By now, most of you know that Banu and I lived with my mom during almost all of 2015 and a little bit at the beginning of this year.  It was a learning experience for each of us.

The Nashville area was flooded in 2010.  That included my mom’s basement, which took an extremely long time to dry.  Her house contains many possessions, with a huge percentage of them in the basement.  So if you combine abundant moisture, very little light, and plenty of items, including carpets on the floor, what do you get?

My sister and her sons had already done some hauling out of moldy stuff and cleaning of walls.  But rest assured, there was still plenty for us to do.  Open space began appearing in the basement.  There was room to breathe.  The energies of feng shui became more harmonious.  However, the garage had hardly been touched.

Items disappeared, some under mysterious circumstances.

We were justly accused of clearing out some stuff which, truth be told, contained little mold.  But we did need some walkways!

Here’s to my main point.  There was a box of tapes and CDs, containing some of my mother’s beloved music, including the bluegrass and gospel musician, Doyle Lawson.  Amazingly, it had vanished.  The finger of blame was first turned toward my sister, who had no idea where it was.  After she successfully argued her case and being cleared of any wrongdoing, the eye was turned toward Banu and myself.

Intent on proving our innocence, Banu led my mother on a search of her bedroom, which also had a pretty good number of…artifacts.  Lo and behold, the long-sought box was discovered.  Not unlike the woman in our gospel text who was overjoyed to find her lost coin, so was my mom after discovering her own treasure.

So, speaking of things lost and found, of Luke 15 it’s been said, “If the Gospel of Luke comprised only this one chapter, it would still be precious beyond all estimate.”[1]  Very high praise!  Precious beyond all estimate, like something lost and found.

Here’s the scenario.  We see a motley crew gathering around to listen to Jesus.  This crew is featured by tax collectors and sinners, folks who are relegated to the category of undesirables.

This crowd hasn’t escaped the attention of some Pharisees and scribes.  They are simply indignant at the attention Jesus gives them.  They are grumbling.  One translation says that they are “murmuring their disapproval: ‘This fellow,’ they said, ‘welcomes sinners and eats with them’” (v. 2, Revised English Bible).  If he wants to have any influence among the people that matter, this crap has to come to a screeching halt!

So, who are these tax collectors?  The disgust toward them goes well beyond the occasional (and perhaps frequent) irritation we might have about the IRS.  No, this is on a whole different scale.

These tax collectors are instrumental in funding the hated Roman government.  They could rightfully be called traitors.  It would be bad enough if it were simply a matter of helping keep the imperial machine going.  The Romans tell them how much they need to raise—so just get it done!  As you might guess, this tends to lead to corruption and extortion, to plundering the poor.

The Pharisees also despise them for the same reasons.  The New Testament usually gives the Pharisees a bad rap, but they really do want justice for the people.  They are no friends of the empire.  But they also have other reasons for looking down on the tax collectors.  These guys also violate religious obligations and spiritual sensibilities.

Now, how about these “sinners”?  As for them, Walter Bowie says they are “the general run of people: not notorious evildoers, but the careless and unconcerned about religious proprieties,” earning the disdain of “the sanctimonious.”[2]  The sinners aren’t necessarily bad people.  That label doesn’t mean they engage in, for example, slander or thievery.  Sometimes the rules are stacked against them.

But there’s something praiseworthy about these folks.  Unlike the elites, when the sinners are drawn to Jesus, they do so out of a felt need to seek more.  They’re done with pretending.  When they come to Jesus, they mean it.  When they ask him questions, they really want answers; they’re not doing it to be argumentative or to play games.

Jesus addresses that earnest desire by telling two parables.  And like the story about my mother, he uses examples from everyday life—things that people can relate to.

The first one is about a lost sheep.  He asks, “Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it?” (v. 4).  At first glance, that might seem to be wrong way up.  Why risk the ninety-nine to search for the one?

Regardless of practicality, it does speak to the value of each individual.  Every single sheep is treasured.  Every single one of us is treasured.  Jesus says, “I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance” (v. 7).  And yes, Pharisees, I’m looking at you.

The second parable is about the woman who loses a coin.  She’s desperate, and she turns her house upside-down until she finds it.  She’s searching; she’s tearing stuff apart.  And when she does find it, she calls everybody together and says, “Let’s have a party!  I found my coin!”  (And wouldn’t you know it?  She finds it in the last place she looked.)

Doesn’t it seem like a lot of trouble to find a single coin?

Again, this is where Jesus knows his audience.  That silver coin is half of the temple tax that was paid every year.  And for that woman, that coin would be a big chunk of whatever savings she might have had.  “To the poor, therefore, the loss of one coin could be a major calamity.”[3]  Jesus knows all about being poor.

And again, he brings his point home.  “Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents” (v. 10).  There is joy when someone comes to Jesus.

There’s a quote which I’ve heard attributed to St. Dominic, St. Francis, and St. Thomas Aquinas.  (Who knows, there may be others.)  As the story goes, one of them is visiting the Pope.  The Pope gestures at the treasures in the Vatican, and says, “We no longer have to say, ‘Silver and gold have I none’” (3:6).  He’s quoting St. Peter from the book of Acts.  The response to him is, “No, and neither can we say, ‘Rise up and walk.’”

If we depend on our possessions, if we become complacent, we lose our joy; we neglect our power in the Holy Spirit.  Our worship and prayer become lackluster.  Possessions don’t always have to be physical things.  They can be a feeling of safety, of comfort.  Do we become satisfied with our relatively stable well-being?  Are we unaware or indifferent to what has slipped away?  I have a sneaking fear that, too often, that might characterize me.

“[J]oy breaks out in the presence of God’s angels over one sinner who changes both heart and life” (v. 10, Common English Bible).  Do we rejoice when a sinner, one just like us, comes to faith or has a recommitment of faith?  Does it move our hearts; does it stir our spirits?  Have we ourselves ever had such an experience?  Have we lost something precious?  Do we need to tear apart the house of our lives in order to find it?

“I once was lost, but now am found, / Was blind, but now I see.”

Today is a day of “recovenanting.”  I’m not sure about the origin of that, but “covenant” is a word filled with meaning.  It’s not simply a contract; it also has the sense of something solemn, something sacred.  It’s about two parties entering into an agreement in which they make pledges to each other.  It isn’t businesslike.  It has the elements of artistry and beauty.

We might, and indeed do, fail to keep our side of the covenant.  But the covenant remains intact.  God is faithful; God keeps faith.  God does not break promises.  For that reason, our faithlessness does not nullify the covenant.

It might make sense to “recovenant” with each other, but with God, there’s no need to re-invent the wheel.  The covenant with God is one and everlasting, beginning with Adam, and extending through Noah, through Abraham, through David, to Jesus Christ.

In our baptism liturgy found in the Book of Common Worship, the language of covenant is front and center:

“Through baptism we enter the covenant God has established.  Within this covenant God gives us new life, guards us from evil, and nurtures us in love.  In embracing that covenant, we choose whom we will serve, by turning from evil and turning to Jesus Christ.

“As God embraces you within the covenant, I ask you to reject sin, to profess your faith in Christ Jesus, and to confess the faith of the church, the faith in which we baptize.”

It’s a covenant in which we celebrate being lost and being found.  That’s the upside-down, inside-out, backwards-forwards way of Christ in which the first will be last and the last will be first.

This past week, the fiftieth anniversary of Star Trek was observed.  The first episode was aired on September 8, 1966.  This enterprise has been fifty years of pushing the envelope in issues of ethnicity, gender, nationality, and ethics, among others.  (Though I think the recent J.J. Abrams movies have fallen a bit short in that regard!)  One of the best-loved characters has always been Spock, the Vulcan who quotes words of wisdom based on his philosophy of logic.  One of the Vulcan principles is that “the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one.”

This business of risking the ninety-nine in order to find the one, according to that way of thinking, clearly doesn’t make sense.  It’s just foolish and irresponsible.

And this matter of tirelessly rummaging around to find a single coin might be deemed as much ado about nothing—similar to a woman who, amid her numerous possessions, is focused on finding her treasure trove of music.  (Though I suppose referring to it as a “treasure” might explain the concern!)

Yet, that is exactly how it is with God of the covenant in the kingdom of God.  God will not let us go.  God will pursue us relentlessly.  Because God’s love does not depend on what we have done or left undone, we can rest in the promise that those who are losing will always be found.

[1] Walter Russell Bowie, The Compassionate Christ (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1965), 202.

[2] Bowie, 202.

[3] Bowie, 205.

Any of you who have attended, or participated in, a service of ordination may recall what happens at the end.  Those being ordained as ministers are given a charge, something reminding them and encouraging them regarding the duties of the office to which they have been ordained.  The Presbyterian liturgy also has a charge to those we ordain as elders and deacons.

Banu and I were ordained as ministers in February 1997 at Overbrook Presbyterian in Philadelphia.  Banu’s pastor gave her this instruction: “I charge you to fail.”  (I don’t believe he was expressing ill wishes, just telling her to take bold risks!  That’s advice that I also desperately need to take heed of.)

[image is from christophermpark.com]

My pastor gave me this charge at the end of the service: “Tell your story of being in a distant land.”  Using that image from the parable of the prodigal son, he was talking about several things.

At the time, I wore a bandana on my head; it covered a rather visible surgical scar.  It was a mute witness to my experience of brain cancer.  (At a party, I removed my bandana to reveal the scar.  A couple of people looked like they were about to turn green!)

At the time of our ordination service, I had been on a journey of almost a year and a half.  That journey included the initial seizure, diagnosis, surgery, radiation therapy, another seizure, another surgery, then seven cycles of chemotherapy.

Along the way, there were plenty of CAT and MRI scans, a port temporarily implanted in my chest for antibiotics, needles and more needles, and being put on prescription meds that I was told I would need to take for the rest of my life.  Oh, did I happen to mention…needles?  To my pastor, that constituted “being in a distant land.”

He was also referring to the spiritual journey I had taken, at least, the parts of it he knew.  Coming from an Assemblies of God church in Tennessee to an American Baptist seminary in Philadelphia to the PC(USA) church across the street—and knowing that I had worshipped and worked with Christians of many different stripes besides that—that also constituted “being in a distant land.”

He understood the power of story to reach people in a way that explanations cannot.

I must confess, though, I have tended to discount my pastor’s charge to me.  I’ve included parts of my story from time to time, but probably not in the deliberate way he intended.  I’ve also been disobedient in a less obvious way, even when I have spoken of my experiences.  I have focused too often and too much on the purely medical aspects of my continued health.  Too often I have failed to properly acknowledge the work of God in my healing.  To put it bluntly, I have failed to give God the glory!

(Maybe my coming clean will encourage others who feel like failures to do the same!)

I begin with this little story because it came to mind when I read our gospel text.  It’s the last verse from our passage in Luke 12 that especially did it.  “So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God” (v. 21).  Does a failure to give credit (no, to joyously give credit) where credit is due qualify as, so to speak, storing up treasure for oneself?  Honestly, I’m not sure; I’ll have to get back to you on that!

As we’ll see, the main focus of this scripture text relates to possessions, but not being rich toward God suggests other things to me—intangible possessions and treasures.

It would seem that’s what Jesus has in mind, too.  He takes an example that is definitely about tangible and visible possessions, a family inheritance, and moves on to something deeper and less obvious.  For the people in Luke’s story, we could also add that it seems to be unexpected!  Today’s passage begins with a request coming from the crowd gathered around Jesus, and it ends with a parable often called “the rich fool.”

In verse 13 we read, “Someone in the crowd said to him, ‘Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.’”  We don’t really know what the situation is.  Skullduggery may or may not be at work.  There’s nothing like money and property to bring kindred together!

Whatever the case, somebody wants Jesus to play the role of Judge Judy.  (I should say:  the Bible is silent on any sarcastic lines he might have uttered!)

Jesus is having none of it.  “Friend,” he replies, “who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?” (v. 14).  I won’t be dragged into your domestic squabble.

Let me throw in a quick sidebar.  We can also see how Jesus avoids being triangulated.  Here’s what I mean.  The fellow has a beef with his brother.  A and B.  He wants Jesus to be his ally.  A wants C to take sides against B.  Jesus is aware of this dynamic and does not participate in it.  Triangulating, or triangling, happens all the time in life.  It can be healthy or unhealthy.  Jesus recognizes the unhealthy nature and does not intervene.

This is where he takes the situation and, as I said, moves on to something deeper and less obvious.  He gets to the heart of the matter, saying, “Take care!  Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions” (v. 15).  Again, we don’t if there’s anything fishy going on, but that’s not the point Jesus wants to make.

“Miser” (1926) by Margret Hofheinz-Döring, 1910-1994

 He’s warning against “all kinds of greed.”  As we’ve seen, that could apply to anything.  We are a culture that needs to re-learn the value of “enough.”

Maybe I’m the only one who notices this.  It is a rare event when I go to a buffet restaurant and do not see this.  It seems without fail there will be someone who loads up a dish to the point of the food being ready to fall over.  Some places that used to advertise “all you can eat,” have rephrased it to “all that you care to eat,” or even “please do not take more than you will eat.”  I don’t think anyone there is in danger of starvation!  Besides, you can always go back for seconds.

Jesus adds to the warning about greed, “one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.”  Having said that, I realize there are those who live by the motto, “He who dies with the most toys wins.”  It doesn’t seem that Jesus subscribes to that philosophy.

On that note, Jesus launches into the parable of the rich fool.  This a guy who strikes it big.  He has an abundance of grain and goods.  He has more than what he knows to do with.  Our friend is like some actors and athletes who pull in multi-millions of dollars per year.  They have more money than they could reasonably spend in two or three lifetimes—maybe more!

What does our wealthy friend do?  He decides, “I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods.  And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry” (vv. 18-19).  His physical needs will be well taken care of—or at least, that’s the plan.  In Aesop’s fable, he is the hare, not the tortoise.

Walter Bowie notes, “But the supreme loss is not in what may happen prematurely to the body.  The loss is what happens to the man’s whole self.  He thinks he has plenty of time to find out who he is and what his life is for.  He will stop and give attention to all that after a while.  But it is not only in the parable that the unexpected bell may toll.”[1]

I’m reminded of a line from the 90s movie The Basketball Diaries.  It stars Leonardo DiCaprio as real-life musician Jim Carroll, who also played Catholic high school basketball.  However, his talent is being wasted, due to his use of heroin.  One day in class, he falls asleep and is enjoying a drug-induced dream.  His teacher, a cane-wielding priest, gives him a rude awakening.  Smacking his desk, he shouts, “Wake up, Mr. Carroll, it’s later than you think!”

Wake up; it’s later than you think.  Now that’s a sobering thought.

And it’s one delivered to our friend in the parable.  God reminds him, “You fool!  This very night your life is being demanded of you.  And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?” (v. 20).  So now, we come back full circle to the thought of storing up treasures for ourselves but not being rich toward God.

This business of it being later than we think, of getting our house in order—that is no doubt some seriously important stuff.

Speaking for myself, I sometimes have a sense of foreboding in all of that.  Maybe I haven’t lived life the way I could or should have.  Perhaps I’ve been stingy in sharing God’s work, God’s provision, God’s healing in my life.  Maybe in doing that (or in not doing that, as the case may be), I have been greedy like our friend in the parable, the rich fool.

But this is the gospel, the good news that Luke brings us.  Where is the word of grace?  How is this the word of love?

The Franciscan priest Richard Rohr mentions a charge he received at ordination.[2]  He puts it in the context of perfection, something we attempt to provide by ourselves.  It “gives the impression that by effort I can achieve wholeness separate from God, from anyone else…

“On the day of my first vows in 1962,” he says, “the preacher glared at us earnest and innocent novices and quoted the line, ‘Thou shalt be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect!’ (Matthew 5:48).  Most of the honest guys left within the first few years of seminary when they could not achieve this supposed perfection.  That’s sad because I think a lot of them would have been really good friars and priests, precisely because they were so human, humble, and honest.”

Those guys were already set up for failure.  The charge from that preacher was not uttered in wisdom and love!

Rohr continues, “Many people give up on the spiritual life or religion when they see they cannot be perfect.  They end up [as] practical agnostics or atheists, because they refuse to be hypocrites.  It is quite unfortunate that [this] ideal of perfection has been applied to human beings…  It has created people who, lacking compassion, have made impossible demands on themselves and others, resulting in a tendency toward superiority, impatience, dismissiveness, and negative thinking.”

It doesn’t have to be that way.  Those who can see actually realize it isn’t that way.  And that is the good news.  That is the gospel of Jesus Christ.

We need not be afraid to share, to unfasten ourselves, to empty our hands.  By not piling up riches for ourselves, we open ourselves to being amazed and surprised by God.  We unleash the power of the Spirit within our lives, and together, we unleash the power of the Spirit in community.

We approach with empty hands so that they might be filled.  We yield the treasures we store up so that we might be rich toward God.

[1] Walter Russell Bowie, The Compassionate Christ (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1965), 175.

[2] cac.org/perfection-self-defeating-path-2016-07-20