Texts: Exodus 32:7-14; 1 Timothy 1:12-17; Luke 15:1-10
Let's start this morning with this woman who lost a coin. I like this story for two reasons. First, it puts economists in their place. It reminds us that we are human beings, not economic units. We don't constantly count the cost of everything we do, and act prudently. We are governed by our feelings, which rarely care too hoots about the finer points of economics. And secondly, I really identify with this woman. When I cannot find something, it really gets under my skin. It doesn't matter what it is, it doesn't matter if I don't really need it there and then, I simply cannot rest until I have found the jolly thing.
This story reminds me of another one I heard some years ago, also involving ten coins. It was set in Treasury. At the time Treasury employed an economist whose specific role was to challenge ideas and proposals that were put forward by other economists. He was a sort of in-house devil's advocate. One day he was asked to do some work with three new Treasury recruits. He got them together in a group, appointed one of them as the leader, gave that one ten coins, and told him to share those coins with the other members of the group in any way he wished, provided only that he must give each of the other members at least one coin.
So how did he divvy them up? If he was following rational economic teaching, what he should have done was keep eight coins for himself, and give each of the other two members of the group one coin each. That way, he would have maximised his own profit, while staying within the rules of the exercise. But he didn't do that. He gave each of the other guys three coins, kept three for himself, and suggested that they should toss to see who would get the extra coin.
Why did he, a brand new Treasury recruit with a shiny new degree in economics, act in such an irrational way? Because he didn't want to appear greedy, he didn't want his new colleagues to think ill of him; his relationship with them was more important to him than gaining a few extra coins. And, I suspect, there was something else going on to. There is something deep in our human nature that makes us value fairness. We like to be treated fairly, and we tend to believe that we should treat each other fairly. When we're told to share something with others, we tend to think of fair shares.
Now back to this lady with the lost coin. At some point, economic prudence would have suggested that she should abandon the search and cut her losses. If she costed out the time spent in searching for the coin, added the cost of the oil in the lamp she lit to help her search, and then, when she found the coin, all the time she wasted in calling her friends and neighbours in celebrating her success, she was probably well out of pocket. But for her, that thought never entered her head. She kept searching until she found the coin, and when she was successful she was so delighted she had to celebrate with her friends and neighbours.
What drove her? Well, no doubt a psychologist could have a wonderful time with stories like this. All sorts of emotions run through us when we are searching for something. Sometimes, of course, it might be really important to find the missing object as soon as possible. Car keys and reading glasses come to mind. So the search may be urgent and we are driven by growing anxiety, frustration, and so on. But that's not always the case. Perhaps we might think we would like to read a particular book, or a magazine, or last Monday's paper, and we can't find it. It's not vital – we could read something else – but for some reason or another we start searching. And we can't bring ourselves to abandon the search until it's successful, can we?
Why? Again, we seem to be dealing with something deep in our human nature. We sometimes seem to search for something for no other reason than it is lost. Certainly, I have to plead guilty to that. Recently, I lost a telephone message I had written down on a pad of paper. I remembered thinking that it might be safer to leave it still attached to the pad; but then decided that was silly, and that I was perfectly capable of tearing it off, carrying it downstairs to my study, and putting it on my desk. The next day I looked for it on my desk and couldn't find it.
I won't weary you with the details, but I spent about an hour searching for this note, getting more and more frustrated and cross with myself for being so careless. Eventually I found it, and when I had calmed down enough to think about it, I realised something. I had remembered all the information in the message, so I didn't really need to find it. I knew that, and yet I had kept searching for that message. I was determined to find it for no other reason than it was lost.
So much for missing objects. Moving up the scale, what about missing animals? We all now the lengths to which the owner of a missing pet will go, but what about hard-nosed farmers? It seems from Jesus' first parable today that the practice was to go look for the missing sheep regardless of economic considerations. I once made the mistake of using this story for the children's spot in a service, and I asked the children what we should do if we had a hundred sheep to look after, and when we counted them up we found we only had ninety-nine. Before any of the children could give me the right answer a farmer called out, "That's near enough. Let it go – they're only worthy a few bucks!" That was the voice of economic prudence, perhaps, but not the voice of human feelings.
When an object is lost, when an animal is lost, something deep in our nature drives us to search for it until it is found. How much more so, when the lost is a person. Even when that person is a complete stranger, we want him or her found. People will go to extraordinary lengths, make great personal sacrifices of time and energy, to join the search for someone lost in the bush, or trapped underground, or stranded on a mountain somewhere. And if a child is missing, nothing is too much trouble. We keep going until he or she is found.
How to explain this deep desire to search for and find the lost? It seems to me that this is one of the ways in which we can say we are made in the image of our creator. God has a deep desire to search for and find the lost. That, after all, is what Jesus' mission is all about. God sent his Son to search for and bring back the lost; and this is reflected in our epistle reading this morning. St Paul draws this teaching from his own experience. Even though he had persecuted the Church, God in Christ had brought him back – had showered him with grace – had shown him mercy.
But there is a subtext here that we need to notice. St Paul is clear that he was shown divine mercy because he had acted in ignorance and unbelief. He didn't know he was rebelling against God, he hadn't intended to do so – in fact, he was zealous for God. But what if he had known – what if he was intentionally rebelling against God? Would he have been shown such mercy?
Our first reading strongly suggests otherwise. Here we have a classic story of rebellion; the people have decided they want a God of their own design, a temptation that is very much alive today. And the seriousness of that rebellion is shown in the effect it has on the relationship between God and the people. It is strained to breaking-point. God is ready to disown the people, to wipe them out and start over. He says to Moses, your people, whom you brought up out of Egypt. Moses has to plead with God, and he does so, not by justifying their behaviour, but by reminding God that they are in fact God's people whom God brought up out of Egypt. And he reminds God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob to whom God had made the great promises of a people and a land in which to live.
In the heart of God is that strong desire to search for and rescue the lost, a reflection of which is in our own nature. But God also respects our freedom. If we wilfully turn away, if we succumb to the constant temptation to make gods of our own design, we will live and die with the consequences of our choice.
If we do not wish to be found, we won't be.
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