A Sermon Delivered by The Rev. John D. Painter at Centenary United Methodist Church, Metuchen, New Jersey September 13, 2009 (Homecoming Sunday)

Text: Luke 15:1-32
The Story of the Lost Sheep
By this time a lot of men and women of doubtful reputation were hanging around Jesus, listening intently. The Pharisees and religion scholars were not pleased, not at all pleased. They growled, “He takes in sinners and eats meals with them, treating them like old friends.” Their grumbling triggered this story.
“Suppose one of you had a hundred sheep and lost one. Wouldn’t you leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the lost one until you found it? When found, you can be sure you would put it across your shoulders, rejoicing, and when you got home call in your friends and neighbors, saying, ‘Celebrate with me! I’ve found my lost sheep!’ Count on it—there’s more joy in heaven over one sinner’s rescued life than over ninety-nine good people in no need of res-cue.

The Story of the Lost Coin
“Or imagine a woman who has ten coins and loses one. Won’t she light a lamp and scour the house, looking in every nook and cranny until she finds it? And when she finds it you can be sure she’ll call her friends and neighbors: ‘Celebrate with me! I found my lost coin!’ Count on it—that’s the kind of party God’s angels throw every time one lost soul turns to God.”
The Story of the Lost Son
Then he said, “There was once a man who had two sons. The younger said to his father, ‘Father, I want right now what’s coming to me.’
“So the father divided the property between them. It wasn’t long before the younger son packed his bags and left for a distant country. There, undisciplined and dissipated, he wasted everything he had. After he had gone through all his money, there was a bad famine all through that country and he began to hurt. He signed on with a citizen there who assigned him to his fields to slop the pigs. He was so hungry he would have eaten the corncobs in the pig slop, but no one would give him any.
“That brought him to his senses. He said, ‘All those farmhands working for my father sit down to three meals a day, and here I am starving to death. I’m going back to my father. I’ll say to him, Father, I’ve sinned against God, I’ve sinned before you; I don’t deserve to be called your son. Take me on as a hired hand.’ He got right up and went home to his father.
“When he was still a long way off, his father saw him. His heart pounding, he ran out, embraced him, and kissed him. The son started his speech: ‘Father, I’ve sinned against God, I’ve sinned before you; I don’t deserve to be called your son ever again.’
“But the father wasn’t listening. He was calling to the servants, ‘Quick. Bring a clean set of clothes and dress him. Put the family ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Then get a grain-fed heifer and roast it. We’re going to feast! We’re going to have a wonderful time! My son is here—given up for dead and now alive! Given up for lost and now found!’ And they began to have a wonderful time.
“All this time his older son was out in the field. When the day’s work was done he came in. As he approached the house, he heard the music and dancing. Calling over one of the house-boys, he asked what was going on. He told him, ‘Your brother came home. Your father has or-dered a feast—barbecued beef!—because he has him home safe and sound.’
“The older brother stalked off in an angry sulk and refused to join in. His father came out and tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen. The son said, ‘Look how many years I’ve stayed here serving you, never giving you one moment of grief, but have you ever thrown a party for me and my friends? Then this son of yours who has thrown away your money on whores shows up and you go all out with a feast!’
“His father said, ‘Son, you don’t understand. You’re with me all the time, and everything that is mine is yours—but this is a wonderful time, and we had to celebrate. This brother of yours was dead, and he’s alive! He was lost, and he’s found!’” —Luke 15:1-32, THE MESSAGE
Tina and I have been married for a few months over 44 years, now, and I don’t know why it slowly dawned on me this week that, since 1968—when I received my first pastoral appoint-ment—she has heard the same preacher pretty much every Sunday morning. God bless her! She has seldom complained…at least not to me. ? But I can imagine that one of the blessings of our upcoming retirement will be an opportunity for her to hear a different voice on Sunday mornings.
One minor complaint she did share with me a few years back, however, was that if she heard one more sermon from me about the Parable of the Prodigal Son, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do. There was some talk about either boycotting the service or walking out on it. You’ll notice she’s not here this morning, in her usual spot in the choir! Well, let me assure you that it has nothing to do with my sermon this morning and everything to do with the decision by the Chamber of Commerce to postpone yesterday’s Townwide Garage Sale until today. She’s at home holding down the driveway with our son, trying to dispose of a whole heck of a lot of “stuff” that has accumulated over 44 years, including a lot of things from her mother who died just a year ago this past Friday.
When I learned early yesterday morning that the garage sale was being postponed, I teased Tina and said she wasn’t going to have to endure another sermon on the Parable of the Prodigal Son. But, in truth, I’m not really preaching on this—at least to me— beloved parable as much as I am using it as a Scriptural jumping-off place for a message about radical hospitality.
It is the radical hospitality embodied in the father who waits with anticipation for the re-turn of the prodigal and, when he sees him far off down the road, lifts his robe up around his knees and runs down the dusty path to embrace him. That is the way the parable describes the divine radical hospitality of our merciful and gracious God. In fact, only recently, I heard some-one observe that no other faith in this world has a God who picks his robe up above his knees and runs down the street to embrace a sinner and welcome that profligate child back home. What a powerful statement…what an incredible image of grace and acceptance! Welcome home!
Ever since I heard it when the sitcom first debuted on TV back in 1982, I have thought the theme song from “Cheers” ought to have been written for the church more than for a friendly neighborhood tavern. Do you remember that catchy song?
Making your way in the world today takes everything you’ve got.
Taking a break from all your worries sure would help a lot.
Wouldn’t you like to get away? Sometimes you want to go
where everybody knows your name, and they’re always glad you came.
You wanna be where you can see, our troubles are all the same.
You wanna be where everybody knows your name.
You wanna go where people know, people are all the same.
You wanna go where everybody knows your name.
“Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name, and they’re always glad you came.” “Be glad there’s one place in the world where everybody knows your name,” the theme song continues. That seems to me to express the kind of radical hospitality we ought to be striving for as a faith community. And I think it reflects something of the radical, divine hospital-ity of our grace-filled God who knows not only our names, but knows our lives, knows us inti-mately…and is always glad when we come home.
Recently I have been engaged in an ongoing conversation with a younger pastor about aspects of Christian theology. In the midst of that dialogue, this young pastor spoke of the impact on his life of a mid-20th century theologian, and it surprised me. I didn’t know that Paul Tillich was still being read and that his ideas were still current in the minds of some of our younger cler-gy. Generally considered one of the twentieth century’s outstanding and influential religious thinkers, Paul Tillich came to the United States from his native Germany in 1933. For many years he taught at Union Theological Seminary in New York City…where I was fortunate to hear him preach in 1964, just before he retired.
The reason I mention my surprise at this young pastor’s familiarity and comfort with Til-lichian theology is that by a “Godincidence” this past week I received a quotation from the very sermon I heard Paul Tillich deliver at Union Seminary in New York: “Grace strikes us when we are in great pain and restlessness…. Sometimes at that moment a wave of light breaks into our darkness, and it is as though a voice were saying: ‘You are accepted.’” Some of you may re-member I included that quotation among the “Thoughts for This Week” in my congregational E-pistle last Thursday.
“You are accepted.” Hearing that sermon…hearing that profound witness to inclusion and grace…and later reading that sermon had a great impact on my life. In many ways it contin-ues to do so as I rediscover again and again the truth of Tillich’s observation, that we are ac-cepted. He said that “The courage to be is the courage to accept oneself as accepted in spite of being unacceptable… this is the genuine meaning of the Paulinian-Lutheran doctrine of ‘justifica-tion by faith’.”
Reflecting on Christian faith and grace many centuries before Paul Tillich, St. Augustine may have put it a little more simply when he wrote: “God loves you as though you are the only person in the world, and he loves everyone the way he loves you.”
However, Anna Warner probably stated it the most simply: “Jesus loves me! This I know, for the Bible tells me so.” In fact, the story is told that when Karl Barth, another of the giant German theologians of the twentieth century was asked to summarize his understanding of the Christian faith, he thought but for a moment before quoting the words from that beloved child-hood hymn.
“You are accepted,” Paul Tillich said, and now—many years later—I am being reminded of the powerful impact that simple statement has had on my own faith journey. I first heard and read those words in the 1960s. And while they touched my mind and spirit in exciting ways then, I know I did not experience the full impact of that phrase until much later.
Almost ten years ago I faced a critical moment in my life. I had to make a choice that would quite literally either save my life or end it. Many of you are aware of those circumstances because I have not hidden them…but I don’t think I’ve ever spoken openly about them from the pulpit. Slowly, and almost without my awareness of it happening, I had been consuming ever greater quantities of alcohol. Scotch on the rocks was my drink of preference. My wife, the Li-brarian, says Scotch tastes like dusty books! While I’m not sure how she knows what dusty books taste like, I enjoyed the smoky, silky taste…I enjoyed it too much. To a point where it threatened my family, my pastoral ministry, and my health.
For the most part, I was probably what my Sponsor often described as a “functional alco-holic.” But even that was becoming unhinged. With the support and encouragement of family, friends and the D.S.—some of it pretty strong encouragement!—I made the decision to stop con-suming alcohol on March 8, 2000—Ash Wednesday. And with the help of the Pastor who was to become my Sponsor, during the following days made my way to another United Methodist Church in the area and the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous. That first night in an AA meeting I found myself saying words I once thought would never come out of my mouth: “My name is John, and I’m an alcoholic.”
The folk in that smoke-filled, basement room greeted me warmly: “Hi, John!” But it wasn’t their acceptance I was worried about. I had to return to my own church later that evening and attend an important meeting of our congregational leadership, where it was imperative that I share this reality with them about who I was and who I was becoming. My Sponsor had told me that when he became sober and publicly confessed his own addiction, his greatest fear was rejec-tion. And I can tell you, that was mine.
But several strange, mysterious and wonderful things happened to me that evening on the way from Summit back to Maplewood. Stopped at a red light on Morris Avenue, I distinctly heard a voice tell me, “It’s going to be okay. Everything will be fine.” I wasn’t too sure whose voice that was, or whether to trust it implicitly. But then, the voice simply said: “You have spo-ken the truth…and the truth will set you free.” By then, I knew without a doubt the Source of that voice. An overwhelming sense of serenity coursed through my body and soul, and as I moved on toward my church and that meeting, I knew I was going home.
“You are accepted,” Paul Tillich said. And that night, as I revealed who I was to the members of my congregation, I came to discover they already knew. (How we do think we can fool others at times!) One man greeted my admission with the traditional AA response, letting me know he was a fellow “friend of Bill’s.” And almost everyone in that room embraced me—either physically or emotionally—as together with joy we acknowledged the truth that had set me free. And continues to set me free almost decade later.
When Tina and I met with your Staff-Parish Relations Committee in April of 2000—as we were preparing to come to serve among you—I shared this information with the members of the SPRC at that time. I was stunned at the level of acceptance and hospitality I received in re-sponse. I’m not sure why I should have been. In my experience, you have consistently been lov-ing and supportive to me and to one another. It has been the embodiment of Tillich’s simple yet profound description of grace: “You are accepted.” And it is the incarnation of divine, radical hospitality as represented by the father in The Parable of the Prodigal Son. I can never thank you enough.
And on behalf of the several twelve-step groups that meet in this facility during the week, I also want to express gratitude for your inclusion and hospitality.
In his book, Christian Doctrine, J. S. Whale has said: “There are many religions which know no divine welcome to the sinner until he has ceased to be one. They would first make him righteous, and then bid him welcome to God. But God in Christ first welcomes him, and so makes him penitent and redeems him. The one demands newness of life; the other imparts it. The one demands human righteousness as the price of divine atonement; the other makes atonement in order to evoke righteousness.”
“Christ accepts us as we are…” Walter Trobisch says in his book, Love Yourself. “But when he accepts us, we cannot remain as we are. Acceptance is nothing but the first step of love. Then it exposes us to a process of growth. Being accepted by the love of Christ means being transformed.”
During the recent services for the late Senator Edward Kennedy, one of the words we heard repeated often is “redemption.” It was the word many of his family and friends used to de-scribe the life situation of the Senator, and it was the word Ted Kennedy was drawn to when he reflected on his own faith journey. I am seeking neither to idolize nor to judge Ted Kennedy. Goodness knows, I am hardly in a position to do the latter. I’ll leave that to God, where it be-longs. But I found myself reflecting on that word “redemption” a lot and have been reminded of my own experiences of redemption. Even though God accepts us as we are, God never leaves us as we are. We are always in the process of being transformed. Just as the younger son was in the process of being transformed while still in the welcoming embrace of his joy-filled Father.
One of our most basic needs is to be accepted. When others recognize and value us we feel alive and fulfilled. We need acceptance just as birds need air and fish need water.
Making your way in the world today takes everything you’ve got.
Taking a break from all your worries sure would help a lot.
Wouldn’t you like to get away? Sometimes you want to go
where everybody knows your name, and they’re always glad you came.
The church is God’s answer for our need to belong. Our gospel speaks of a God who ac-cepts us as we are. And when we discover the truth in that, we are capable of accepting others, even as Christ has accepted us. Barriers fall down. We belong. Of course the world has not yet seen it as it ought to be. And we are often pretty slow learners in the church, the “school for sin-ners.” Most of us are in the remedial class. But the first and absolute necessity is that we can ac-cept that we are accepted. To grow in that awareness is to grow into the potential of truly accept-ing others. “Love your neighbor—as you love yourself,” says God. Welcome home!
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PRAYER
Lord, the wonder of your grace always amazes us. There is a part of us which still finds it hard to believe. Somehow it seems to reverse all religious protocol. You love us as we are—grubby and outrageous—and without our first having to wash our hands and comb our hair. You have accepted us, completely. No reserve.
Why do we still find it so hard to accept your acceptance? Is it the pride that is the root of all our sin and separation?
Lord, here today we have sung of your amazing grace that accepts us. We are so often de-feated by the memory of our own rebellion, by disgust at our indifference, by shame at our weak-ness. How can you love us? We don’t even like ourselves when we see ourselves as we really are.
But then you really do tell us in Jesus’ words that you love who we really are. May your word of acceptance lift us to that love of self which is so different from egoism and which is only ever possible because you first loved us.
Help us to accept others just as they are. Not to be indifferent to their need to change, but to begin with them just as you have begun with us. Show us how really to open up to others and not to fear our own vulnerability.
So may our relationship with you shape our relationships with others, that we may, like you, be more accepting, loving, encouraging. Amen.
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A Benediction
May the amazing grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with you, assuring you that in love our gra-cious God fully accepts you and that the Holy Spirit is changing you into the person who can ac-cept yourself and all others as Gods children. Go in peace…You are accepted! Amen.
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