So, one Sunday at St. James, Knoxville, we were having a reception for newly confirmed members with the bishop, when Little Jimmy staggered in. Usually, he would wander in before the worship service, asking folks for a few dollars 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.
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.
These riffraff are infiltrating the Jewish suburbs, sleeping in apartment entrances, doing who knows what, and, once again, the party goes south. 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, 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 less than human.
But before we judge them too harshly, let's cut them a little slack. When they hear the story of the sheep, I can see them thinking, “Hey, this guy has 100 sheep. He's got to be sort of well off. 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.
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. What is lost is not a living, breathing creature but rather a thing, an inanimate object.
Some wise folk think that the coin was a part of the family savings but, if so, it was not a great amount. The equivalent of ten day's wages 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.
But would Jesus' listeners attend this party? Not likely. Since she is poor, she is seen as cursed. Go to her party? Likely a unanimous "No" among the Pharisees. We don't want to be seen in her presence with her people and taint our reputations.
I wonder if they hear Jesus say that even angels rejoice with her.
I wonder if we do.
How often do we keep others at arms length based on our perceptions of them? How often do we create a comfortable distance by categorizing them into types, into “others”? So often people do this because it gives the power over the other. And with that power, they can do whatever they want. We're almost like Adam and Eve, naming them as we wish, having dominion over their place in our world. It's kinda like classifying species of sheep, kinda like assigning the worth of a coin.
But here's the thing I think Jesus is getting at. 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 do that for the sake of creating space at the table for the least of these. We surrender it for the sake of those who have less voice in an uneven and unjust 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 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 in his face at point-blank range. I remember him telling me to imagine an entire day where your eyes do not meet someone else's, because not one person looks you directly in the face. And I remember him telling me how frightening some streets are at night, where screams are so common that no one even looks up to see who is hurt or in danger.
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.
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.
Finally, a new member in her finery made a nervous attempt at conversation with him. "This is such a beautiful, fine church. What is your favorite part?" Little Jimmy looked at her with bleary, tired eyes and replied, "Hey, I don't play favorites. I love all of you."
She seemed unsure what he meant, and most of us who heard them assumed that his words were filtering through a haze. "Oh," the woman attempted to clarify, "I mean the sanctuary where we just worshipped."
"Oh," said Little Jimmy with grin, "I mean the sanctuary you give me. I don't play favorites. I love all of you."
I am still not sure if Little Jimmy was sober when he said that, but upon hearing it, the rest of us sure were.
Amen.