Waiting for the Guests to Arrive [Proper 19C]

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson

Luke 15:1-10

Waiting for the Guests to Arrive

Today's Gospel takes place in a high school cafeteria, apparently. And Jesus, how embarrassing for him, is sitting at the wrong table. And that is a real problem for the Pharisees, who, in this story, are playing the cool kids, the in-crowd.

Jesus has potential; before he doesn't, at the end of the Gospel, he has a pretty strong following; so, he maybe could be one of them, one of the popular guys. But the problem is: he is sitting with the losers, with the outcasts, with the social pariahs. It's a bad look. He spends way too much time with people who don't matter. And, if we're being honest, not enough time with them. The Pharisees are jealous, angry, put out that Jesus would actually choose to grace those people with his presence.

They don't understand how Jesus could possibly be interested rubbing elbows, breaking bread, with sinners. They don't understand why he would waste his time, why he would risk his reputation. And so Jesus decides to tell them two stories, stories that he thinks will help them understand his heart, and therefore God's heart, better.

It doesn't go very well. See, the first story is about a stinky kid, a shepherd, who, by the time Luke's Gospel is penned, are associated less with King David and more with the shifty, the thieving, and the drifters; one ancient rabbi goes so far as to lump them in with the camel drivers, and you know that's not good. And the second story is about a poor girl. So, two characters unlikely to be invited to the Pharisees' table anytime soon.

And to make matters worse, Jesus, who is already on the outs with the religious leaders, suggests in his story that the stinky kid and the poor girl are who God is like. And that's not generally how the story is told; God is supposed like a king or like a priest or like a powerful business man; not like a poor person. So this is a problem: Jesus not only dines with questionable characters, he thinks God is one of them. And the truth is: that's not how this works; the Pharisees don't need Jesus, some upstart, to explain God to them; this is their business. And they are doing just fine without him, thank you.

And honestly, is this the kind of God we want anyway, a God like this shepherd, a God like the insufficiently financed woman? The characters in Jesus' stories are not kings and queens; they are not wealthy or respected. They lose things. They are uncomfortably vulnerable. And when they find the lost items, sometimes items lost in the house, they throw embarrassingly excessive celebrations. And let's be honest, the cool kids are not going to those parties. And at this point, Jesus has completely lost the religious leaders, who frankly didn't like him much before he chose the wrong friends and told his strange stories. And you can be sure, they are not interested in his stinky, poor God, this so-called prophet who sits at the loser's table.

Some time has past since Jesus told his stories, these stories we heard today. Shepherds are now for most of us a foreign concept. Lamps are lit only in houses when the power goes out. The world has grown up and, today more than most, we are reminded that this world is dangerous, and so this God, the God to whom Jesus alludes in his old stories, this God with the excessive mercy and the absurd celebrations and the desperate invitations to a disinterested guest list, does not appear to meet the needs of our world. If we need a strong president, as we are so often told, we certainly can't settle for a weak God who errs on the side of excessive mercy. And so rather than search the margins, rather than check the loser's table for our Divinity, we have created a God for our dangerous times – a God who grants us the mercy we deserve, and rules the rest of the world with an iron fist of justice, a God who blesses our bombs and sends our enemies to Hell.

The world is simply too dangerous for the God of Jesus' stories. This world is too harsh for such a merciful, for such a vulnerable God. I mean the God in today's parables seems great: so loving, so joyful, so excited. But this world is tough; this world would break that God's heart.

This God invites us, practically begs us, to rejoice over every lost cause that comes home – every prodigal son, every lost sheep, every undeserving misfit who stumbles onto God's excessive mercy. This God wants us to not just tolerate, but actually celebrate when other people get more than they deserve. Which of course is not fair. It's not the way the world is supposed to work.

There is an old Jewish story about a hardworking farmer; it goes a little something like this. God appears to a farmer and grants him three wishes, but with the condition that whatever God gives the farmer, God will give the farmer's neighbor double. Delighted by his good fortune, the farmer wishes for one hundred cattle. Sure enough, God gives him one hundred cattle. It is an incredibly generous gift. The farmer is thrilled. And then he sees that God gave his neighbor two hundred cattle and he starts to feel weird, upset, even; it is hard to explain but his joy starts to fade. But he has two more wishes. And so for his second wish, the farmer asks God for one hundred acres of land. God is delighted and gives the farmer the amazing gift for which he asked, and, of course, as per their deal, two hundred acres for the neighbor. But rather than receive the land with the appropriate excitement, the farmer seethes as he bitterly watches his neighbor joyfully prance around on his much larger piece of land. And so with his heart pounding, his nostrils flaring, the farmer makes his third and final request. He says to God, “I wish for you to strike me blind in one eye.” And God wept.¹

I mean, mercy is great. It's nice that God is generous – until someone else gets more than we think they deserve. Jesus, by telling these parables, confronts the bitterness and jealousy that lives in the human heart – and not just in the hearts of the Pharisees. When we want justice to roll down like a flood, God shows mercy. And it is not fair. The lost wandered off and we stayed. And God shows mercy. And it is not fair.

It is a tale of the human heart vs. the heart of God. Somehow it is easier to live with the idea that God might send most of the world to Hell than it is to live with a God who loves too much, who is too merciful, who would welcome us all into Heaven. It is easier to accept the shepherd who writes off the lost sheep to stay with the ninety-nine. There is an absurdity to God's mercy that always clashes with our sense of merit. Somehow it is always God's mercy that is most offensive.

I worry about this big-hearted God like I worry about my big-hearted kids. They dance like crazy in the middle of stores in embarrassing ways. They fall for silly things with excessive passion. They open their hearts to people who are strange and smelly and poor; they do things like stop in the street to explain Pokemon Go to the homeless man everyone else is trying to avoid. They shake with joy over ten-cent lollipops. And that makes me happy; it makes me happy that they wear their big-hearts out in the open.

But also it breaks my heart. Because I grew up and so I know how this story turns out. I know that one day this hard world will do everything it can to steal that innocence from them. And it will tell them how to act like a grown up. And it will teach them that justice is more important than mercy; and it will teach them to guard their hearts; and it will teach them to look at other people with suspicion and fear; and it will teach them that those people get what they deserve. This world will break their big-hearts.

Mercy has a tough go in this world. This world doesn't celebrate the return of the lost sheep. This world punishes the sheep and fires the shepherd. This world doesn't celebrate the discovery of the lost coin. This world finds a way to move that coin into the coffer of someone more responsible.

In this dangerous world, in this violent, grown-up world, Jesus gives us a child-like God. A God whose big-heart is too exposed; a God whose mercy is excessive, whose celebrations are absurd, who sends desperate invitations to a disinterested guest list. And let's be honest, not many people are interested in that party. This is a tough world and it's going to break God's heart.

Over and over and over again. And God knows that. But the tears don't stop the party. Our God still naively believes in every lost cause. And so God leaves the door, and the heart, wide-open. This is our God, our generous, vulnerable, merciful God, shaking in joyous anticipation, just waiting, still waiting, always waiting, for the guests to arrive.

1New Interpreters Bible, 298.