Pentecost 14 C: Extravagant Love

Posted by DJL on Sep 12, 2019 in Dear Partner | 4 comments

Luke 15:1-10

Dear Partner in Preaching,

It’s September, and your parish life, like mine, is probably full to overflowing with the start of a new program year, stewardship events, planning for the fall and winter, looking ahead to planning a budget and a mission rationale to accompany it, and more. It’s so easy to get caught up in all these important, even vital, activities of church leadership and, perhaps, to forget, or at least lose track of, the reason for all the work: to share the news that God loves us more than we can imagine.

Fortunately, this week we have before us these unbelievably brief and evocative and beautiful shortest of short stories to draw us back to this central and nearly unbelievable confession of our faith. Of course, they’re not simply short stories, but parables. And a parable, as C.H. Dodd wrote nearly a century ago, “arrests the hearer by its vividness or strangeness, and leaves the mind in sufficient doubt about its precise application to tease it into active thought” (Parables of the Kingdom, 1935:16). Which means, among other things, that parables aren’t morals, as in “the moral of this story is…”, but rather are provocative, even performative speech, not simply describing something but doing something, propelling us into a new reality.

It also means that parables can be, will be, and probably should be interpreted in a variety of ways. In years past, I’ve always been struck by the unlikeliness of Jesus’ scenarios. Which of you would leave ninety-nine sheep in the wilderness – that is, still in danger – and go seek one that was lost? Or, which of you would sweep all night for a coin worth about a day’s labor and, when you found it, invite your friends to a party celebrating such a paltry discovery and likely spend twice that amount entertaining them? The answer to both questions is probably, “Truthfully, Lord, very few of us.”

This year, however, what struck me was not simply the unlikeliness of God acting this way – and the forceful reminder that God regularly does the unlikely in the name of love – but also the sheer, even ridiculous extravagance of these actions. A shepherd who knows very well that a 1% loss of investment is, in the larger scheme, no big deal, but who goes on a wild goose chase – or, I guess, wild sheep chase – in the hope of bringing that one percent back.

Or what about that woman who stays up all night sweeping, hoping to find a coin that, really, isn’t all that significant in the grand scheme of things. Interestingly, I’d always assumed that she only had ten coins, which might offer a more plausible rationale of her effort at recouping 10% of her property (though still not explain the expense for the party). But what if she isn’t poor but simply happens to have ten coins at home at the moment? I mean, if she’s a homeowner she’s not impoverished and that would explain the nonchalance with which she invites and entertains her neighbors. It’s no big deal; she can afford it. But then why the long search? Because that’s just what she’s like. She doesn’t want to lose any of her coins. Or, better, what if that’s what God is like – needing nothing, but whose eternal and infinite being is love, love that will not let anyone go and so searches and sweeps until finding even the most insignificant and, upon finding them (us!), parties like there’s no tomorrow?

Among other things, these parables challenge our dominant image of God. If we imagine God as a ruler, then these losses are negligible. But if we see God instead as a parent, then the extravagance – as sheer and ridiculous as it may seem – is understandable. I mean, I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t do for my children and those I love.

This is why I’m grateful for these parables – because it’s so easy to get caught up in the business (or busyness) of ministry that we forget our reason. Even more, it’s why I’m so grateful that you are preaching these parables this week – because there is so much in life that conspires to make us feel like we don’t matter, at least not very much, and that we don’t hold any particular value or significance. And yet this Sunday we get to tell people that Jesus went out of his way to say, and went to the cross and through death to new life to show, that God believes we matter – each one of us! – that we each have value, are significant, and are worthy of attention, dignity, and love.

At Mount Olivet, we are celebrating the centennial anniversary of our congregation this coming year. In preparation for that, I have been reading a history of the congregation prepared for its 75^th anniversary and came across the following brief affirmation from my predecessor, Pastor Paul Youngdahl, who sums up the core of these parables and, I’d suggest, the gospel in a sentence: “We believe we are a special people – not superior – but special people because almighty God loves us.” And everything we do – the planning and budgeting and preaching and giving and sacrificing and leading – everything we do and everything we ask our people to do, is to make sure as many people as possible know that they’re special, too. Thank you, Dear Partner, for your labor to do just that. It’s a message that couldn’t come at a better time.

Yours in Christ,
David