Lost

This is a hypothetical question, but: How many of you got lost on your way to church this morning? I hope you’re already realizing that this isn’t quite as straightforward a question as it first appears. I hope none of you physically lost your away amid the streets of Flossmoor, although if you are new to the area, that is certainly possible. Or if the barricades from yesterday’s Flossmoor Fest are still up, even the longest term resident might have struggled to find her way.

But when we speak of being lost, we mean a lot of different things, don’t we? Whether or not you met any driving challenges, probably some, or even many, of you are here this morning precisely because at least at some point in your life you felt lost, spiritually or personally lost.

But let’s go back to being physically lost. What does it mean to be lost? Does it mean I don’t know where I am, or I don’t know how I got where I am, or I don’t know how to get where I want to be? Those are really all quite different. What’s most important… Where we’re coming from, where we are, or where we’re going? It probably depends upon the circumstances. For Christians, though, the most important focus is on where we are going, on what lies ahead. To be lost is to have lost sight of whom we are following or where we are going.

But within this broad topic of being lost, we also speak of being lost when we are intellectually confused, for example in the middle of a lecture on multivariable calculus. Non-Episcopalians are often lost—confused, disoriented—in the midst of our Sunday liturgy. Ironic, when it is the very routine familiarity of the liturgy that is perhaps its greatest comfort to so many of us.

Or on another slightly different tack… Which generates more anxiety for you: the idea of being lost yourself? Or of losing something you value?

Being lost is a complex phenomenon and to some degree, I’m intentionally trying to get you lost this morning. Not that that’s generally a good tactic in a sermon, but I think perhaps we can get more out of this morning’s gospel words if we obscure them a bit first. Jesus is talking about being lost, but these stories are so familiar to us, I think it’s hard to hear and process them anew. The parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin. Maybe if we start by getting a little bit lost, we can find new meaning in these words of Jesus.

As I try to find my way through the world of these parables, the first challenge that strikes me is figuring out what kind of "lost" Jesus is talking about. Note that what is lost in each of these parables is one among many—one sheep among one hundred, one coin among ten. Jesus didn’t have to tell the stories that way. He could have described a shepherd searching diligently, unceasingly, sacrificially for one lost sheep without mentioning the other 99 at all. Telling the story that way would have illustrated the shepherd’s profound care and dedication to the sheep; it would have highlighted the immeasurable value of an individual sheep to the shepherd. But Jesus told the parable of one sheep that was lost from the herd. I think we often hear this parable as a testament to each particular individual’s value in God’s eyes. That’s a message worth hearing. But maybe Jesus told both of these parables as he did to help us see that being lost is not just an individual issue. Being lost is primarily about being separated from the group. To be lost is to be separated from others, from the community.

In the parable of the lost sheep, being lost has nothing to do with geography, where the sheep is, how he got there, or whether he can eventually find his way forward. Being lost has nothing to do with intellectual competence or experience. And we might note that Jesus says nothing about the sheep or the coin feeling existential meaningless or a lack of spiritual grounding. Being lost is being alone, separated from the herd, the collection, the community. To be lost is to be isolated from the community.

But we should also not forget that in both of these parables, that which was lost—the sheep, the coin—are found again. They are returned, reunited, included once more… and that is great cause for rejoicing. Jesus doesn’t mention how the sheep might have felt to be found. These parables aren’t about the individuals’ feelings. But he does mention how the shepherd feels, how the woman feels, how God in heaven feels, when the missing piece is restored. Union. Reunion. Inclusion. These are the causes for the angels’ rejoicing.

These other ways of being lost and found (spiritually, geographically) are important.  An individual relationship with God, rooted in a personal awareness of the saving Good News of the Gospel, is very important. Each of us is lost without it. And a vision of the Christian way is also important...  the insight and conviction and compass of faith to follow the particular path by which Jesus leads us to the Kingdom of God. We are lost, too, when we stray from that way.

But this morning’s Gospel parables challenge us to remember also this other way of being lost and found, a concept that is (I think) not given nearly enough attention by most of us. Without a connection to the Body of Christ… without real communion with a community, we are lost. Truly lost.

Let’s explore just a few of the implications of these parables’ teaching.

I have quite often had individuals say to me something like, "I’m a good Christian, but I don’t go to church." Or, more sadly, I often hear a mother say of her grown son or daughter, "She is a good person, a good, faithful Christian, but they don’t belong to a church." There’s often a sort of defiant wistfulness is these voices. You can be a good person, but in fact, you really cannot be a Christian unless you are actively connected to a Christian community. To be unconnected to a community is to be lost.

Baptism is a rite of initiation into a community, the Body of Christ.  Although people often seem to see it as some sort of individual inoculation against personal spiritual failure. "We welcome you into the household of God," the community says to the newly baptized. To abandon that household is to become lost.

Yet perhaps a more positive way to look at the implications of this morning’s parables is as a reminder of the great significance of just being here, of gathering together. Do not underestimate the importance of your mere presence with the community. The angels are singing this morning just because you are part of the herd. Whether or not your faith feels secure. Whether or not you believe a word of the creed. Whether or not you have followed God’s Word and God’s way throughout the week. Your inclusion and participation in the community are immensely important.

The most powerful, most tangible expression of our inclusion in this community is, of course, Holy Communion. To participate in communion is to receive individual spiritual nourishment, and to strengthen our personal connections with God. But let us not forget or diminish the powerful role of communion in binding together the community.

As a teenager, I was taught never to leave the communion rail before the person next to me had received. So that no one ever eats alone at God’s table.

When we take communion to people who, because of physical infirmity cannot be here, we are not just taking them an individual tonic for spiritual health, although we certainly are offering them spiritual sustenance.  But we are also, very importantly, extending the table, giving them the chance to join hands with us as we all say grace together for this wondrous meal served at God's Holy Table.  We are connecting them to the community.

Receiving the Body and Blood of Christ are certainly about the mystical, what we might call vertical, connections between each of us and God. Yet the horizontal connections are just as important. An irreverent image comes to mind. Instead of the individual wafers of bread, imagine as you kneel or stand at the rail this morning, a twelve-foot sub, held and shared by all. A literal horizontal connection made up of nothing less than the Body of Christ.  And however you receive the wine, never forget that it is from the common cup.

Participation in Communion is very important, but it is not the only connection we have with one another, nor is it our only obligation for community participation. We must also share our stories, our hopes, and our prayers. At the annual parish meeting that took place my second week as a member of this particular community, I noted that it was certainly your expectation and my desire to know all of your names by the time the next annual meeting came around. And I pointed out that if I could do it, so could each of you. I’m not yet 100%, but I’m getting close. How are you doing?

Sermon Index
Comments are welcome.  Send to krisorr@att.net