where we are.
Being lost is something of a universal experience—less so now, with the advent of GPS systems and cell phones—but even so, it can happen. It’s the terror of most every child who has let go of the hand of their trusted adult. And, even for those of us who have grown older, wiser and more confident of our abilities to get ourselves out of difficult situations, it can still raise the hairs on the back of our necks. Let’s face it, being lost is a fundamentally frightening experience.
I recall one very late night when my parents received a call from my sister and her boyfriend in high school. Bear in mind this is long before the advent of cell phones and GPS, when pay phones were still in existence, Sherri and David had gotten lost on the beltway around Washington DC and wound up in at the DC Armory, not a great place to be back then. It was about two o’clock in the morning—and my father, knowing precisely how confusing the area was, told them to get back in the car, roll up the windows, lock the doors and sit tight. He was coming to get them. He was there in twenty minutes, leading them back home. The good shepherd.
Nobody likes to be lost. And, keep in mind that what I mean by being “lost” is different than a quaint trip down a friendly looking side-road. Lost means being so far out of your element that the only way out depends on one of two things: blind luck or the kindness of strangers. We’ve probably all been the recipients of both at one time or another. And, whereas we are undoubtedly thankful for the helping hands reaching our way, few of us, as a rule, like to depend on them. Being lost calls into question our sense of competency. It’s one of the reasons, I think that many folks don’t like to ask for directions. We’d rather slog it out on the highway, delayed for hours, rather than ask for assistance.
Getting lost can be a shock to the system. I recall a trip I made with my mother to a grocery store when I was quite little. At some point in time I must have made a side trip to look at something that caught my fancy (probably the same aisle as the hostess twinkies), and I let go of my mother’s hand—just for a moment. Upon ending my perusal, I realized my Mother was no where within my line of sight. Hurriedly, I began looking. Quite soon I spied a beautiful, mohair cream colored coat and relief followed. My mother owned just such a coat and without a thought I grasped the hand that held mine. We walked together a little ways—to the cold cut aisle, as I recall, whereupon I chanced to look up at the face of my “Mother”. But what I saw was that of a kindly, woman, with a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye. She was obviously amused. I was absolutely horrified. I panicked. This person was not my mother! That beautiful cream colored coat had duped me into believing I was safe—and here I was holding the hand of a stranger. I still recall the feeling of utter panic that enveloped me as I searched up one aisle and down another—frantic with worry. Too young to realize that she would never have gone home without me; I finally located her among the pistachios. Salvation! She hadn’t forgotten me at all. She had been there all along—looking for me as I had been floundering somewhere between the canned tomatoes and boxed cereal.
Truth is, there are a multitude of ways to get lost. It might be on a highway, in a store or down an unfamiliar street. It can even happen deep within the recesses of our minds and spirits. Lost. The feeling that things are not as they should be—that we have somehow become unmoored from our bearings, taken the wrong turn, wandered far from where we ought to be. In other words, it is entirely possible for you to be sitting safe within the recesses of your own home and still feel lost. And perhaps this is more unsettling than taking a wrong turn on a highway—because it is all too easy to rationalize that there is no earthly reason for you to feel the way you do. At least, on the beltway, it’s clear what the situation has become. But when you feel lost among those who care for you, it’s another story altogether. We can feel lost in times of indecision, grief, depression and suffering—these are the times when we can feel isolated, with no idea as to where to go for help or who to turn to for solace.
And so, it is good news this morning to hear that we are not the Shepherds, but the sheep. If you think about it, it’s no surprise that sheep get lost—they are not the most intelligent of creatures, they habitually ignore road signs, and generally follow their noses to the lushest grass completely ignoring signs of danger. By their nature, they need shepherds—ideally, good shepherds, who look out for the wayward and the lame as well as the healthy and obedient.
So it is worth us taking a closer look at the parable Jesus tells this morning of the lost sheep. God, we learn, is invested—not simply in the flock, but in each individual sheep—even the wayward, the stubborn, the obstinate and the just plain stupid. God, Jesus tells us, cares so deeply for one lost sheep that God would willingly leave the others and search for the one who more than likely was simply about the business of getting what they deserved. In this passage, God is extravagantly gentle—almost irresponsibly kind. If you ponder the parable for a moment you realize that God, here, is acting in a way that is far from the standard of conventional wisdom to which we have been accustomed. This is the kind of wisdom which counts as loss the occasional bad apple which falls away from the harvest, the black sheep of the family, as well as all those considered as “collateral damage” in conflicts between countries in the world and mass shootings here at home. Instead, what the scripture tells us today is that God cares. God, in fact, is willing to risk everything to ensure that the treasure (which, in this case, is you and me), is brought back to the flock. From a fiscal, managerial and global perspective, it makes little sense. But Jesus tells us that it makes perfect sense to a God who cares for the sparrows as for ourselves; and has numbered the hairs upon our heads. What we learn today is that you and I, we are precious in the sight of God. Precious in those moments when we are gathered as part of the fold who are waiting patiently for those who have wandered away to be found, and precious even when we are the ones who are wayward and lost.
This is good news. Because there are times when each of us ha been one or the other. What we are encouraged to remember is that in the midst of the bewilderment, confusion, panic and fear of finding ourselves where we ought not to be, we have the comfort of knowing that God is there as well—searching for us until we are found and brought safely back to the fold. This is good news indeed. In Jesus Name. Amen.