Jesus was invited to an LSU tailgate party the other day and he saw a wall of televisions broadcasting college football games, but none of them were on the LSU game. He asked them, “Why are you not watching LSU?” The man near the buffalo wings replied, “Oh, we don’t watch LSU play, we watch all the other teams play so that we can watch them lose.” Jesus stepped in front of the television sets, which they weren’t happy about, and he told them a story. He said, “Which one of you, having 100 employees and one of them not showing up, does not leave the ninety-nine in the office and go look for the missing employee? And when she has found him, brings him back to the office and throws a party for him in the conference room? Truly I tell you, there is more joy over the safe return of a lousy employee than ninety-nine seasoned veterans who never have any problems.” But the crowd just yelled at him to get out of the way because Bama was about to lose.
Ok, I’m paraphrasing because after reading these parables, I’m left with lots of questions. The first thing I often do when reading Jesus’ parables is to search myself in order to identify with a particular character. Am I the lost sheep, scared, frightened, and alone? Am I one of the ninety-nine righteous, who needs to repentance? Am I a grumbling Pharisee who can’t see the joy of what Jesus is doing? So, my first question is “Who am I in the story,” except Jesus’ parables are not about me; they are about God—A God who tirelessly searches behind thorn bushes and sweeps the dark corners of the world to find each and every precious soul.
The second question I ask is “What if the story ended differently?” A reasonable response to this story of the lost sheep is how the sheep was lost in the first place. Sounds like we’re dealing with a pretty crummy shepherd if a sheep can wander off so easily. At least, in Disney World, when a child is wandering alone, it is not the child who is lost; it’s the parents. My daughter is a doddler and a dreamer. When we take walks after dinner we have to constantly stop because she pauses and looks and smiles at butterflies and becomes awestruck at the weeds growing in between the cracks of the pavement. So what do I do? I take her by the hand and say, “Come on, let’s keep moving,” because the point of walking is to walk. But I wonder when was the last time I paused to listen to nature’s evening choir. I mean, when I see a weed, my only thought is how to kill it; but a weed is simply an unloved flower in the wrong place. Come to think of it, I don’t think there are any weeds, any unloved flowers in the Kingdom of God. So, I wonder if the parable was different, if the shepherd came to the sheep and said, “Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you,” and the sheep replies, “Maaaaster. I’ve been here the whole time.” But the parable is not about me or what I want it to say. It is about God—A God who gives us the grace and the space to wonder and wander and doddle and dream, and when our dreams turn to nightmares, God welcomes us home with joy.
But what if the story went like this:
“Where have you been, my precious sheep? I thought I’d never found you.”
“I’m not interested in being found. Thanks but no thanks.”
Dr. Tom Long says it this way: Many years ago I read an essay in which a woman was reminiscing about her father. She said that when she was young, she was very close to her father. The time she experienced this closeness the most was when they would have big family gatherings with all the aunts and uncles and cousins. At some point, someone would pull out the old record player and put on polka records, and the family would dance. Eventually, someone would put on the “Beer Barrel Polka;” and when the music of the “Beer Barrel Polka” played, her father would come up to her, tap her on the shoulder and say, “I believe this is our dance,” and they would dance. One time, though, when she was a teenager and in one of those teenaged moods and the “Beer Barrel Polka” began to play and when her father tapped her on the shoulder and said, “I believe this is our dance,” she snapped at him, “Don’t touch me! Leave me alone!” And her father turned away and never asked her to dance again.
“Our relationship was difficult all through my teen years,” she wrote. “When I would come home late from a date, my father would be sitting there in his chair, half asleep, wearing an old bathrobe, and I would snarl at him, “What do you think you’re doing?” He would look at me with sad eyes and say, “I was just waiting on you.”
“When I went away to college,” the woman wrote, “I was so glad to get out of his house and away from him and for years I never communicated with him, but as I grew older, I began to miss him. One day I decided to go to the next family gathering, and when I was there, somebody put on the “Beer Barrel Polka.” I drew up a deep breath, walked over to my father, tapped him on the shoulder and said, “I believe this is our dance.” He turned toward me and said, “I’ve been waiting for you.” But this parable is not about me or what I want it to say. It’s about God—A God who extends a patient hand whispering, “I believe this is our dance.”
Maybe we miss the point by trying to identify with a particular character in the story. I would imagine that at some point or another we have exemplified all of these characters. I know I have scoffed and grumbled as a Pharisee, claimed to be one of the righteous ninety-nine, and quivered silently in the unknown. Whether you are here today filled with Pharisaic antagonism, or self righteous pride, or fear of being lost, know this: In the hearing of these words, you have been found; therefore I ask you, charge you with fulfilling your true role in these stories. We are not to be the Pharisees, nor the ninety-nine, nor the lost one. “When the shepherd comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.’ ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin I had lost.’ ‘Rejoice with me, for my son who was lost is now found, was dead and is now alive.’” Are we not in the house of God today? Are we not asked to rejoice over that which God is doing? Rejoice with me–that our day school is overflowing with children. Rejoice with me–that we have heard beautiful music today. Rejoice with me–that our youth are learning about what it means to be a disciple of Christ! Rejoice with me–that God is giving you your next breath free of charge. Rejoice with me–that we’ve made it to September 12th. Rejoice with me! It is the one thing the Shepherd asks his friends to do. Amen and Amen.