Gen 32:3-8; 22-30; Luke 18:1-8

Unlike some of Jesus’ other parables, we don’t have to work too hard to figure out what he means. Sometimes we’re left to our own devices to figure out what the parable means, and sometimes Jesus tells us at the end of the parable. However, in this morning’s parable, Luke tells us from the start that Jesus told his disciples “a parable to the effect that they ought always to pray and not lose heart” (Luke 18:1). As straight forward as the meaning of the parable is, the parable itself is quite odd. The story Jesus tells is about a judge who “neither feared God nor respected man.” Now, in the analogy Jesus is making with the parable, this judge who doesn’t fear God represents God, and the widow who comes to the judge who comes to the judge, again and again, demanding justice represents the behavior Jesus wants to see in his disciples. Her persistence and her demand for justice are how Jesus’ disciples, how we, are to pray.  

It’s odd, first, that the role of God in this analogy is played by someone who doesn’t fear God, and second, that in the story, the judge doesn’t give justice because it’s the right thing to do but because the widow nagged him so much that she beat him down, and finally he gave her the justice for which she was looking. Hopefully, that’s not how things work with God. God is a God of justice who wants what is right and good for his people and for this world, and hopefully, we don’t have to beat him down to get him to finally act and to do what is right.

The parable then ends with Jesus explaining what the parable means in more detail than Luke did, but Jesus adds a significant word. He says, “And will not God give justice to his elect, who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long over them? I tell you, he will give justice to them speedily. Nevertheless, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?” (Luke 18:7–8). Now, this is not the time nor the place to discuss what Jesus means when he speaks about the coming of the Son of Man. The answer to that question is too complex and nuanced, and that is not the word that interests me anyway. Jesus says, “When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?” Faith. That’s the word that interests me today.

I said before that faith is like a

window out onto the world that allows us to see that there is more going on in

the world simply than what we can see with our eyes. Faith allows us to see the

creating, redeeming, and sustaining God at work in the world around us and

invites us to participate in that work. So, why then, does Jesus bring up faith

in a conversation about prayer?

Before we try to answer that

though, let’s take a quick detour to our reading from the book of Genesis. This

is a passage that we are probably all familiar with. It’s the story of Jacob

wrestling with God, or perhaps better, of God wrestling with Jacob. You’ll

notice at the start of the reading that the competition, or whatever you want

to call it, seems to happen at the other man’s initiative, and it’s later in

the passage that we discover that that man was God himself. It’s in this moment

in which God is striving with Jacob and Jacob is striving with God that Jacob’s

name is changed from Jacob to Israel, and this will be the name of the people

of God for generations to come. The offspring of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob are

the Israelites. They bear this name that arises from this conflict.      

Now, something interesting happens here with the name. The man says to Jacob, “Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with men, and have prevailed” (Genesis 32:28). Except that’s not what the name Israel means. It doesn’t mean “you have striven with God;” it means “God contends, struggles, fights.” God is the one who initiates the conflict with Jacob in this story and God is the subject of his name as well, and yet the text clearly says otherwise, and this is one of those moments w

For weeks now it may seem like we’ve talked about the same theme over and over, and that’s because we have. Luke, since the beginning of chapter 15, has been telling a series of stories and teachings from Jesus’ life that, while weaving together various themes, have been focused on the outsider, the outcast, the despised, the ones society looks down on. At different times there have been teaching on self-righteousness, money, and even faith. But now the text turns again to the central theme of the outsider, this time from the perspective of thankfulness and humility.

Up to this point, since chapter 15, Jesus has primarily been teaching in parables, but in our reading this morning we get a miracle story with a lesson for Jesus’ audience and for us. Jesus is traveling to Jerusalem, and he’s going along the borderlands between Galilee and Samaria. He comes to a village, and Luke doesn’t tell us which one. While he’s there, ten lepers come to see him, but they keep their distance from him, which is what lepers were expected to do. Touching a leper would make you unclean and potentially sick. From a distance, these outcasts call out to Jesus for mercy. Like other miracle stories, Jesus doesn’t really do much. He doesn’t even say you’re healed. He tells them to go – to go to the priest, who would have lived locally and been responsible for declaring people healed from this type of illness.

Even though Jesus hasn’t actually

told them that they are healed, in an act of faith they turn and head towards

the priest. You’ll remember, of course, that Jesus just got done teaching his disciples

about faith and doing the impossible, as we saw in last week’s reading. As the

lepers go, they are healed. They respond to what Jesus says, obey in faith, and

he takes care of the rest. But that’s not really what this story is about.

After the ten lepers are healed, one of them, a Samaritan, who would be even

more of an outcast, turns back. He comes back to Jesus, no longer keeping his

distance from him. He’s giving glory to God as he approaches Jesus, and he

falls at Jesus’ feet and gives him thanks, and this is the point at which Luke

tells us that the one who came back was a Samaritan.

By implication, the others were likely Jews. Jesus even refers to the Samaritan as “this foreigner,” and he’s surprised that only this one, this foreigner has come back. He says, “Is it really the case that the only one who had the decency to give God the glory was this foreigner?” Remember that Luke’s already told a story about the return of the younger brother, and how the older brother was standing outside complaining as the story was going on. We’re given some idea of why the older brother was complaining, but we aren’t told why the other nine lepers didn’t return. And I think that’s the point.

On the one hand, you have the outcast of the outcasts. The ones who are the most desperate are the ones who show the greatest thanks. To most of us, a meal is nothing. To a starving meal, a small meal can be the difference between life and death. To most of us, having a home to go back to is something that we take for granted. To the homeless, a night indoors can mean everything. So, on the one hand, we have the outcast of the outcasts who returns to give thanks to God, and on the other, we have those who fail to show their thanks. And we don’t know why. We can only speculate.

Or perhaps instead, instead of

speculating, we should take a moment to ask ourselves why we fail to give

thanks to God for all the good things in our life. Paul says in Ephesians 5

that we are to give thanks “always and for everything,” but most of us struggle

to give thanks “sometimes and for most things.” And why is that? I think for

most of us, we have been lulled to sleep by the common-place nature of

blessings in our lives. When water is always available, you take it for

granted. When you’re in the midst of a drought, you thank God for rain. When

food is plentiful, you go thr

The Feast of St. Francis is

traditionally celebrated on October 4th, which was this past Friday,

but we are celebrating it this morning. We remember St. Francis not only in the

sermon and collect, but later in the service and later today we will have a

Blessing of the Animals and a Blessing of the Cuddlies in honor of the man

known for giving away all that he had and for preaching the Gospel even to the

animals. One of the stories that the hagiographers tell about St. Francis is

called the “story of the beggar.” As the story goes, Francis was working in the

marketplace on behalf of his father, and a beggar came to him and asked for

alms. Originally Francis said no because he was in the middle of a business

deal, but as soon as that deal concluded, Francis left his father’s wares and

ran after the beggar, and when he found him, Francis gave to the beggar

everything that he had in his pockets. His friends, when they saw this, chided

him and mocked him for his act of charity. When he got home, his father scolded

him in rage. Most people can’t tell you his father’s name. Most people can’t

tell you his friends’ names. Francis was born almost 900 years ago, but today

we still remember the name of the young man who gave everything his pockets to

the beggar who asked him for alms.

This story of St. Francis is often

told because it exemplifies his character even at a young age. Francis was a

fortunate person. He was born into a wealthy family. He was handsome, witty,

gallant, and delighted in fine clothes. He spent money lavishly. But this story

shows that even as a young man he was becoming disillusioned with the world

around and with his own lifestyle. This disillusionment came to a head when he

was sued by his father who was trying to make Francis forego his inheritance.

In the middle of those legal proceedings before the Bishop of Assisi, Francis

renounced his father and his patrimony, and by some accounts stripped himself

naked as a sign of his renunciation, and the Bishop covered him with his own

cloak. Francis wasn’t born poor; he was born rich. He chose to be poor for the

sake of Christ, who he heard tell him, “Francis, Francis, go and repair My

house, which, as you can see, is falling into ruins.”

Sometimes when I hear stories like

this, I think, “I don’t know that I have enough faith for that.” So, when I

hear the disciples saying at the beginning of our Gospel reading, “Lord,

increase our faith,” I relate to that feeling. Do you ever feel that way? Do

you ever feel like the life Jesus calls you to is beyond your capabilities? Do

you ever feel like you know the thing you ought to be doing, but making that

decision is just a bit too hard, just a bit beyond you? I know I do.

Take something as simple as forgiveness. My brother or sister offends, and I say, “No problem. I forgive you; I won’t hold it against you.” My brother or sister offends me again, and I say, “No problem. I forgive you; I won’t hold it against you.” My brother or sister offends me again, and I say after a long pause and a deep breath, “No problem. I forgive you; I won’t hold it against you.” And mind you, this is all on the same day. So, now, before my brother or sister can offend me again, I turn to Jesus real quick, and I say, “Jesus, how many times do I have to forgive my brother or sister in the same day?” And Jesus says, in the verses immediately proceeding our reading, “If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him, and if he sins against you seven times in the day, and turns to you seven times, saying, ‘I repent,’ you must forgive him” (Luke 17:3–4). Elsewhere Jesus is asked how many times someone should be forgiven, and he says, “Seventy times seven,” or in some translations “seventy-seven.”

And there’s a part of me that

thinks, “That’s too much for me,” and the disciples felt the same way too

because their response to Jesus is, “Increase our faith!” So, if you’ve ever

felt like you don’t have enough faith to do the th

The Feast of St. Francis is

traditionally celebrated on October 4th, which was this past Friday,

but we are celebrating it this morning. We remember St. Francis not only in the

sermon and collect, but later in the service and later today we will have a

Blessing of the Animals and a Blessing of the Cuddlies in honor of the man

known for giving away all that he had and for preaching the Gospel even to the

animals. One of the stories that the hagiographers tell about St. Francis is

called the “story of the beggar.” As the story goes, Francis was working in the

marketplace on behalf of his father, and a beggar came to him and asked for

alms. Originally Francis said no because he was in the middle of a business

deal, but as soon as that deal concluded, Francis left his father’s wares and

ran after the beggar, and when he found him, Francis gave to the beggar

everything that he had in his pockets. His friends, when they saw this, chided

him and mocked him for his act of charity. When he got home, his father scolded

him in rage. Most people can’t tell you his father’s name. Most people can’t

tell you his friends’ names. Francis was born almost 900 years ago, but today

we still remember the name of the young man who gave everything his pockets to

the beggar who asked him for alms.

This story of St. Francis is often

told because it exemplifies his character even at a young age. Francis was a

fortunate person. He was born into a wealthy family. He was handsome, witty,

gallant, and delighted in fine clothes. He spent money lavishly. But this story

shows that even as a young man he was becoming disillusioned with the world

around and with his own lifestyle. This disillusionment came to a head when he

was sued by his father who was trying to make Francis forego his inheritance.

In the middle of those legal proceedings before the Bishop of Assisi, Francis

renounced his father and his patrimony, and by some accounts stripped himself

naked as a sign of his renunciation, and the Bishop covered him with his own

cloak. Francis wasn’t born poor; he was born rich. He chose to be poor for the

sake of Christ, who he heard tell him, “Francis, Francis, go and repair My

house, which, as you can see, is falling into ruins.”

Sometimes when I hear stories like

this, I think, “I don’t know that I have enough faith for that.” So, when I

hear the disciples saying at the beginning of our Gospel reading, “Lord,

increase our faith,” I relate to that feeling. Do you ever feel that way? Do

you ever feel like the life Jesus calls you to is beyond your capabilities? Do

you ever feel like you know the thing you ought to be doing, but making that

decision is just a bit too hard, just a bit beyond you? I know I do.

Take something as simple as forgiveness. My brother or sister offends, and I say, “No problem. I forgive you; I won’t hold it against you.” My brother or sister offends me again, and I say, “No problem. I forgive you; I won’t hold it against you.” My brother or sister offends me again, and I say after a long pause and a deep breath, “No problem. I forgive you; I won’t hold it against you.” And mind you, this is all on the same day. So, now, before my brother or sister can offend me again, I turn to Jesus real quick, and I say, “Jesus, how many times do I have to forgive my brother or sister in the same day?” And Jesus says, in the verses immediately proceeding our reading, “If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him, and if he sins against you seven times in the day, and turns to you seven times, saying, ‘I repent,’ you must forgive him” (Luke 17:3–4). Elsewhere Jesus is asked how many times someone should be forgiven, and he says, “Seventy times seven,” or in some translations “seventy-seven.”

And there’s a part of me that

thinks, “That’s too much for me,” and the disciples felt the same way too

because their response to Jesus is, “Increase our faith!” So, if you’ve ever

felt like you don’t have enough faith to do the th

Fr. Michael’s Sermon for Sunday, September 29, 2019 (Year C, Proper 21)

Luke 16:19-31

There are a few verses between

where our Gospel reading picks up this morning and where it left off last week.

They are particularly important for context, so I want to start there. You’ll

remember that way back at the beginning of chapter 15, Jesus was eating with

tax collectors and sinners and receiving or welcoming them. The Pharisees and

the scribes grumbled and said, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with

them.” In response, Jesus began to tell parables. The first was the

parable of the lost sheep, then the parable of the lost coin, and then the

parable of the lost son. Those three parables go together quite obviously.

There is a thematic link between them. Something is lost, and then something is

found.

I argued last week that the next

parable Jesus tells carries on the same textual connection. Jesus is still

addressing the Pharisee’s objection about the company he keeps and therefore,

their self-righteousness, which is no righteousness at all, was still in view.

However, Jesus does shift his focus from their self-righteousness to their love

of money. He tells a parable about a dishonest manager who is praised by his

master for his worldly shrewdness, and Jesus follows the parable with several

wisdom-literature like sayings about money, most noticeably, “You cannot

serve God and money” (Luke 16:13). That’s how our reading last week ended,

and it’s the verses immediately following that the lectionary skips.

Here are those verses. Let me read

them for you. “The Pharisees, who were lovers of money, heard all these

things [presumably, all four parables and the teaching about money that

followed], and they ridiculed him. And he said to them, ‘You are those who

justify yourselves before men, but God knows your hearts. For what is exalted

among men is an abomination in the sight of God. The Law and the Prophets were

until John; since then the good news of the kingdom of God is preached, and

everyone forces his way into it” (Luke 16:14–16). That last phrase is

tricky. The word is βιάζω, and it can be used positively or negatively. The

positive meaning is “to gain an object by force,” which is what the

ESV prefers. The negative meaning is “to inflict violence on, dominate,

constrain.” I prefer the latter. I think it makes more sense in this context

for Jesus to say that since John, he has been preaching the Good News of the

Kingdom of God, but everyone, including the Pharisees who grumble about those

whom he welcomes and ridicule him for his teaching, have been trying to

constrain and control the kingdom that he is bringing into this world.

Either way, it is clear that Jesus

is still addressing the Pharisees and that he is still concerned about their

self-righteousness and their love of money. What we need to understand is that

in the first century, those two ideas, righteousness and wealth, were directly

related and for a good reason. Read through the Old Testament, and what you’ll

find is promise after promise that God will bless the righteous with wealth.

That’s one of the ways that you can tell that a person is righteous. If God has

blessed that person with material wealth, that person must be righteous. That’s

how the system works. Or so it would appear.

So, if you’re the Pharisees, and

you believe yourself to be righteous, then you would expect yourself to be wealthy.

You might directly equate how righteous you are to how wealthy you are. You

might even try to gain more wealth, righteously or not, as a sign that you are

even more righteous that others thought. And it’s into that literary and

cultural context that Jesus speaks our parable this morning.

Now, I want to remind us again that

parables are meant to be dwelt in and pondered, but I should also point out

that parables are not historical stories. They are fiction. There is no real

lost sheep, no lost coin, no lost son, no dishonest manager, and no rich man

Fr. Michael’s Sermon for Sunday, September 29, 2019 (Year C, Proper 21)

Luke 16:19-31

There are a few verses between

where our Gospel reading picks up this morning and where it left off last week.

They are particularly important for context, so I want to start there. You’ll

remember that way back at the beginning of chapter 15, Jesus was eating with

tax collectors and sinners and receiving or welcoming them. The Pharisees and

the scribes grumbled and said, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with

them.” In response, Jesus began to tell parables. The first was the

parable of the lost sheep, then the parable of the lost coin, and then the

parable of the lost son. Those three parables go together quite obviously.

There is a thematic link between them. Something is lost, and then something is

found.

I argued last week that the next

parable Jesus tells carries on the same textual connection. Jesus is still

addressing the Pharisee’s objection about the company he keeps and therefore,

their self-righteousness, which is no righteousness at all, was still in view.

However, Jesus does shift his focus from their self-righteousness to their love

of money. He tells a parable about a dishonest manager who is praised by his

master for his worldly shrewdness, and Jesus follows the parable with several

wisdom-literature like sayings about money, most noticeably, “You cannot

serve God and money” (Luke 16:13). That’s how our reading last week ended,

and it’s the verses immediately following that the lectionary skips.

Here are those verses. Let me read

them for you. “The Pharisees, who were lovers of money, heard all these

things [presumably, all four parables and the teaching about money that

followed], and they ridiculed him. And he said to them, ‘You are those who

justify yourselves before men, but God knows your hearts. For what is exalted

among men is an abomination in the sight of God. The Law and the Prophets were

until John; since then the good news of the kingdom of God is preached, and

everyone forces his way into it” (Luke 16:14–16). That last phrase is

tricky. The word is βιάζω, and it can be used positively or negatively. The

positive meaning is “to gain an object by force,” which is what the

ESV prefers. The negative meaning is “to inflict violence on, dominate,

constrain.” I prefer the latter. I think it makes more sense in this context

for Jesus to say that since John, he has been preaching the Good News of the

Kingdom of God, but everyone, including the Pharisees who grumble about those

whom he welcomes and ridicule him for his teaching, have been trying to

constrain and control the kingdom that he is bringing into this world.

Either way, it is clear that Jesus

is still addressing the Pharisees and that he is still concerned about their

self-righteousness and their love of money. What we need to understand is that

in the first century, those two ideas, righteousness and wealth, were directly

related and for a good reason. Read through the Old Testament, and what you’ll

find is promise after promise that God will bless the righteous with wealth.

That’s one of the ways that you can tell that a person is righteous. If God has

blessed that person with material wealth, that person must be righteous. That’s

how the system works. Or so it would appear.

So, if you’re the Pharisees, and

you believe yourself to be righteous, then you would expect yourself to be wealthy.

You might directly equate how righteous you are to how wealthy you are. You

might even try to gain more wealth, righteously or not, as a sign that you are

even more righteous that others thought. And it’s into that literary and

cultural context that Jesus speaks our parable this morning.

Now, I want to remind us again that

parables are meant to be dwelt in and pondered, but I should also point out

that parables are not historical stories. They are fiction. There is no real

lost sheep, no lost coin, no lost son, no dishonest manager, and no rich man

A Sermon for Sunday, September 22, 2019 (Proper 20, Year C)

Luke 16:1-13

The parable before us this morning is arguably one of the most difficult and confusing parables that Jesus ever told. Now, usually, when I preach, I’m not saying that I’m always right, but I usually have a firm handle on the text in front of me and on what it is that I want to say. I might not be right, but typically I’m certain that I am. This morning, I don’t know if I can say the same thing. This parable is complex, and its punchline is frankly disturbing to many people since it comes from the lips of Jesus. Jesus says, “And I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of unrighteous wealth, so that when it fails they may receive you into the eternal dwellings” (Luke 16:9). What does that even mean?

Well, there are a couple of things to note here. The first is that this is a parable, and as I said last week, parables are meant to be lived in, dwelt in, and pondered. You’ll remember that Jesus told parables because their meaning wasn’t clear. Those on the outside wouldn’t understand them, and those on the inside would, so there is built into parables themselves this sense that they should be complex and they should be difficult to understand.

The second thing to note is that we are still in the general context of the Pharisees and scribes complaining that Jesus was welcoming the wrong kind of people to his meal. Last week we talked about how Jesus ironically said that there is more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance. I’m saying that the statement is ironic because the ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance don’t actually exist. Jesus then tells another parable about a lost son and his elder brother who, even as his lost brother returns, is standing on the outside grumbling and complaining. The supposed righteousness of the Pharisees is still very much in view as we come to our parable this morning.

The third item that we need to note is that whenever you hear a story about a master and steward or servant in his house, the bigger metaphor at work is always Yahweh and Israel. Yahweh is the master of the house or the owner, and Israel is the one who has been tasked with keeping charge over the master’s house. But now the Lord has returned to his people, and he has found the ones he placed in charge have not been doing the task that he has given them. They have not been a light to the nations. They have not spread the glory of God across the face of the known world. They have not been people who follow the commandments of God. And now God is calling the manager to account.

In the parable, when the master

calls his manager to account, the manager begins to lessen the debts of those

who owe the master money, and when the master finds out, rather than chastising

him, the master applauds. This is the first sign that Jesus is toying with, or

sort of twisting, what one might expect to happen in this story. Jesus says,

“The master commended the dishonest manager for his shrewdness. For the sons of

this world are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than the sons

of light” (Luke 16:8).

You see, Jesus has been saying since the inauguration of his ministry that there was a great trial coming upon Israel. There God had come to them, didn’t like what he had found, and so he was going to bring judgment upon them. This is ultimately what happens in AD 70 with the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple. And Jesus seems to be saying that the children of this world are better at perceiving the times, perceiving the political machinations around them and responding appropriately than the children of light. He is saying to them that the Pharisees and the scribes should be able to understand the events unfolding around them, but they don’t. Jesus is offering them a way out. With his new meal and his new people, he is providing an escape from the judgment th

A Sermon for Sunday, September 22, 2019 (Proper 20, Year C)

Luke 16:1-13

The parable before us this morning is arguably one of the most difficult and confusing parables that Jesus ever told. Now, usually, when I preach, I’m not saying that I’m always right, but I usually have a firm handle on the text in front of me and on what it is that I want to say. I might not be right, but typically I’m certain that I am. This morning, I don’t know if I can say the same thing. This parable is complex, and its punchline is frankly disturbing to many people since it comes from the lips of Jesus. Jesus says, “And I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of unrighteous wealth, so that when it fails they may receive you into the eternal dwellings” (Luke 16:9). What does that even mean?

Well, there are a couple of things to note here. The first is that this is a parable, and as I said last week, parables are meant to be lived in, dwelt in, and pondered. You’ll remember that Jesus told parables because their meaning wasn’t clear. Those on the outside wouldn’t understand them, and those on the inside would, so there is built into parables themselves this sense that they should be complex and they should be difficult to understand.

The second thing to note is that we are still in the general context of the Pharisees and scribes complaining that Jesus was welcoming the wrong kind of people to his meal. Last week we talked about how Jesus ironically said that there is more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance. I’m saying that the statement is ironic because the ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance don’t actually exist. Jesus then tells another parable about a lost son and his elder brother who, even as his lost brother returns, is standing on the outside grumbling and complaining. The supposed righteousness of the Pharisees is still very much in view as we come to our parable this morning.

The third item that we need to note is that whenever you hear a story about a master and steward or servant in his house, the bigger metaphor at work is always Yahweh and Israel. Yahweh is the master of the house or the owner, and Israel is the one who has been tasked with keeping charge over the master’s house. But now the Lord has returned to his people, and he has found the ones he placed in charge have not been doing the task that he has given them. They have not been a light to the nations. They have not spread the glory of God across the face of the known world. They have not been people who follow the commandments of God. And now God is calling the manager to account.

In the parable, when the master

calls his manager to account, the manager begins to lessen the debts of those

who owe the master money, and when the master finds out, rather than chastising

him, the master applauds. This is the first sign that Jesus is toying with, or

sort of twisting, what one might expect to happen in this story. Jesus says,

“The master commended the dishonest manager for his shrewdness. For the sons of

this world are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than the sons

of light” (Luke 16:8).

You see, Jesus has been saying since the inauguration of his ministry that there was a great trial coming upon Israel. There God had come to them, didn’t like what he had found, and so he was going to bring judgment upon them. This is ultimately what happens in AD 70 with the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple. And Jesus seems to be saying that the children of this world are better at perceiving the times, perceiving the political machinations around them and responding appropriately than the children of light. He is saying to them that the Pharisees and the scribes should be able to understand the events unfolding around them, but they don’t. Jesus is offering them a way out. With his new meal and his new people, he is providing an escape from the judgment th

Fr. Michael’s Sermon for Sunday, September 15, 2019 (Year C, Proper 19)

Luke 15:1-10

Parables are more than just

stories. They don’t just communicate information, like when Michelle comes home

and wants to tell me about what happened at Anna’s school or about what Josh

did at the park. She’s trying to communicate a piece of information to me, and

she’s communicating it through narrative form. I don’t need to linger or stay

in the narrative too long. I hear the story, get the information, and move on.

Parables aren’t like that. Parables are intended to invite further reflection.

They want you to linger. They want you to stay in the story. They want you to

see the story through the eyes of different characters and ponder the events

that unfold in the parable.

We have before us this morning two

familiar parables that are part of a collection. There’s another parable that

follows, the Parable of the Prodigal Son, or, as I prefer, the Parable of the

Lost Son, so it’s Lost Sheep, Lost Coin, Lost Son, and all three parables are

given in response to a complaint by the Pharisees and scribes that Jesus

receives sinners and eats with them. In fact, it’s not just that Jesus receives

sinners. The complaint is that he welcomes them; he receives them in a friendly

manner. At the end of Romans, Paul mentions Phoebe and instructs the church to

“welcome her in the Lord.” That word ‘welcome’ is the same word used here of

Jesus receiving or welcoming sinners. We’ll come back to this, but for now, I

want to focus on the end, the punchline, of the Parable of the Lost Sheep,

which is Jesus saying, “There will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who

repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance” (Luke

15:7).

Now, this has always troubled me. Imagine if you ran a company, and you had one hundred employees. Ninety-nine of them always did what you asked, when you asked it, and they always did it to the best of their abilities. And then you have that one employee. We’ll call him Jeff. Jeff’s always late. He’s always struggling to get his work done. Even if it’s done on time, it’s not done well, and everyone complains to you non-stop about this one employee. Instead of firing him, you keep him around for a while, and he comes to you one day and says, “Boss, I’m really sorry for how I’ve been performing, but I’m going to turn things around, and to prove it, I’ve already done all my work for the next two weeks and I think you’ll find that I’ve done exemplary work.”

You take this employee’s work, you look it over, and he’s done an excellent job. And he continues to do an excellent job, so maybe two weeks later, maybe a month, you call him and everyone else in the company into the largest meeting space you can find, so that all one hundred of you can fit. You say to everyone, once you’ll all gathered, “I want to tell you all that I’m thankful for the work that all of you do and for how long and how faithfully you’ve worked for this company, but despite your hard work, despite being on time, despite everything you’ve done, there is more rejoicing in my office over Jeff’s performance than over all the hard work the other ninety-nine of you have done.” I think if I was one of the ninety-nine, and someone told me that, I’d be a little upset. Wouldn’t you?

In the Parable of the Workers in

the Vineyard, the householder pays all the workers the same amount regardless

of how long they have actually worked, and the ones who worked the longest

grumble and complain, and the point is that God is free to dispense his grace

as he wills, but this is different. “There will be more joy in heaven over one

sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no

repentance.” So what? “Should we continue in sin that grace may abound?” (Rom

6:1). μὴ γένοιτο. May it never be. But what am I supposed to tell my kids? “Hey

kids, you know what makes daddy happiest? It’s not when you listen to me and do

what I told you, but ac

Fr. Michael’s Sermon for Sunday, September 15, 2019 (Year C, Proper 19)

Luke 15:1-10

Parables are more than just

stories. They don’t just communicate information, like when Michelle comes home

and wants to tell me about what happened at Anna’s school or about what Josh

did at the park. She’s trying to communicate a piece of information to me, and

she’s communicating it through narrative form. I don’t need to linger or stay

in the narrative too long. I hear the story, get the information, and move on.

Parables aren’t like that. Parables are intended to invite further reflection.

They want you to linger. They want you to stay in the story. They want you to

see the story through the eyes of different characters and ponder the events

that unfold in the parable.

We have before us this morning two

familiar parables that are part of a collection. There’s another parable that

follows, the Parable of the Prodigal Son, or, as I prefer, the Parable of the

Lost Son, so it’s Lost Sheep, Lost Coin, Lost Son, and all three parables are

given in response to a complaint by the Pharisees and scribes that Jesus

receives sinners and eats with them. In fact, it’s not just that Jesus receives

sinners. The complaint is that he welcomes them; he receives them in a friendly

manner. At the end of Romans, Paul mentions Phoebe and instructs the church to

“welcome her in the Lord.” That word ‘welcome’ is the same word used here of

Jesus receiving or welcoming sinners. We’ll come back to this, but for now, I

want to focus on the end, the punchline, of the Parable of the Lost Sheep,

which is Jesus saying, “There will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who

repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance” (Luke

15:7).

Now, this has always troubled me. Imagine if you ran a company, and you had one hundred employees. Ninety-nine of them always did what you asked, when you asked it, and they always did it to the best of their abilities. And then you have that one employee. We’ll call him Jeff. Jeff’s always late. He’s always struggling to get his work done. Even if it’s done on time, it’s not done well, and everyone complains to you non-stop about this one employee. Instead of firing him, you keep him around for a while, and he comes to you one day and says, “Boss, I’m really sorry for how I’ve been performing, but I’m going to turn things around, and to prove it, I’ve already done all my work for the next two weeks and I think you’ll find that I’ve done exemplary work.”

You take this employee’s work, you look it over, and he’s done an excellent job. And he continues to do an excellent job, so maybe two weeks later, maybe a month, you call him and everyone else in the company into the largest meeting space you can find, so that all one hundred of you can fit. You say to everyone, once you’ll all gathered, “I want to tell you all that I’m thankful for the work that all of you do and for how long and how faithfully you’ve worked for this company, but despite your hard work, despite being on time, despite everything you’ve done, there is more rejoicing in my office over Jeff’s performance than over all the hard work the other ninety-nine of you have done.” I think if I was one of the ninety-nine, and someone told me that, I’d be a little upset. Wouldn’t you?

In the Parable of the Workers in

the Vineyard, the householder pays all the workers the same amount regardless

of how long they have actually worked, and the ones who worked the longest

grumble and complain, and the point is that God is free to dispense his grace

as he wills, but this is different. “There will be more joy in heaven over one

sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no

repentance.” So what? “Should we continue in sin that grace may abound?” (Rom

6:1). μὴ γένοιτο. May it never be. But what am I supposed to tell my kids? “Hey

kids, you know what makes daddy happiest? It’s not when you listen to me and do

what I told you, but ac