Tag Archives: Luke 15

Lost and Found

“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.”
Luke 15:20 (NIV)

On Saturday morning at breakfast, Wendy read an article about a lamb. She giggled.
She cried out with laughter.
She clapped her hands.
Wendy’s family raised sheep when she was growing up. The article brought back a flood of memories for her. I got a full account of just how sweet and stupid and endearing they can be.

Sometimes, they just wander off.

Last Friday I stepped into the chapter’s context. Jesus, heading to Jerusalem to die, has dinner with a prominent religious leader. His host and the powerful guests gathered there represented the very ones who will execute Him. True to His teaching Jesus literally…

Sat at the table with His enemies.
Blessed them with His presence.
Pled with them to repent.

In today’s chapter, Luke shifts the context. The contrast is stark.

Jesus is gathered with tax collectors and sinners.
But the religious leaders are in the room, too.
Watching.
Judging.
Plotting.

Jesus? He tells stories that land like arrows—soft feathers, sharp tips.

One.

A shepherd has 100 sheep. One wanders.

He leaves the 99.

Let that sit a second.

This is not efficient.
This is not strategic.
This is not… safe.

This is love that doesn’t run spreadsheets.

He searches until he finds it. And when he does — no scolding. He lifts. He carries. He celebrates.

And here’s a tidbit worth savoring:
The sheep does nothing to contribute to its rescue. It is found… because it is loved.

Two.

A woman loses one coin out of ten.

She lights a lamp. Sweeps the house. Searches carefully.

This is quieter than the shepherd story… more intimate. Almost obsessive.

And when she finds it?

Party time again.

And again, this quiet little truth:
The coin also contributes nothing. It doesn’t cry out. It doesn’t move closer.

It is pursued with intention.

God is not just wildly emotional—He is meticulous about finding what is His.

Three.

This is the climax of Jesus’ teaching in three acts.
You can almost hear the music swell…

A son looks his father in the eye and basically says,
“I’d rather have your stuff than you.”

He takes the inheritance. Burns it. Ends up feeding pigs—rock bottom with a side of mud.

Then… he comes to his senses.

He rehearses a speech:
“I’ll go back. I’ll be a servant. I’ll earn my way…”

But the father?

He sees him while he’s still far off.

And then—this is the scandal—

He runs.

Middle Eastern patriarchs don’t run. It’s undignified. It exposes the legs. It’s… embarrassing.

But love doesn’t care about dignity.

He runs.
He embraces.
He interrupts the apology.
He restores the son before the speech is finished.

Robe. Ring. Feast.

No probation period.
No performance review.
No “let’s see if you’ve changed.”

Just… welcome home.

And then—plot twist.

The older brother.

He’s furious.

He stayed. He obeyed. He did everything right… and somehow never learned his father’s heart.

Just like Jesus’ religious critics in the room.

Now here’s where Luke 15 leans in close and lowers its voice.

I am in this story.

Some days I’m the sheep Wendy remembers—wandering, unaware, needing to be carried.

Some days I’m the coin—still, lost in the dust, waiting for light to find me.

Some days… I’m the younger son—running hard, tasting freedom that turns bitter.

And if I’m honest?

Some days I’m the older brother—standing outside grace with crossed arms, offended by mercy I didn’t earn.

Heaven celebrates recovery more than consistency.

Heaven throws parties for found things.

Not polished people.
Not perfect track records.
Not religious résumé builders.

Found things.

Wherever I am…

The Shepherd is already moving.
The Light is already searching.
The Father is already running.

And oh… when He finds me?

He doesn’t scold.

He celebrates.

If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.

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Lost

Lost (CaD Lk 15) Wayfarer

But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law muttered, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.”
Luke 15:2 (NIV)

I woke up on Christmas morning before the rest of the household. Historically, this is a usual daily occurrence. As I mentioned in my last post, however, our kids and grandkids moved back from Scotland and in with us for the foreseeable future. They are still trying to adjust their biological clocks to Central Daylight Time. So, after a week of waking to grandkids fully awake and ready to party, a little quiet before the Christmas chaos was a welcome treat.

I unexpectedly found myself reading an article by a gentleman named Paul Kingsnorth published in The Free Press. An Irishman, Kingsnorth tells his story of growing up an avowed atheist and environmentalist whose path led him to Buddhism before becoming immersed in a Wiccan coven. Eventually, Kingsnorth found himself in the last place he ever thought he’d be: following Jesus in an Orthodox tradition. From the editor’s introduction:

“Here is how Paul describes himself: ‘I am an animist in an age of machines; a poet-of-sorts in a dictatorship of merchants; a believer in a culture of cynics. Either I’m mad, or the world is.’ He continues: ‘My most strongly-held belief is this: that our modern crisis is not economic, political, scientific or technological, and that no ‘answers’ to it will be found in those spheres. I believe that we are living through a deep spiritual crisis; perhaps even a spiritual war. My interest these days is what this means.’”

Kingsnorth’s story was an unexpected and meaningful start to my Christmas Day. This morning, I returned to the quiet (Keep sleeping, kiddos!) and today’s chapter. Dr. Luke begins by describing how Jesus made it a regular habit to hang out with “tax collectors and sinners.” He regularly accepted invitations to dine with wealthy tax collectors. I can’t help but think Matthew was well-networked in that particular community and helped make the introductions. This earned Jesus the judgemental critique of the good religious who self-righteously treated these “sinners” as social lepers who might sully their well-manicured and whitewashed religious facades.

Luke then records Jesus telling a trifecta of parables. The parables tell of a lost sheep, a lost coin, and a lost son. The common theme of these three parables reveals the heart of God contrasted against the attitudes of the institutions of religion represented by Jesus’ most vehement critics. Christianity is routinely criticized, satirized, and dismissed for its judgemental, often hypocritical, condemnation of both sin and sinners. In many cases, I find it well deserved.

All the way back at the beginning of the Great Story, God creates the universe and everything in it. He looks at His creation and calls it “good.” Then God caps creation off with his most beloved and intimately crafted work, Adam and Eve. He looks at His creation including humanity and calls it “very good.”

Both Jesus’ words and actions reveal the heart of the Creator. The tax collectors and sinners He dined with were the very work of His hands, beautifully and wonderfully crafted. Jesus looks at the sinners, prostitutes, and greedy tax collectors sitting around the table with Him and His heart finds that His most beloved and intimately crafted works are spiritually lost.

As Jesus tells his trinity of lost parables, He repeatedly says that there is more rejoicing in heaven over one “lost” person who is “found” than in a whole church full of faithful followers who are already in the fold.

In the quiet, my mind wanders back to Paul Kingsnorth’s story. I wander back to my own story. One of the things you’ll commonly hear in the stories of those who find Jesus is that we know it was Jesus who found us. It was Jesus who sought and doggedly pursued our lost souls.

As a disciple of Jesus, I find in His stories and actions the example He wants me to follow. It lies at the foundation of Jesus’ teaching about loving my enemies and blessing those who hate me. If they are simply condemned sinners going to hell then I will find in them what I believe to be an exemption to Jesus’ command. I will believe that I have found a loophole in Jesus’ law of love. If, however, I see those condemned sinners as Jesus sees them, as His own lost creations whom He lovingly and intimately crafted, then I will see them, think of them, speak to them, and treat them differently. I must see them as my Master sees them. I must see them as I see my former self…

“I once was lost, but now I’m found,
was blind, but now I see.”

If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.

Muttering

But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law muttered….
Luke 15:2 (NIV)

Along my spiritual journey, I’ve come to understand that if one attempts anything of real value there will be muttering.

I was struck this morning when the chapter began by saying that the teachers of the law and Pharisees “muttered.” Digging into the original Greek and the definitions given for the word Dr. Luke used here, it described “droning on in low, constant murmur” and “smoldering discontent.”

Having been in different positions of leadership my entire life, I have come to understand that there will always be muttering. In fact, as I sit in the quiet this morning and take a stroll down memory lane I can quickly bring to mind mutterers and their mutterings from every stretch of my journey.

A couple of thoughts on muttering:

Even Jesus Christ had mutterers muttering. I can always take solace in the fact that I’m in good company. I’ve come to accept that there will be mutterers. In fact, if there are no mutterers, then maybe something is wrong.

Muttering came from all sides. Muttering is typically not as simple as a black-and-white differentiation between those who mutter and those who don’t. The teachers of the law muttered. The crowds muttered. Jesus’ family muttered. Even Jesus’ disciples sometimes muttered. When you say things and attempt things that make people feel uncomfortable, there will be muttering, and Jesus was very clear that discomfort is a natural part of spiritual growth. Life comes through death. Salvation comes through loss. Growth comes from pruning. Receiving comes through giving. Let the muttering begin.

Jesus was never afraid to address the issue at the heart of the muttering. When there was muttering about healing on the Sabbath He questioned the reasoning of the mutterers and then healed on the Sabbath. In today’s chapter, when the muttering was about His keeping company with “sinners” He told three parables about God’s love for sinners and heaven’s celebration when a sinner repents. I’ve learned that responding to muttering head-on is often the best way to handle the smoldering discontent.

Jesus rarely showed anger or animosity towards mutterers and their muttering. Jesus was frequently the dinner guest of Pharisees and teachers of the law, and they were the ones who seemed to always lead the muttering. One of the hardest lessons I’ve had to learn is to separate the mutterers from their muttering. It’s so easy to distance myself from mutterers and demonize them, but that solves nothing. Confronting the issue at the heart of the muttering is important, but I try to treat the individuals muttering with kindness, gentleness, and self-control.

There will be muttering. I can’t prevent that. Like Jesus, however, I can choose how I respond.

The Prodigal’s Lesson for Parents

Rembrandt, The Return of the Prodigal Son, 166...
Rembrandt, The Return of the Prodigal Son, 1662–1669 (Hermitage Museum, St Petersburg) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So [the prodigal son] got up and went to his father.

“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.
Luke 15:20 (NIV)

The struggle of parental control and rebellious children is as old as humanity itself and common to even the best of families. The particulars vary as well as the severity, but the path of fierce (and often foolish) independence is well trod by masses of young people escaping the tight grip of smothering (and often foolish) control.

It was while I was a young man working with youth that I first observed the fact that the prodigal’s Father did not go after his son. He didn’t spend a fortune chasing after the boy. He didn’t hire private detectives in the distant country to apprise him of his wasteful son’s dealings and whereabouts. He didn’t go chasing after the kid, confronting him, recounting the boy’s many poor choices and providing him with an itemized statement of all the pains and worry he’d caused. He didn’t seek out his son and demand that the boy return.

The father stayed home and let his son fail. He let his son squander the money and learn first hand what it is to be in need. He let the boy make terrible, self-seeking friends and learn just how trustworthy those types of friends are. He let his son go hungry and stand in pig slop until even the livestock feed began to appeal to him.

Sometimes children need to runaway. It’s part of their journeys and their stories. It teaches them priceless lessons that parents can never provide and their children will never hear. But that does not mean the father was uncaring or unconcerned. In Jesus story, the father sees his son coming from a distance. The father had been watching. The father had been waiting. The father’s eyes had, countless times, turned up the road from the homestead – each glance hoping to catch sight of his lost son coming home.

Jesus story was intended to illustrate Father God’s attitude towards foolish sinners who make tragic life mistakes. Foolish sinners like me. God has been so patient, gracious and forgiving with me in my foolhardy trips (more than one) to distant countries to squander what I’d been given. It would be hypocritical of me not to afford my own children the grace that Father God has showered me, one of His many prodigal.

Chapter-a-Day Luke 15

Kunsthistorisches Museum
Image via Wikipedia

When [the prodigal son] was still a long way off, his father saw him.” Luke 15:20 (MSG)

There is a great parenting lesson in the story of the prodigal son that I’ve always tried to take to heart. My own experience as a dad leads me to believe that the prodigal’s father had a strong suspicion what his son was going to do when he left home. Parents aren’t nearly as clueless as teenagers and young adults tend to believe. 

Nevertheless, the prodigal’s father let his son go off to the distant country. He did not try to keep his son home. He did not run after his son to find him and drag him back home. He did not try to rescue his son and diminish the consequences of the young man’s mistakes.

This does not, however, mean that the father was uncaring or unconcerned. To the contrary, the father saw his son returning home while he was still far off. This means the father must have had his eye on the road. He was consciously watching, waiting, and I have to believe praying for his son’s safe return. He was simply wise enough to know that sometimes the best thing a parent can do for their children is to let them fail and experience the consequences of their own actions.

Today, I think back on a host of my own sinful words and actions. I have  been the prodigal. While I regret the pain I caused others, I value the lessons learned from my mistakes.

God, grant me the wisdom to know when to hold on, and when to let go.

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