The Scandalous Shepherd

Parable of the Lost Sheep by Max 7

September 18, 2016

Gospel Reading: Luke 15:1-7

¹Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus. ²And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, "This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them."

³So he told them this parable: ⁴"Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? ⁵When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices. ⁶And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.' ⁷Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.

Sermon:  “The Scandalous Shepherd”

I was born to be invisible.  I don’t even have a proper name: Mikra they call me, which is just a pun on “tiny” in my language.  Can you imagine?  Living your whole life with someone shouting “tiny” to get your attention?  It doesn’t do much for the self-esteem, I’ll tell you that. 

But a slave doesn’t really need a name, I suppose.  We’re not really treated like humans anyway.  I didn’t have any of those things other children did.  My mother was a slave; my father was her master.  As soon as I could talk, I was sold to a family for my whole life.  And so, I found myself a young girl, taking care of the privileged children of a wealthy family.  At first I resented being invisible, only being seen when a glass needed filled or a bath needed drawn.  Eventually, though, my invisibility as a tiny thing in the world – Mikra – became my armor.  I could slip through a room without anyone even noticing me.  I could dash through the market with barely a glance from anyone, not even the merchants I was buying things for my master from.  Which is what I was doing the day I saw him.

I was in the market to get some fresh dates for my master for a big dinner that night, and saw people gathering around some raggedy man.  This is normal for the market, and I almost passed by.  But then I noticed the people: both the visible and invisible ones, standing together around this man.

Now, you may not know who the invisible people are, and if you don’t, well, you’re one of the visible ones.  The invisible people are like me, the ones who serve you at restaurants, the ones who wash the dishes, the ones who made your Belk outfit at some factory in Bangladesh, the ones who ask for change outside of Cooper’s Pharmacy, and the ones who are so glad school’s started back because it means their kids get fed at least once a day. 

There are so many of us invisible people, but usually, just like in my day, we’re kept in our place.  But that morning in the marketplace, the invisible people – called “sinners” or “lazy” or “addicted” or “foreign” by the visible ones – gathered around this Jesus fellow to hear what he had to say.

I worked my usual magic trick and wove my way into the crowd without anyone noticing, until I was right in front of him.  That’s where the scribes and Pharisees, the most visible people of all, were.  (They’re used to being in front, you see.)  And they were shouting at him from their well-washed faces, saying he was eating with and welcoming sinners.  Jesus, you see, was making the invisible people visible.  And those who were used to not seeing us did not like it one tiny (Mikra) bit.

As if working some magical misdirection of his own, this Jesus started talking about sheep of all things.  I can’t remember all of it, but the essence was that if you had 100 sheep, and 1 wandered away, a good shepherd would leave the 99 and go find the lost 1.  And then that shepherd would invite everyone to a lavish party to celebrate the 1 sheep who was missing, who was home again.  You could immediately tell who in that crowd identified with the 99 and who identified with the 1.  Those visible, powerful Pharisees knew they were being insulted somehow, but couldn’t quite put their finger on it.  We invisible slaves knew that Jesus was putting us first, for the first time ever in our lives. 

You see, it takes a lost sheep to know one.  It takes someone who’s used to being invisible to find others like us.  Because, I guarantee you, those 99 sheep didn’t even realize 1 was missing until the shepherd left them.  And those Pharisees and scribes didn’t even realize what they were missing about Jesus’ story until he ascended into heaven.  They just knew that this “kingdom of heaven” he described sounded topsy-turvy and backwards to the way the world was supposed to be. 

But for us – those who knew we were lost because we were trapped in systems of oppression and injustice not of our own making – we knew that this story, these words, were the gospel, good news.  We knew this Jesus fellow came to shine God’s gracious light on us invisible ones, until we were seen for who we were and valued as children of God.

Now, I hope this doesn’t offend you, but I couldn’t help but notice how very visible you people are.  I mean, your faces are clean, your hands, too, and you probably have proper names and all.  Maybe you even knew your parents.  I’m betting you even had a say about whether you’d come here today, and no one ordered you to.  You get to choose so much of your life.  It’s not chosen for you.  That, my friends, means you’re visible. 

But we invisible ones – we Mikras – still exist.  And, I mean this with all humility and kindness, Jesus came not just so you would see God, but so you would see us.  Do you?  Because if you’re reading this sheep story and thinking you’re the lost ones and feeling good that Jesus found you, you’re missing it like those Pharisees and scribes did the day he first told this story.  You’re the 99.  Jesus knows right where you are, and knows that sometimes you’re so set in your ways, so penned in, that he can’t create real repentance and change in you. 

So he’s off somewhere else, searching for that 1.  That 1 person who needs to know God is there for them, even if no one else is.  That 1 person who needs to be seen by another human being.  The impatient waiter who you give a tiny tip to because they don’t fill up your tea enough, when it’s a miracle they’re on their feet still after working 3 straight shifts to keep the lights at home on. 

The child slave who works on a cocoa plantation in Western Africa against their will so you can enjoy your Snickers bar. 

The Native American elder trying to save their burial grounds from bulldozers. 

The student who keeps falling asleep in class because she has to care for her younger siblings after school, and then stay up late helping her mom with complicated paperwork as the sole English speaker in her household.

See how uncomfortable it is when Jesus makes the invisible ones like me visible?  You can understand why those scribes and Pharisees were so angry.  Leaving the 99 to search for the 1 is not only a little reckless, it’s scandalous. 

But, it seems to me this whole Jesus movement was all pretty scandalous – God becoming a poor, brown-skinned Jew.  God exposing all the invisible people and prejudices we weren’t supposed to talk about.  God letting the resulting anger spill over, and taking all that hatred upon himself.  God then putting that anger in a grave and rising above it all.  The gospel is all one big, beautiful scandal.

So, I suppose my question for you is, what are you going to do about it?  Are you willing to leave the 99 to find that 1 invisible person, leaving behind your comfort and created worldview and cushy pews for the sake of the gospel? 

Because, the thing is, it’s good news for you, too, not just for that 1.  When the 99 and the 1 are reunited, God throws a party that rocks the heavens themselves.  Everyone wins.  Everyone celebrates.  And everyone has a home, and a name.  Even me.  Amen.