This sermon was preached on Sunday, September 15 at St. Andrew's, Wellesley, MA. The readings for this sermon are: Jeremiah 4:11-12, 22-28, Psalm 14, 1 Timothy 1:12-17, and Luke 15:1-10.
I had this Christian history professor in seminary who exuded compassion and warmth in every little thing he did. He was an older professor but we all absolutely adored him and affectionately referred to his classes as “Story Time with Bill.” He was the professor who, when you came to him to ask for an extension, would first make sure that everything was alright in your life and that your pastoral needs were listened to and taken care of. His comments on papers were thoughtful and encouraging -- and he always gave opportunities for students to rewrite and improve.
Students were whole people to Dr. Stafford. We were also all future church leaders of some sort, mostly future priests. Dr. Stafford, like all good teachers, was determined to teach us more than history. In who and how he was, Dr. Stafford tried to show us what it meant to be a compassionate and gracious pastor first, in everything.
Whenever a student would come in late to class, Dr. Stafford would pause, look up from his notes, and smile -- a genuine smile, full of warmth -- and greet him or her by name. It was never in a sarcastic way or purposefully shaming, never a “glad you could join us.” Dr. Stafford was, authentically, glad that you were there and he wanted you to know.
I can say from experience that you got the sense, when you came slinking into his classroom, that it did not matter why you were late or what had held you up. His gentle greeting said, your presence matters. We are now a different class because you have arrived. We are now more whole because you are here.
Today’s two parables are the first in a series of three that Jesus tells in response to complaints that he keeps hanging out with sinners, outcasts, and people who screw other people over. Each of these parables end in the same intriguing way. The shepherd and the woman have found what they had lost, so they call together friends and neighbors and say to them, “Rejoice with me.” We are now a different flock because this sheep has been returned. We are now a different community because this woman’s economic well-being has been restored. And that is cause for celebration.
Jesus gives us a beautiful vision of church in these parables. What is church but friends and neighbors who gather, week after week, to rejoice that we all somehow made it here? That vision of church is most clear to me in moments like yesterday, when we celebrated confirmation of thirty-six youth and adults. We came to rejoice in how much better these young people make our church. How much more whole!
I have been thinking a lot about how church school is different from school school in my new role here at St. Andrew’s. What are we here to teach our children and youth that they aren’t learning anywhere else? And what are our children here to teach us? These are vital questions that encourage us to claim the powerful stories and the sacred traditions that have shaped our community for generations. Perhaps just as vitally, we must ask the how. How do we teach in a way that says to each child, we rejoice in your presence. We are here to recognize and appreciate that the value of you extends far beyond anything we can measure with grades, and scores, and profit margins, value that only God fully knows.
Now there are some educators and parents and bosses who will say that Dr. Stafford’s overly merciful approach to education just encourages bad behavior. With no consequences for lateness or absence or phoning it in on a paper, what’s to stop folks from taking advantage? How will they learn to work hard and meet expectations? In prioritizing enforcing standards of conduct, teachers and authority figures teach those in their care how to follow rules and how to respect one another. Basically, how to not be the crappy people Jesus keeps hanging out with. These are, indeed, lessons more people could stand to learn.
Yet I wonder how different the parables would have been if the friends and neighbors had said, “No way am I rejoicing with you! You lost a sheep? You need to learn to be a better shepherd, not celebrate that you fixed your own mistake.” Or with the woman with her coins, if her friends and neighbors had said, “Learn to adult better! You need to keep proper track of your money, not throw lavish parties for everyone.” Jesus looks straight into the heart of the religious leaders who grumble that his friendships reward bad behavior. He tells them there’s another lesson their faith is supposed to teach.
It wasn’t that Dr. Stafford’s approach taught us there were no consequences to absences and lateness. In fact, it taught us what the true consequences were. It taught us that when one of us was missing, even just for a short time in the beginning of the class, our community was poorer because of it, and when one of us returned, even if it was as inconspicuously as possible, our community was enriched. Dr. Stafford was here to teach what the church is here to teach: every single person's presence is positive and valuable. The late person, the unprepared student, and the one who's zoning out of this sermon right now. We each add something sacred, meaningful, that the rest of us need. Jesus teaches us that the lost sheep matters to the rest of the flock. We aren't whole without them.
The other effect of Dr. Stafford’s approach, of course, was that you could never just subtly slip into the back of his class. He refused to let what your presence added to the class remain unacknowledged. Which could get frustrating and embarrassing, but in the end, was a more truthful way to be.
Sometimes it’s tempting to see Christianity as all about one’s individual relationship to God. Each of us sitting here as our own separate person, listening to the sermon, receiving the Eucharist, and going on our way, all as private individuals. Just as a classroom, especially a lecture-based one, might seem to just be about each individual student’s relationship to the material as mediated by the teacher. In that framework, someone else’s lateness doesn’t really affect you or your studies. In that mindset, it is simply just annoying that the lecture got interrupted. But in Jesus’s story, the return of the lost sheep is everyone’s business. The retrieval of the lost coin draws in everyone who cares about the woman who’d lost it. In this mode of church, our salvation is wrapped up in everyone else’s. We have everything to do with the lost-ness and the found-ness of everyone else. Which is frustrating and embarrassing, but also true to being human.
You are here. It doesn’t matter how you got here, or what time you parked your tush in the pews. It’s not important whether traffic or missed alarms or squirmy kids held you up. Nor does it matter if this is your first Sunday of you are just visiting or if you never step foot in this sanctuary again. You are here now. We are more whole because of your presence. We are more we. That’s more than enough to rejoice.
I had this Christian history professor in seminary who exuded compassion and warmth in every little thing he did. He was an older professor but we all absolutely adored him and affectionately referred to his classes as “Story Time with Bill.” He was the professor who, when you came to him to ask for an extension, would first make sure that everything was alright in your life and that your pastoral needs were listened to and taken care of. His comments on papers were thoughtful and encouraging -- and he always gave opportunities for students to rewrite and improve.
Students were whole people to Dr. Stafford. We were also all future church leaders of some sort, mostly future priests. Dr. Stafford, like all good teachers, was determined to teach us more than history. In who and how he was, Dr. Stafford tried to show us what it meant to be a compassionate and gracious pastor first, in everything.
Whenever a student would come in late to class, Dr. Stafford would pause, look up from his notes, and smile -- a genuine smile, full of warmth -- and greet him or her by name. It was never in a sarcastic way or purposefully shaming, never a “glad you could join us.” Dr. Stafford was, authentically, glad that you were there and he wanted you to know.
I can say from experience that you got the sense, when you came slinking into his classroom, that it did not matter why you were late or what had held you up. His gentle greeting said, your presence matters. We are now a different class because you have arrived. We are now more whole because you are here.
Today’s two parables are the first in a series of three that Jesus tells in response to complaints that he keeps hanging out with sinners, outcasts, and people who screw other people over. Each of these parables end in the same intriguing way. The shepherd and the woman have found what they had lost, so they call together friends and neighbors and say to them, “Rejoice with me.” We are now a different flock because this sheep has been returned. We are now a different community because this woman’s economic well-being has been restored. And that is cause for celebration.
Jesus gives us a beautiful vision of church in these parables. What is church but friends and neighbors who gather, week after week, to rejoice that we all somehow made it here? That vision of church is most clear to me in moments like yesterday, when we celebrated confirmation of thirty-six youth and adults. We came to rejoice in how much better these young people make our church. How much more whole!
I have been thinking a lot about how church school is different from school school in my new role here at St. Andrew’s. What are we here to teach our children and youth that they aren’t learning anywhere else? And what are our children here to teach us? These are vital questions that encourage us to claim the powerful stories and the sacred traditions that have shaped our community for generations. Perhaps just as vitally, we must ask the how. How do we teach in a way that says to each child, we rejoice in your presence. We are here to recognize and appreciate that the value of you extends far beyond anything we can measure with grades, and scores, and profit margins, value that only God fully knows.
Now there are some educators and parents and bosses who will say that Dr. Stafford’s overly merciful approach to education just encourages bad behavior. With no consequences for lateness or absence or phoning it in on a paper, what’s to stop folks from taking advantage? How will they learn to work hard and meet expectations? In prioritizing enforcing standards of conduct, teachers and authority figures teach those in their care how to follow rules and how to respect one another. Basically, how to not be the crappy people Jesus keeps hanging out with. These are, indeed, lessons more people could stand to learn.
Yet I wonder how different the parables would have been if the friends and neighbors had said, “No way am I rejoicing with you! You lost a sheep? You need to learn to be a better shepherd, not celebrate that you fixed your own mistake.” Or with the woman with her coins, if her friends and neighbors had said, “Learn to adult better! You need to keep proper track of your money, not throw lavish parties for everyone.” Jesus looks straight into the heart of the religious leaders who grumble that his friendships reward bad behavior. He tells them there’s another lesson their faith is supposed to teach.
It wasn’t that Dr. Stafford’s approach taught us there were no consequences to absences and lateness. In fact, it taught us what the true consequences were. It taught us that when one of us was missing, even just for a short time in the beginning of the class, our community was poorer because of it, and when one of us returned, even if it was as inconspicuously as possible, our community was enriched. Dr. Stafford was here to teach what the church is here to teach: every single person's presence is positive and valuable. The late person, the unprepared student, and the one who's zoning out of this sermon right now. We each add something sacred, meaningful, that the rest of us need. Jesus teaches us that the lost sheep matters to the rest of the flock. We aren't whole without them.
The other effect of Dr. Stafford’s approach, of course, was that you could never just subtly slip into the back of his class. He refused to let what your presence added to the class remain unacknowledged. Which could get frustrating and embarrassing, but in the end, was a more truthful way to be.
Sometimes it’s tempting to see Christianity as all about one’s individual relationship to God. Each of us sitting here as our own separate person, listening to the sermon, receiving the Eucharist, and going on our way, all as private individuals. Just as a classroom, especially a lecture-based one, might seem to just be about each individual student’s relationship to the material as mediated by the teacher. In that framework, someone else’s lateness doesn’t really affect you or your studies. In that mindset, it is simply just annoying that the lecture got interrupted. But in Jesus’s story, the return of the lost sheep is everyone’s business. The retrieval of the lost coin draws in everyone who cares about the woman who’d lost it. In this mode of church, our salvation is wrapped up in everyone else’s. We have everything to do with the lost-ness and the found-ness of everyone else. Which is frustrating and embarrassing, but also true to being human.
You are here. It doesn’t matter how you got here, or what time you parked your tush in the pews. It’s not important whether traffic or missed alarms or squirmy kids held you up. Nor does it matter if this is your first Sunday of you are just visiting or if you never step foot in this sanctuary again. You are here now. We are more whole because of your presence. We are more we. That’s more than enough to rejoice.
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