So, one Sunday at St. James, Knoxville, we were having a reception for newly confirmed members with the bishop, when Little Jimmy staggered, probably drunk. Usually, he would wander in before the worship service, grabbing a cup of coffee before he went to one of the back pews for his nap. But this time his arrival was later than usual. Maybe he'd gotten wind of the fact that there would be lots of food. In any case, the new members, all seated together with the bishop,and decked out in their Sunday best, had not really gotten to know Little Jimmy. And they tried real hard not to be offended. But you could see that they were wondering just why we were all so nonchalant.
Like Little Jimmy, Jesus could throw a monkey wrench into a fine religious function. Three times in Luke's Gospel, Pharisees invite Jesus to their homes; and every time the party takes an downward turn. This third time, at the home of a rich and powerful Pharisee, Jesus' very presence attracts tax collectors and other sinners. And the powers that be are not having. Some of these riffraff are infiltrating the Jewish suburbs, without the proper documents, doing who knows what, bringing in their strange ways and culture and language, and their noise and music. Others are all stinky and needy, the product of poor choices earlier in life, sleeping in the doorways of those nice, apartments at Pharisee Gardens and Country Club. Congregating together and being a threat and all. All because Jesus is welcoming them.
The Pharisees get angry, but Jesus doesn't respond in kind. Instead he tells them stories. He spins a trilogy of parables, all of them with the same plot. A character is lost, that character is found and, to celebrate the finding, a party ensues. Today we get two of those. The lost sheep and the lost coin. (And in case you are wondering, the third one is the story of the Prodigal Son.)
And the third story is the most famous: one son asks for his inheritance, goes off and blows it, comes back with his tail between his legs. The other brother is bent out of shape because the father is happy to have the family back together, but the father has words with him and straightens him out. A party ensues with fatted calves and wine and celebrations into the night. Lessons learned all the way around.
But sometimes I think Jesus starts with sheep and coins because they aren't human, and it's so easy for the Pharisees to see the people Jesus eats with as also not-human.
And I can see the Pharisees rolling their eyes, listening to these tales. They hear the story of the sheep, and I can can almost see the wheels in their brains turning, thinking, “Hey, this guy has 100 sheep. He's got to be sort of well off. One of us. And even though he's lost only one, I mean, of course he goes back to find it. That's his lively hood. He's got to look after his inventory. Good for him for being a good businessman. I could see stopping by his celebration party. Just go, check out the food, and leave.”
I wonder if they even get what Jesus means when he says that there will be more rejoicing in heaven over a repentant sinner than over 99 righteous persons who don't need to repent.
More to the point, I wonder if we do.
Jesus moves on to the second story about a coin. I bet this one is a little harder for the Pharisees to appreciate. Of the three parties at the end of each parable, this would be the party least likely for these holy men to attend. The person in this story is a lowly woman. She is a poor village peasant. The picture is of someone of lower class than the sheep owner. Even the coin that she loses speaks to her being in a lower place.
The equivalent of ten day's wages of hard work at best. When compared to a sheep and a prodigal son, the coin is the least valuable commodity. But it is of great value to this poor woman, and she searches until she finds it. And to celebrate her finding it, she invites her friends to come and rejoice with her. Probably a potluck.
But would the powers that be attend this party? Not likely. They probably wouldn't notice her at all, much less see her plight.
I wonder if they hear Jesus say that even angels rejoice with her.
I wonder if we do.
How often do we dehumanize and alienate others? How often do we create a comfortable distance by categorizing them into types, into those “others”? The power to dehumanize is so addictive. And with that power, the powerful can do whatever they want. Almost as if they are the first two humans in the garden, seeing the rest of us as animals, giving us harsh and humiliating names, having dominion over the rest of the world. Classifying as sheep or goats, kinda like assigning us a monetary worth, serving their system, rather than seeing us as human beings created by God just like they are.
And here's the thing I think Jesus is getting at. Here's where Jesus lands in all this. Here's where Jesus always lands. In God's kingdom we have no dominion over others, and we don't get to rank their worth. In fact, OUR worth as Kingdom-dwellers is to be found in giving up our power to name others. We create space at the table for the least of these, not snatch away their chairs. We surrender power for the sake of those who have less voice in an unjust and increasingly cruel society.
We offer ourselves over to those people who like sheep have gone astray and whose cries are deemed less than human by so many. Give ourselves over to the people whose situation gives them no voice at all, as if they are no more than a forgotten coin.
Little Jimmy, who crashed the reception, was no stranger to feeling voiceless. When he was not at the church, he would wander the homeless area of Knoxville, asking for help at the Fellini Kroger. I remember once seeing an angry man throw a handful of change at his feet, shouting, “Get a job!”.
And I remember hearing him thank the man as he bent down to pick up the coins.
But in spite of all that, Little Jimmy would find his way back to St. James, and there he would be found by those who watched for him, who ministered to him, who loved him. He knew that among those sinners there was always a place for him at the table. He was our lost sheep, and he was our lost coin.
It was a bit awkward, though, on that day he stumbled into the room with new members and the bishop and went to THEIR table. The bishop had a deer-in-the-headlights look and said, “Y'all have such a beautiful church.” “Yeah, they are,” said Jimmy.
The bishop meant the building. Jimmy didn't mean the building at all. But those of us within earshot heard the difference.
I am still not sure if Little Jimmy was sober when he said that, but upon hearing it, the rest of us sure were.