Changed
Commentary
Object:
When one congregation finished its building project, the dedication team wanted to place
a sign with a verse from scripture over the door of each significant space. Worshipers
entered the sanctuary under words from Psalm 100: "Enter his gates with thanksgiving
and his courts with praise." As the younger crowd moved into the educational wing they
were greeted by Proverbs 1:7 -- "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom." At the
door to the counseling ministries was the great theme from Isaiah 40: "Comfort my
people." But not all were pleased with the scriptural tag that marked the entrance to the
nursery: "We shall not all sleep, but we shall be changed!" (1 Corinthians 15:51).
Perhaps not, but the goal of every church is to produce change. It can be a change of perception or the change of behaviors or even the altering of self-identity as one comes under the penetrating and peeling grace of God.
Each of today's passages is about change -- fundamental change -- heart change -- the change that later echoes in testimonies of old man, new man. Jeremiah tries to scare the hell out of his readers; Paul attempts to inspire heaven into them; then Jesus shames those with calloused hearts to remember the tenderness of a Father who sets the great and good divine example of welcoming home the lost and the last and the least who change again into grace-filled children of nobility.
Jeremiah 4:11-12, 22-28
Years ago, a third-rate Shakespeare repertory company in Denver, Colorado, gave one of the most abysmal performances of Hamlet ever seen. The critic of the Denver Post wrote a biting review: "There has always been an argument whether Shakespeare wrote all the plays with which he is credited, or whether the real author was the English philosopher Francis Bacon. After this evening's performance, the way to discover the truth about the so-called Baconian theory is to dig up the graves of both Shakespeare and Bacon; the one who turned over in the night is the real author."
The members of that theater troupe probably wished they were out of town before the review hit the streets. We don't relish the idea of critics judging our actions or words negatively, even if they might be right. In her book, Female Friends, Fay Weldon tells of a daughter expressing relief at her mother's death. "Now," she says, "there's one less pair of eyes to judge me." Over the years, we have all known that woman behind a hundred faces in the tortured souls that have crossed the threshold of workplaces and homes.
Often the idea of justice threatens us particularly when we think about God. "How can God be loving, if you talk about his terrifying justice?" we might ask Jeremiah after reading today's lectionary passage. We prefer the attitude of Henry Ford, who wrote in his personal diary one day: "Don't find fault; find a remedy."
Why can't God be more like Henry Ford? Well, God is, in a way. Perhaps we should say that, at his best, Henry Ford was something like God. In the grand sweep of things, God chose to find a remedy that was stronger than any fault troubling the universe.
Does that wipe out justice? Does that take the gavel out of God's hand and throw the divine law book out the window? Jeremiah hears the screaming of heaven's siren and knows that cannot be the case. God does not delight in the judgment that might fall on those who tremble at heaven's fury. After all, even while Jeremiah transmits this awful word, he hears God talk about "my people" who are "children" (v. 22). Moreover, as the punch of indictments winds up, Jeremiah also hears God lament and promise, "I will not destroy [the whole land] completely" (v. 27). In fact, as we who live this side of Jesus' coming well know from the pages of the New Testament, God delays judgment as much as possible, encouraging people and nations to find the remedy of grace (2 Peter 3).
Yet, along with ancient Israel, we cannot ignore the justice of God. The "scorching wind" out of the desert is the Babylonian army that would occupy Judah for most of Jeremiah's adult life, and eventually destroy both Jerusalem and the temple with impunity. With other spokespersons for Yahweh, Jeremiah knew that the curses of the Sinai covenant were as much a part of Israel's life as were its blessings. Yet it is precisely in this unique wedding of opposites that we might consider Jeremiah's rendition of the divine tirade as a note of hope. In other places, the prophet rejoices in the justice of God, for without it where would the widow and fatherless, the poor and oppressed, the weak and needy go to find help if there were no courts of justice in the universe to hear their pleas?
C. S. Lewis once said that he did not become a Christian until he thought about the judgment a doctor has to make between cancerous and non-malignant tissues as he wields his scalpel. Both tissues are living. Both demand food and water. Both form part of the body mass. But, said Lewis, even from our limited vantage point, we praise the doctor for dealing with the cancerous tissues in a destructive way so that the other tissues might find life and strength.
So, too, in the universe. Strangely enough, no matter how evil we are, a secret knowledge within us delights in the judgment of God. Short story writer, O. Henry, illustrated that pointedly in one of his tales. As the narrative opens, a ruthless thief sits in a city park smoking a large cigar. That morning he had swindled a child out of a dollar for his breakfast. Later he tricked a naive old man out of his savings for the fun of it. He slumps there, eyes sparkling in mischievous delight, until a young woman hurries by. The thief recognizes this woman in her simple, white dress. Years ago she was his friend at school; they had even sat together on this very bench as young lovers. But her virtues and his vices had quickly parted their paths. Now, in evening's gloaming, the full judgment of his filthy life collapses in on him. He jumps to his feet, rushes down a dark alley, pounds his burning face against the cool iron of a lamppost, and dully declares: "God, I wish I could die!"
Someday that might be the one prayer escaping from the lips of those who flaunt justice now. For, as Jeremiah and the remnant of covenant children in ancient Jerusalem knew, the grace of redemption experienced by the poor and oppressed arrives on the day when all the world's newspapers carry the same bold headline: Here Comes The Judge!
1 Timothy 1:12-17
It is very hard to read these words of Paul without hearing through them the later echoes of John Newton and the great hymn "Amazing Grace." Newton was born to a seafaring father and could not escape the oceans when his mother died while he was still young. But Newton did not take to the turbulent waters of the sea any more easily than he did to the crashing tumults of spiritual forces inside. He was pressed into service with the Royal Navy while still a boy (his father wanting to turn him into a man), tried to escape but was arrested and forced to work on a slave ship. It was during this time that he actually became a slave himself to an African woman who was married to an English slave trader. Humiliated, beaten, hungry, and homesick, Newton barely survived two years of degradation. In 1747, he escaped and caught a ship bound for England. But a violent storm nearly destroyed the vessel, and all of Newton's early Sunday school lessons came to haunt him as he recited scripture in hopes of winning God's favor. He marked this high seas near-death experience later as the point of his conversion.
It would take years to claim him, body and soul. No sooner was he back in his homeland than the lure of fortune took him back to sea as the captain of another slave ship. Making runs to Africa with colonial supplies, transport to the Bahamas with a galley overcrowded and stinking from dying slaves, and back to England with rum, Newton's mouth was as blasphemous as ever, and his brilliant wit twisted every scripture passage into a demonic homily in a drunken stage performance for his debased crew.
Still the new sap of the Spirit was coursing through his veins, and the acerbic tongue stilled gradually, replaced slowly by regret and repentance and a larger understanding of God and goodness and grace. In 1755, Newton left the sea forever, enrolling in ecclesiastical studies that placed him nine years later into the curacy of the small parish of Olney. There he served admirably for fifteen years, and became a close friend of the melancholy poet, William Cowper. Together they introduced new music into the congregation's worship, with their Olney Hymnal bequeathing to the church such grand hymns as "Amazing Grace" and "Glorious Things Of Thee Are Spoken." Furthermore, when Newton transferred to London's St. Mary, Woolnoth, parish in 1779, he leveraged the great popularity of Handel's Messiah into a series of well-publicized sermons on its texts, and in this way connected with young William Wilberforce, a fresh Parliamentarian, whom Newton mentored into the role of national abolitionist champion.
The apostle Paul's life did not reek with all of the degradation found in Newton's earlier years; still, the deliberate persecution of the followers of Jesus in the first decade after Easter haunted Paul throughout his days. Paul wrote this letter to his young protégé, Timothy, whom Paul had installed as senior pastor in one of Paul's own favorite congregations, the great church in Ephesus. Paul had spent three years nurturing that body into being during his third mission journey (Acts 19) in the mid-50s of the first century. As Paul wrote this epistle he was probably traveling to or from Spain on what would become his final church-planting itinerary. This is why Paul's personal testimony is always close at hand; he never stopped living out the mission that had transformed his own existence. Like Newton in a later generation, Paul could say, "I once was lost, but now am found; was blind, but now I see."
Furthermore, like Newton, this was not a myopic self-castigation that produced only a psychological pain, which needed to be appeased through do-gooding; instead it was a reflection on the larger values at work in life, where a God of grace and glory was also a God of mission and mercy. What happened to Paul and John Newton was not a tabloid exercise of myopic catharsis but a witness to the great power at work within the world. The emphasis here is not I was bad, but God is good.
Luke 15:1-10
It is an unfortunate judgment to break this text at verse 10. For one thing, it is clear that Jesus addresses a single group throughout this chapter. It is "the Pharisees and the teachers of the law" (v. 2) who "mutter" disrespectfully about Jesus who dares to enjoy food and conversations with the marginalized and disenfranchised of society (v. 1). It is these who will be the direct target of Jesus' most pointed story, the parable of the prodigal son in verses 11-32. As that teaching moment ends, the fingers of application are directly aimed at these religious leaders who function in their community like the older brother of the parable.
Secondly, this is why the three parables need to be reviewed in consort, and with an eye to the heightened tension that is developed as they progress. The first story is remote and removed from Jesus' hearers, making use of a pastoral setting that none of them is likely to be involved in directly. Shepherds were despised in the polite society of first-century Judaism for several reasons. For one thing, they didn't obey the property lines of civilized folk. As their sheep wandered, boundaries were crossed, and ownership dominion violated. Furthermore, shepherds were known to have sticky fingers, absconding with trinkets and baubles left unguarded by others. And, if one felt the loss of thievery after the shepherds had passed by, there was little recourse in the courts, since shepherds had a code of criminal honor that rarely broke. No shepherd would testify against another in court. To make matters worse, these wanderers remained constantly ritually unclean because of their proximity to dead animals and dung. For these reasons, no shepherd was allowed to give testimony in the legal system, nor were any allowed in synagogues or the temple. The oral traditions of Jewish teachers (promulgated by the very people Jesus was addressing) classed shepherds with four other occupations that no observant Jew should ever enter.
The silliness of shepherds seems to come through in what Jesus says about them. Why would a shepherd trade the care of nearly all his flock for the host of problems created by running after a loser lamb that is likely already dead? Kenneth Bailey gives some good social background in his book, Poet & Peasant (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1976), suggesting that a flock of 100 is managed by a team of village herders, making it possible for one to scout the hills while the others tend to the main body. Still, the ratio of effort expended to the likely outcome for profit is very imbalanced, as well Jesus knows. In fact, that is precisely his point.
The stakes get higher, however, when he moves into his next short tale. Rather than a one-hundredth loss possibility, the parable of the woman's lost coin ups the ante to one coin in ten. In social realities, however, the value is likely much greater. While we keep coins jangling in our pockets or throw them onto a counter or lose them easily on the floors of our cars, the pressed metal Jesus has in mind is probably the dowry given a bride by her father. These would not be cheap throwaway pennies, but solid masses of silver or gold that together gave testimony to the father's esteem of his daughter. A hole was punched in each coin, and a leather thong passed through so that the dowry became a piece of jewelry to be worn in honor. Over time, of course, a hole drilled too close to the edge of a coin might wear through, and the coin would fall from the string. This is the scene Jesus imagines with his hearers.
The outcome would be devastating for the woman. Suddenly the prized necklace would show its imbalance and flaw, and thereby be unwearable for shame. This, in turn, would call forth the challenges of both husband and father, each of whom would berate the woman for her mismanagement of the family treasure. As she scours her home to find the lost coin, the woman would fear her own devaluation in society. Only the recovery of the shiny bauble would renew her standing. For that reason, Jesus focuses on the joy the woman experiences when her frenzy produces results. The implication, as Jesus tacks on the moral of the story, is subtle but profound -- so, too, the sense of recovered personal worth by God only when any of God's human children is restored.
Application
Today would be a good day to find a member or two in the congregation to give a personal testimony. Along with Jeremiah, Paul, and even John Newton there have to be many who could speak of transformation such as these texts elicit. But care should be taken not merely to dwell on the fantastic and the spectacular. One longtime radio preacher, acutely aware of this, spoke about some of his friends who delighted in telling how, after years of destructive living, they came to know God and got turned around, and then made new commitments of service.
Often he would feel like a second-rate Christian, he said, because he had no amazing before-and-after stories to spread. In fact, his whole testimony could be summarized in a single rather "boring" statement: "I have never known a day in all my life when I could not believe that I was a child of God." Born into a family of believers, he had learned to pray as soon as he had learned to talk. He had read the Bible as much as comic books when younger and he trusted God as much as he trusted his parents. Not much excitement in that.
Still as he reflected further, he came to realize that this simple statement was actually an earth-shaking confession. Is it possible that from the time a child draws its first breath, it could belong to God, be part of the family and community of God, and be found in the loving care of God? Is it possible that the first language a youngster could speak would be the language of faith, and the dialect of divine love? What a testimony that is!
So, too, with many in our fellowships today. While the great turnaround stories have to be told and retold, so also must we marvel in great wonder at the grace of God that claims many of us before we've had the trauma of running too far way.
Alternative Application
1 Timothy 1:12-17. The story of John Newton, recently made widely popular in our culture by the film, Amazing Grace, can serve well to shape an entire message based upon the epistle reading. In fact, the hymn "Amazing Grace" itself could serve as the grounding note that pervades the service, with several variations sung and played and recited as prayers.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 14
It's interesting how words and meanings evolve over time. The word "atheist," means literally, one who is without God. Its root meaning doesn't have much at all to do with believing or not believing. It simply means that a particular person is "without" God. For some years after leaving home as a young man, I deserted church and all its trappings in favor of the university intellectual scene. Personally, I just needed to get away from it. It didn't occur to me that I was without God at the time. But, perhaps, I was.
What does it mean to be without God? Is it a case of rebellion, as it was in my post- adolescent college days? Is it a separation from God? Some might describe that as sin, but that's another topic. So much of what we believe suggests that it's impossible to be without God that it's difficult to imagine such a state. Unless, that is, we outright reject God.
Perhaps this is the situation that the psalm here tries to address, labeling as a fool that one who claims there is no God. Some pastors have seen this in people who have suffered horrible tragedies or traumas. A child is dead for no reason. God takes the rap, of course, and the grieving parent walks away from it all. It is, at least, understandable. What other reasons might there be for rejecting God? Over the years, the secular scientific world has tried to shed God as it came closer to understanding the universe. Then, of course, there was the famous "God is dead" business in the 1960s. There are, it seems manifold reasons for rejecting God.
The powerful truth beyond our psalm, however, is whatever state of theological rejection or denial someone may be engaged in, God doesn't reject them. Like parents weathering a child's flailing about in the midst of a temper tantrum, God's patience is epic as human folly unfolds over the centuries.
When I gingerly returned to faith and church, I found that, though I had taken a bit of a break, God had not abandoned me at all. Our God is not a God of abandonment, but rather a God of accompaniment. Even the fool who shouts that there is no God has a God. And, though it grates against the sense, even those who "devour the people," have a God.
The real trick isn't having a God. That part's easy. The tough call is being faithful to God.
Perhaps not, but the goal of every church is to produce change. It can be a change of perception or the change of behaviors or even the altering of self-identity as one comes under the penetrating and peeling grace of God.
Each of today's passages is about change -- fundamental change -- heart change -- the change that later echoes in testimonies of old man, new man. Jeremiah tries to scare the hell out of his readers; Paul attempts to inspire heaven into them; then Jesus shames those with calloused hearts to remember the tenderness of a Father who sets the great and good divine example of welcoming home the lost and the last and the least who change again into grace-filled children of nobility.
Jeremiah 4:11-12, 22-28
Years ago, a third-rate Shakespeare repertory company in Denver, Colorado, gave one of the most abysmal performances of Hamlet ever seen. The critic of the Denver Post wrote a biting review: "There has always been an argument whether Shakespeare wrote all the plays with which he is credited, or whether the real author was the English philosopher Francis Bacon. After this evening's performance, the way to discover the truth about the so-called Baconian theory is to dig up the graves of both Shakespeare and Bacon; the one who turned over in the night is the real author."
The members of that theater troupe probably wished they were out of town before the review hit the streets. We don't relish the idea of critics judging our actions or words negatively, even if they might be right. In her book, Female Friends, Fay Weldon tells of a daughter expressing relief at her mother's death. "Now," she says, "there's one less pair of eyes to judge me." Over the years, we have all known that woman behind a hundred faces in the tortured souls that have crossed the threshold of workplaces and homes.
Often the idea of justice threatens us particularly when we think about God. "How can God be loving, if you talk about his terrifying justice?" we might ask Jeremiah after reading today's lectionary passage. We prefer the attitude of Henry Ford, who wrote in his personal diary one day: "Don't find fault; find a remedy."
Why can't God be more like Henry Ford? Well, God is, in a way. Perhaps we should say that, at his best, Henry Ford was something like God. In the grand sweep of things, God chose to find a remedy that was stronger than any fault troubling the universe.
Does that wipe out justice? Does that take the gavel out of God's hand and throw the divine law book out the window? Jeremiah hears the screaming of heaven's siren and knows that cannot be the case. God does not delight in the judgment that might fall on those who tremble at heaven's fury. After all, even while Jeremiah transmits this awful word, he hears God talk about "my people" who are "children" (v. 22). Moreover, as the punch of indictments winds up, Jeremiah also hears God lament and promise, "I will not destroy [the whole land] completely" (v. 27). In fact, as we who live this side of Jesus' coming well know from the pages of the New Testament, God delays judgment as much as possible, encouraging people and nations to find the remedy of grace (2 Peter 3).
Yet, along with ancient Israel, we cannot ignore the justice of God. The "scorching wind" out of the desert is the Babylonian army that would occupy Judah for most of Jeremiah's adult life, and eventually destroy both Jerusalem and the temple with impunity. With other spokespersons for Yahweh, Jeremiah knew that the curses of the Sinai covenant were as much a part of Israel's life as were its blessings. Yet it is precisely in this unique wedding of opposites that we might consider Jeremiah's rendition of the divine tirade as a note of hope. In other places, the prophet rejoices in the justice of God, for without it where would the widow and fatherless, the poor and oppressed, the weak and needy go to find help if there were no courts of justice in the universe to hear their pleas?
C. S. Lewis once said that he did not become a Christian until he thought about the judgment a doctor has to make between cancerous and non-malignant tissues as he wields his scalpel. Both tissues are living. Both demand food and water. Both form part of the body mass. But, said Lewis, even from our limited vantage point, we praise the doctor for dealing with the cancerous tissues in a destructive way so that the other tissues might find life and strength.
So, too, in the universe. Strangely enough, no matter how evil we are, a secret knowledge within us delights in the judgment of God. Short story writer, O. Henry, illustrated that pointedly in one of his tales. As the narrative opens, a ruthless thief sits in a city park smoking a large cigar. That morning he had swindled a child out of a dollar for his breakfast. Later he tricked a naive old man out of his savings for the fun of it. He slumps there, eyes sparkling in mischievous delight, until a young woman hurries by. The thief recognizes this woman in her simple, white dress. Years ago she was his friend at school; they had even sat together on this very bench as young lovers. But her virtues and his vices had quickly parted their paths. Now, in evening's gloaming, the full judgment of his filthy life collapses in on him. He jumps to his feet, rushes down a dark alley, pounds his burning face against the cool iron of a lamppost, and dully declares: "God, I wish I could die!"
Someday that might be the one prayer escaping from the lips of those who flaunt justice now. For, as Jeremiah and the remnant of covenant children in ancient Jerusalem knew, the grace of redemption experienced by the poor and oppressed arrives on the day when all the world's newspapers carry the same bold headline: Here Comes The Judge!
1 Timothy 1:12-17
It is very hard to read these words of Paul without hearing through them the later echoes of John Newton and the great hymn "Amazing Grace." Newton was born to a seafaring father and could not escape the oceans when his mother died while he was still young. But Newton did not take to the turbulent waters of the sea any more easily than he did to the crashing tumults of spiritual forces inside. He was pressed into service with the Royal Navy while still a boy (his father wanting to turn him into a man), tried to escape but was arrested and forced to work on a slave ship. It was during this time that he actually became a slave himself to an African woman who was married to an English slave trader. Humiliated, beaten, hungry, and homesick, Newton barely survived two years of degradation. In 1747, he escaped and caught a ship bound for England. But a violent storm nearly destroyed the vessel, and all of Newton's early Sunday school lessons came to haunt him as he recited scripture in hopes of winning God's favor. He marked this high seas near-death experience later as the point of his conversion.
It would take years to claim him, body and soul. No sooner was he back in his homeland than the lure of fortune took him back to sea as the captain of another slave ship. Making runs to Africa with colonial supplies, transport to the Bahamas with a galley overcrowded and stinking from dying slaves, and back to England with rum, Newton's mouth was as blasphemous as ever, and his brilliant wit twisted every scripture passage into a demonic homily in a drunken stage performance for his debased crew.
Still the new sap of the Spirit was coursing through his veins, and the acerbic tongue stilled gradually, replaced slowly by regret and repentance and a larger understanding of God and goodness and grace. In 1755, Newton left the sea forever, enrolling in ecclesiastical studies that placed him nine years later into the curacy of the small parish of Olney. There he served admirably for fifteen years, and became a close friend of the melancholy poet, William Cowper. Together they introduced new music into the congregation's worship, with their Olney Hymnal bequeathing to the church such grand hymns as "Amazing Grace" and "Glorious Things Of Thee Are Spoken." Furthermore, when Newton transferred to London's St. Mary, Woolnoth, parish in 1779, he leveraged the great popularity of Handel's Messiah into a series of well-publicized sermons on its texts, and in this way connected with young William Wilberforce, a fresh Parliamentarian, whom Newton mentored into the role of national abolitionist champion.
The apostle Paul's life did not reek with all of the degradation found in Newton's earlier years; still, the deliberate persecution of the followers of Jesus in the first decade after Easter haunted Paul throughout his days. Paul wrote this letter to his young protégé, Timothy, whom Paul had installed as senior pastor in one of Paul's own favorite congregations, the great church in Ephesus. Paul had spent three years nurturing that body into being during his third mission journey (Acts 19) in the mid-50s of the first century. As Paul wrote this epistle he was probably traveling to or from Spain on what would become his final church-planting itinerary. This is why Paul's personal testimony is always close at hand; he never stopped living out the mission that had transformed his own existence. Like Newton in a later generation, Paul could say, "I once was lost, but now am found; was blind, but now I see."
Furthermore, like Newton, this was not a myopic self-castigation that produced only a psychological pain, which needed to be appeased through do-gooding; instead it was a reflection on the larger values at work in life, where a God of grace and glory was also a God of mission and mercy. What happened to Paul and John Newton was not a tabloid exercise of myopic catharsis but a witness to the great power at work within the world. The emphasis here is not I was bad, but God is good.
Luke 15:1-10
It is an unfortunate judgment to break this text at verse 10. For one thing, it is clear that Jesus addresses a single group throughout this chapter. It is "the Pharisees and the teachers of the law" (v. 2) who "mutter" disrespectfully about Jesus who dares to enjoy food and conversations with the marginalized and disenfranchised of society (v. 1). It is these who will be the direct target of Jesus' most pointed story, the parable of the prodigal son in verses 11-32. As that teaching moment ends, the fingers of application are directly aimed at these religious leaders who function in their community like the older brother of the parable.
Secondly, this is why the three parables need to be reviewed in consort, and with an eye to the heightened tension that is developed as they progress. The first story is remote and removed from Jesus' hearers, making use of a pastoral setting that none of them is likely to be involved in directly. Shepherds were despised in the polite society of first-century Judaism for several reasons. For one thing, they didn't obey the property lines of civilized folk. As their sheep wandered, boundaries were crossed, and ownership dominion violated. Furthermore, shepherds were known to have sticky fingers, absconding with trinkets and baubles left unguarded by others. And, if one felt the loss of thievery after the shepherds had passed by, there was little recourse in the courts, since shepherds had a code of criminal honor that rarely broke. No shepherd would testify against another in court. To make matters worse, these wanderers remained constantly ritually unclean because of their proximity to dead animals and dung. For these reasons, no shepherd was allowed to give testimony in the legal system, nor were any allowed in synagogues or the temple. The oral traditions of Jewish teachers (promulgated by the very people Jesus was addressing) classed shepherds with four other occupations that no observant Jew should ever enter.
The silliness of shepherds seems to come through in what Jesus says about them. Why would a shepherd trade the care of nearly all his flock for the host of problems created by running after a loser lamb that is likely already dead? Kenneth Bailey gives some good social background in his book, Poet & Peasant (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1976), suggesting that a flock of 100 is managed by a team of village herders, making it possible for one to scout the hills while the others tend to the main body. Still, the ratio of effort expended to the likely outcome for profit is very imbalanced, as well Jesus knows. In fact, that is precisely his point.
The stakes get higher, however, when he moves into his next short tale. Rather than a one-hundredth loss possibility, the parable of the woman's lost coin ups the ante to one coin in ten. In social realities, however, the value is likely much greater. While we keep coins jangling in our pockets or throw them onto a counter or lose them easily on the floors of our cars, the pressed metal Jesus has in mind is probably the dowry given a bride by her father. These would not be cheap throwaway pennies, but solid masses of silver or gold that together gave testimony to the father's esteem of his daughter. A hole was punched in each coin, and a leather thong passed through so that the dowry became a piece of jewelry to be worn in honor. Over time, of course, a hole drilled too close to the edge of a coin might wear through, and the coin would fall from the string. This is the scene Jesus imagines with his hearers.
The outcome would be devastating for the woman. Suddenly the prized necklace would show its imbalance and flaw, and thereby be unwearable for shame. This, in turn, would call forth the challenges of both husband and father, each of whom would berate the woman for her mismanagement of the family treasure. As she scours her home to find the lost coin, the woman would fear her own devaluation in society. Only the recovery of the shiny bauble would renew her standing. For that reason, Jesus focuses on the joy the woman experiences when her frenzy produces results. The implication, as Jesus tacks on the moral of the story, is subtle but profound -- so, too, the sense of recovered personal worth by God only when any of God's human children is restored.
Application
Today would be a good day to find a member or two in the congregation to give a personal testimony. Along with Jeremiah, Paul, and even John Newton there have to be many who could speak of transformation such as these texts elicit. But care should be taken not merely to dwell on the fantastic and the spectacular. One longtime radio preacher, acutely aware of this, spoke about some of his friends who delighted in telling how, after years of destructive living, they came to know God and got turned around, and then made new commitments of service.
Often he would feel like a second-rate Christian, he said, because he had no amazing before-and-after stories to spread. In fact, his whole testimony could be summarized in a single rather "boring" statement: "I have never known a day in all my life when I could not believe that I was a child of God." Born into a family of believers, he had learned to pray as soon as he had learned to talk. He had read the Bible as much as comic books when younger and he trusted God as much as he trusted his parents. Not much excitement in that.
Still as he reflected further, he came to realize that this simple statement was actually an earth-shaking confession. Is it possible that from the time a child draws its first breath, it could belong to God, be part of the family and community of God, and be found in the loving care of God? Is it possible that the first language a youngster could speak would be the language of faith, and the dialect of divine love? What a testimony that is!
So, too, with many in our fellowships today. While the great turnaround stories have to be told and retold, so also must we marvel in great wonder at the grace of God that claims many of us before we've had the trauma of running too far way.
Alternative Application
1 Timothy 1:12-17. The story of John Newton, recently made widely popular in our culture by the film, Amazing Grace, can serve well to shape an entire message based upon the epistle reading. In fact, the hymn "Amazing Grace" itself could serve as the grounding note that pervades the service, with several variations sung and played and recited as prayers.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 14
It's interesting how words and meanings evolve over time. The word "atheist," means literally, one who is without God. Its root meaning doesn't have much at all to do with believing or not believing. It simply means that a particular person is "without" God. For some years after leaving home as a young man, I deserted church and all its trappings in favor of the university intellectual scene. Personally, I just needed to get away from it. It didn't occur to me that I was without God at the time. But, perhaps, I was.
What does it mean to be without God? Is it a case of rebellion, as it was in my post- adolescent college days? Is it a separation from God? Some might describe that as sin, but that's another topic. So much of what we believe suggests that it's impossible to be without God that it's difficult to imagine such a state. Unless, that is, we outright reject God.
Perhaps this is the situation that the psalm here tries to address, labeling as a fool that one who claims there is no God. Some pastors have seen this in people who have suffered horrible tragedies or traumas. A child is dead for no reason. God takes the rap, of course, and the grieving parent walks away from it all. It is, at least, understandable. What other reasons might there be for rejecting God? Over the years, the secular scientific world has tried to shed God as it came closer to understanding the universe. Then, of course, there was the famous "God is dead" business in the 1960s. There are, it seems manifold reasons for rejecting God.
The powerful truth beyond our psalm, however, is whatever state of theological rejection or denial someone may be engaged in, God doesn't reject them. Like parents weathering a child's flailing about in the midst of a temper tantrum, God's patience is epic as human folly unfolds over the centuries.
When I gingerly returned to faith and church, I found that, though I had taken a bit of a break, God had not abandoned me at all. Our God is not a God of abandonment, but rather a God of accompaniment. Even the fool who shouts that there is no God has a God. And, though it grates against the sense, even those who "devour the people," have a God.
The real trick isn't having a God. That part's easy. The tough call is being faithful to God.
