What kind of God?

Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost - September 16, 2007

The Rev. Kenneth R. Elkin

A few years back, over at Messiah Church, we had a visitor who told a story from memory.

It was a long story, a great story, in fact, the greatest story ever told.

Our visitor told us the whole Gospel of Mark at one sitting.

He played all of the characters and dialog; he narrated and set the scene with a prop or two;

but mostly it was words, powerful words, words that have resonated in the hearts and minds across the ages,

words that have changed events,

words that have transformed people,

“immediately”, as Mark says.

We were torn at the end of the presentation, whether to applaud the tour de force memorization of the entire text by the presenter,

or to sit in silence at the power and majesty of the Lord God who has become flesh in order to deal most effectively with us.

Those who were listening were not like Jesus first audience, hearing Good News for the first time.

We've heard parts of the story most every Sunday for our whole lives, but there we were, listening intently again.

The third stanza in the old hymn I Love to Tell the Story begins:

I love to tell the story,

For those who know it best

Seem hungering and thirsting

To hear it like the rest.

And when we are responding to the Gospel with joy, that is exactly what we do.

There was a college student on a retreat who heard a full-length presentation of the gospel just like we heard, who, after some thought responded:

That's a great story, a really great story.

With a story like that, I can't figure out why the Christians I have met are so boring.

He became a part of the catechumenate process and was baptized.

I'm guessing that he is doing everything that he can to make sure that his new life as a Christian is anything but boring to those who run into him.

I was lost, but now am found;

Was blind, but now I see.

I think he would echo that old hymn.

What kind of a God dos he know?

Or more significant to us,

what kind of a God do weknow?

Is it an absent God, deus absconditus,

who maybe got things underway eons ago, but who stands back and lets the creation run fitfully by itself,

like an old watch with dirt in the gears?

There is no good news in that idea.

Martin Luther was raised with the picture of God as the angry judge, who duly passes sentence and punishment on us miscreants , and it terrified him.

The watchmaker god ignores us and we ignore him right back.

The righteous judge condemns us,

and we flee his presence.

But Jesus comes to incarnate a different God, one of extravagant love.

We have trouble grasping the very idea, and so Jesus told three stories gathered together in Luke 15.

“Which of you, having 100 sheep, one of whom strays, will not leave the 99 and go search out that headstrong or weak or inattentive sheep?

And when the sheep is finally found, who among you would not put that sheep on your shoulder like a beloved child and bring it home and restore it to the flock, and come to everyone in the village that night and say, 'come party with me; for the lost is found.'”

Look, we're practical people.

We have to make triage decisions all the time.

We would write off the one sheep as an acceptable business risk and concentrate on the 99 who are sticking together.

There is not one of us who would go after that single, solitary, stupid sheep.

And this business of having a party when the sheep is restored... now there is a unnecessary expense.

It would be enough to give a sigh of relief that a loss is avoided, and not spend even more money on a ridiculous party.

But fortunately, God is not practical like us, instead he is wildly extravagant with his gifts, and expansive rather than miserly with his feasts.

Which of us, who, having lost a quarter, will not rip up the carpeting, carry all of the appliances and furniture out into the yard, and turn everything else upside down until the quarter is found, and then run out into the street and yell to everyone in the neighborhood to come to this house tonight and celebrate?

Answer: none of us.

We think it is ridiculous.

And then Jesus goes on with one more story in Luke 15, a story that we know well, the one which we heard on the 4^th Sunday in Lent this year, the story of the two sons who wandered away.

One of them physically left the father,

the other stayed at home but left emotionally.

Both of them are lost to the father.

When he gets a chance, the father runs to the one coming down the road and welcomes him before he can say anything, restores him, and declares a fiesta,

The other son, the one who is emotionally distant, is also invited and we are left wondering if he will allow the father to restore him to full son-ship, too.

Which of us will act like the persistent shepherd, or the searching woman, or the loving father?

Answer: none of us.

--We're too practical.

--The costs are too high;

--the chances of success are too limited.

--It is too much bother.

Take the loss and go on to something else.

But not the Lord God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.

For this extravagance of searching for the lost one and then declaring a celebration is the very nature of his being.

There's a wideness in God's mercy

Like the wideness of the sea;...

There is grace enough for thousands

Of new worlds as great as this;

There is room for fresh creations

In that upper home of bliss. [LBW #290]

There is another problem that perhaps we haven't considered as much.

What if you and I are among the 99 right now, and Jesus seems to be off chasing the one stray, and seems not to be paying much attention to us?

Are there “dry” times in our prayers?

Are there times when we feel like we're just going through the motions, without results?

Are there times when God seems to be distant, or silent, or dead?

Yes there are.

There is a big fuss these days in the public press about Mother Teresa.

Some are terribly shocked that her life was not as serene as some imagined it to have been.

In her private letters, she said that the dryness of prayers, the silence of God was pervasive in her life.

There is a good Lutheran point lurking here in this silent situation.

If anyone would be able to earn salvation by good works, we would certainly point to Mother Teresa, who devoted decades of selfless service to the poor and those who could never repay her.

We'll find out the truth in heaven, but maybe, just maybe

God seemed to be silent

to such a prominent person as she was in order to remind her and us that salvation is God's gift, not a payment for services we have rendered to him.

It is not easy being one of the 99 left alone.

It is not easy being just another coin in the woman's dowry headdress.

It is not easy being the older son staying at home and working like a slave.

It is not easy being a regular, get-up-in-the-morning-and-go-to-work kind of Christian.

That is why we always need to be welcoming in the one sheep, the lost coin, the younger brother that we thought we despised...

because they will be the ones to remind the rest of us that God has declared it to be banquet-time even now.

They're ready for a party even when we think we're not interested.

Whether you or I can feel it at any given moment, it is still the Lord's moment, his heaven-come-to-earth moment.

Let the faith of the whole church of heaven and earth, the church of all the ages, carry us along with it during the dry, silent times.

Let the joy of new-made Christians rub off on us.

Let their eagerness to learn inspire us.

Let the celebration get underway,

and let it include us.

That is what the unexpected, impractical, extravagant love of God is doing this day and always.

We're going to sing the rest of the sermon, preaching to the one and to the 99 at the same time:

5 Lord of glory, you have bought us

With your life-blood as the price,

Never grudging for the lost ones

That tremendous sacrifice.

Give us faith to trust you boldly,

Hope, to stay our souls on you:

But, oh, best of all your graces,

With your love, our love renew.

[LBW#424]

Amen.

Please note: The preceding sermon is provided as a resource for the thought, prayer, and meditation of the members and friends of St. Mark's. It is the residue of a verbal event, and thus it does not have academic footnotes and other details that would be expected in a written document. The writer gladly acknowledges the prior thought and work of many Christians before him.