Turning Gates into Fences

Rev. Kevin Ireland

September 28, 2025

1 Luke 16:19-31

Jesus’ parable for us this morning is so scathing, so confrontational, literally, so incendiary
that interpreters have speculated it may have led to Jesus being cancelled. It is another
parable about a rich man, and this one hits home—challenging good church folks, like us,
to confront the blindness caused by our wealth and privilege. Jesus is speaking with his
brothers, the Pharisees. Let me pause here and tell you what I mean when I call them
brothers. In Luke’s gospel, the Pharisees aren’t always villains—they listen to Jesus, invite
him to dinner, they even warn him about Herod. But after he says, “You cannot serve God
and wealth,” those who love money sneer and look down their noses at him. So, he tells
them this parable.

Hear now Jesus’ words as recorded in the gospel of Luke 16:19-31. The Greek is translated
into English this way. Listen to God’s word for you.

19 “There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted
sumptuously every day. 20 And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with
sores, 21 who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the
dogs would come and lick his sores. 22 The poor man died and was carried away by the
angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. 23 In Hades, where he
was being tormented, he lifted up his eyes and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his
side.

24 He called out, ‘Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of
his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am in agony in these flames.’ 25 But Abraham
said, ‘Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things and Lazarus
in like manner evil things, but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. 26 Besides
all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to
pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.’

27 He said, ‘Then I beg you, father, to send him to my father’s house— 28 for I have five
brothers—that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of
torment.’ 29 Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to
them.’ 30 He said, ‘No, father Abraham, but if someone from the dead goes to them, they
will repent.’ 31 He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will
they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’”

This is the Word of our Lord. Thanks be to God.

There was a Rich Man who was dressed in purple robes made with Tyrian dye derived from
the mucus of Murex snails. It took about 10,000 snails to make just a single gram of dye,
making it the most expensive product in the ancient Near East—worth more than three
times its weight in gold. And believe it or not, this proprietary process has been lost to the
ages. We don’t know how to make the dye today. This rich man also had the finest
underwear you could buy—not Calvin’s or Fruit of the Loom, but a finely woven linen
under-tunic worn next to the skin, below the regal robes. Such finery was reserved for
emperors, aristocrats, and the Chief Priest of the Temple. Not only is this rich man welldressed,
but he enjoys living large—feasting sumptuously, not just on holidays, not just on
the weekend. He parties every day, even on the Sabbath.

Outside the Gate lays a man. We do not know the circumstances or hardships that have
befallen him. We know nothing of his character—only that he has nothing and no one, only
the dogs to lick his wounds. He waits outside the gate, longing to satisfy his hunger with the
crumbs from the sumptuous feast inside. In Hebrew his name is Elazar, which means “God
helps.” He is the only character that Jesus names in his parables. And I can’t help but
recall God’s words to Isaiah, “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by
name; you are mine” (Isaiah 43:1). God knows us all by name—even the one, especially the
one, lying and longing outside of the gate.

Upon His Death, “God helps” Lazarus and he is carried by angels to the bosom of
Abraham. Our modern translations soften the picture, rendering the Greek word kolpos as
“side.” I like the intimacy of the King James, which chooses “bosom,” referring to the
custom of reclining at a meal, where the honored guest rests closest to the host—in their
bosom. I love the imagery of that intimate embrace that awaits us all. And I’ve always loved
the song, Rocka My Soul in the Bosom of Abraham. In Hebrew scripture the “bosom of
Abraham” was the “good place” in the Land of the Dead, Sheol (or Hades).

The Rich Man, upon his death, finds himself in the “bad place.” In his torment he looks up
to see Abraham and Lazarus and cries out, “Father Abraham, have mercy on me, send
Lazarus to cool my tongue, for I am in agony.” The rich man asserts his relationship with
Abraham as his father, but he is blind to his kinship with the man whose name he suddenly
remembers. Both are sons of Abraham. Even in death the rich man is unrepentant,
unremorseful, unchanged—seeing Lazarus only as a servant and not as a brother, pleading
that Lazarus be sent to relieve his agony. Perhaps this is what creates the chasm
separating the rich man and Lazarus. Perhaps it is his failure to recognize that his selfcenteredness
has blinded him to the fact that Lazarus is his brother.

When the Rich Man’s Plea is denied, he makes a second request: “Send Lazarus to warn
my brothers so they don’t end up like me.” Abraham replies, “They have Moses and the
Rev. Kevin Ireland Grace Presbyterian Church (PCUSA) September 28, 2025 3
Prophets. Let them listen to them.” “But if someone from the dead goes to them, they will
change.” Abraham replies, “If they won’t listen to Moses and the Prophets, they’re not
going to be convinced by someone who rises from the dead.” And knowing the whole story
(spoiler—Jesus comes back in season two), we might chuckle at Jesus’ sardonic gallows
humor. And we might wonder if Jesus is speaking to us.

Because I Think that Jesus knew this parable could get him cancelled. His audience could
easily imagine Caiaphas, the Temple High Priest, in his purple robes and fine linens, in the
place of torment, calling up to Father Abraham, pleading that his brothers (the Pharisees)
be warned. Jesus is not pulling any punches. He is not only accusing the church of being
blind to the sujering of those at their gates. He’s warning them that their privilege and their
love of money have blinded them to the foundational teachings of Torah: to love your
neighbor as yourself, to care for the orphan and the widow, to welcome the stranger and
show hospitality to the refugee, to lift up the least and the last and the lost.

Jesus Is Challenging the Church—asking us, how do we treat the Lazarus in our lives? Who
is waiting outside of our gates? The addict needing a home, the immigrant family afraid of
being separated, those shackled by a system stacked against them, those who feel
rejected because of how they present or who they love, those who feel neglected and
unseen, those who know no one’s love. Those who live in places around the world where
any one of us would be considered wealthy—dining sumptuously three times a day. The
ones lying at our gate longing for the scraps from our table. If the wealthiest 10% of the
world shared even 10% of their income, hunger, homelessness, and preventable disease
could be eliminated.

Put Another Way—if we listened to Moses and the prophets, we could eliminate the
overwhelming needs of our brothers and sisters across Wichita and around the world.
Jesus begins his ministry proclaiming that he came “to bring good news to the poor … to
proclaim release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, to set free those who are
oppressed and proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” And that is what he does—gathering
in the folks who were outsiders at the gate, running to meet them like the father of the
prodigal son, carrying them on his shoulders like lost sheep, rejoicing and celebrating in
community when what was lost is found.

Jesus Breaks Open the Gate that separates us from our siblings in need and transforms
those gates into a table with room for us all—saints and sinners alike. As disciples of
Christ, and as the body of Christ in the world, we are called to continue the work of turning
gates into tables. One place where we can start is in the conversations hosted by Justice
Together. These are opportunities to help each other see those who are longing, those who
are lost, those who are still waiting. They can help us identify the gates that are barriers to healthcare, creation care, education, and employment. They can inspire us to work
together contributing time and talents to transform those gates into tables—into
opportunities to share God’s grace and our lives with those who have been left out and left
aside.

I Also Encourage You to take the insert for our special Peace and Justice offering home with
you this week and learn about the work that our church is doing, turning gates into bridges
around the world. Prayerfully consider how you are called to participate in this work. In this
hard teaching of Jesus, there is more than judgment, there is hope. Hope that hearts can
be changed, our eyes will be opened, that the gates we’ve built can be broken down by
grace. Hope that the One who rose from the dead is still calling us to rise—to rise above
apathy, above excuses, above the blindness of wealth and privilege. And this is not a
distant hope. It is a living hope.

Every Time We Open our eyes to the Lazarus at our gate, every time we choose generosity
over greed, every time we make space at the table for one more, the chasm narrows, and
the kingdom of God breaks in. The writer of 1 Timothy warned the church that “the love of
money is a root of all kinds of evil, and in their eagerness to be rich some have wandered
away from faith and pierced themselves with many pains.” But they don’t stop there. The
author encourages the church to “pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance,
gentleness. Fight the good fight of faith; take hold of the eternal life to which you were
called.”

That’s the Invitation before us: to pursue a life marked not by greed but by love, not by
walls but by welcome, not by blindness but by vision. To fight the good fight of faith by
turning gates into tables—tables of mercy, justice, and abundant grace. May it be so in
your life, in the life of your families, in the life of this congregation, and in the life of Christ’s
church.

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Have I Got a Deal for You

Rev. Kevin Ireland, September 21, 2025

1 Luke 16:1-13

Our gospel lesson this morning is a continuation of Jesus’ response to those grumbling
about the company he is keeping, hanging out with “known sinners” and eating with tax
collectors. Jesus begins with three parables about lost things, a sheep, a coin, and a son.
The last two parables are both about rich men. I’ve gotta tell you, it’s a lot more fun
preaching about finding little lost lambs than it is to talk about money. But, if we just tell
the first three parables and skip the next two, we ignore the opportunity to confront the
value we place on our own money and the role that it plays in our lives. So, let’s hear the
words of Jesus as recounted in the gospel of Luke, chapter 16, verse 1-13. The Greek is
translated into English this way. Listen to God’s word for you.

Then Jesus said to the disciples, “There was a rich man who had a manager, and charges
were brought to him that this man was squandering his property. So, he summoned him
and said to him, ‘What is this that I hear about you? Give me an accounting of your
management because you cannot be my manager any longer.’ Then the manager said to
himself, ‘What will I do, now that my master is taking the position away from me? I am not
strong enough to dig, and I am ashamed to beg. I have decided what to do so that, when I
am dismissed as manager, people may welcome me into their homes.’ So, summoning his
master’s debtors one by one, he asked the first, ‘How much do you owe my master?’ He
answered, ‘A hundred jugs of olive oil.’ He said to him, ‘Take your bill, sit down quickly, and
make it fifty.’ Then he asked another, ‘And how much do you owe?’ He replied, ‘A hundred
containers of wheat.’ He said to him, ‘Take your bill and make it eighty.’ And his master
commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly, for the children of
this age are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light.
And I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is
gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes. Whoever is faithful in a very little is
faithful also in much, and whoever is dishonest in a very little is dishonest also in much. If
then, you have not been faithful with the dishonest wealth, who will entrust to you the true
riches? And if you have not been faithful with what belongs to another, who will give you
what is your own? No slave can serve two masters, for a slave will either hate the one and
love the other or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and
wealth.” This is the word of our Lord. Thanks be to God.

Author and theologian Brian MacLaren describes this passage as one of the most
important and liberating of Jesus’ parables. But in order to understand what Jesus is driving
at; it is necessary to know how things worked back in the day in ancient Israel. Imagine that
you are a farmer in the Galilee in Northern Israel. On this side of the room, you all are olive
producers. The groves of trees have been in your family for years. They’ve endured fire and
flood, always growing back stronger than before. Your grove has been passed down from
generation to generation, and your trees produce some of the richest, plumpest, most
sumptuous olives in all of Israel. On this side, we have our wheat farmers. You plant your
crops in the rainy winter months and meticulously harvest by hand in the early summer,
using sickles, gathering the stocks, threshing the grain, winnowing wheat from chaff, and
milling the grain into the flour used for Rome’s daily bread. Like your neighbor the olive
farmers, your family has owned this land for generations, surviving droughts, floods, and
locusts. It’s a good life, but not an easy one, as any farmer would tell you today. It would be
a lot easier without the ever-increasing taxes of your Roman oppressors. Not only do you
put food on Rome’s table, but the taxes also imposed on their sale support the garrisons of
Centurions charged with keeping the Pax Romana, Rome’s peace. Unfortunately, I have
some bad news for you both. Your farms and businesses are underwater. There’s no way
that you will be able to meet your tax obligations. Remember all those unpaid taxes from
last year’s harvest? The tax collectors are coming, and balances must be paid. But have I
got a deal for you. My wealthy friends down south in Judea have offered to settle your debt
in exchange for your land. Don’t worry, you can stay and farm, only now a portion of the
harvest will go to your new absentee landlord. We’ll take care of everything. I’ll come up
from Judea to your farm in the Galilee to collect the olive oil and grains for my master. This
was a common arrangement with Galilean farmers in Jesus’ time. Not unlike our own time,
the rich got richer at the expense of the less fortunate and less powerful. The steward in the
parable has presumably been participating in this system to his own benefit, but when he
is called to account by his master, he realizes three things: he’s too weak to engage in
manual labor, he’s too proud to ask for help, and his position is as tenuous as the farmers
indebted to his master. So, he tells the olive farmers, have I got a deal for you. Take your
bill. Cut it in half and we’ll call it even. And he goes to the wheat farmers and says, have I
got a deal for you. You owe one hundred bushels, let’s make it 80. Sounds like a good deal
for everyone, right? Well, except for the wealthy master.

In Jesus’ parable the master praises him for acting shrewdly, which in Greek can also mean
wise, sensible, or discreet. Now, it’s important to know that God is not the master in this
story, and the master is not saying, “well done for cheating me,” but rather, “You were
clever, and resourceful.” He’s not praising the steward for being unjust. He is commending
him for his shrewdness, his resourcefulness, and perhaps his discretion. John Calvin
summarizes this interpretation saying, that “Christ does not approve of the fraud, but of
the cunning.” The steward “was not commended because he had cheated his master, but
because he had shrewdly provided for himself.” Calvin then applies it: if people use
ingenuity for earthly survival, how much more should Christians use their gifts wisely for
God’s service. Jesus calls his disciples to use “unrighteous wealth” in a way that builds
eternal relationships, investing in generosity, mercy, and justice, by any means necessary.
Just as the steward used money to secure a future, disciples are to use money faithfully to
serve God’s purposes. In his Church Dogmatics, Karl Barth notes that the steward’s
shrewdness highlights our own human freedom to act decisively, even in morally
compromised ways. According to Barth, Jesus uses the example to encourage his disciples
toward decisive faithfulness, to act with urgency and foresight for the kingdom, not
hesitancy or apathy. Jesus continues to encourage us to do the same.

Midwest farm incomes have plunged in the past year, due to a sharp reversal in commodity
crop prices, looming tariffs, less government support, and high borrowing and labor costs.
And our farmers’ economic pain is spreading from the fields to Main Street. Last year,
Reuters reported that farmers are facing the worst economic situation in over a decade,
and small cities are at risk of becoming ghost towns. Small town churches continue to
close as well. Our denomination has been discussing and discerning how ministries and
missions can continue even as buildings are closed or repurposed. Last week Grace
hosted the Trustees for the Presbytery of Southern Kansas, the stewards of our presbytery
resources. This is challenging work, Spirit led work. Work that requires cunning and
creativity. And it’s a great example of what Jesus is praising about the crafty manager.
Pastor and preaching professor, Ron Allen describes this parable as “a call to imaginative,
risk-taking use of wealth in ways that foster community and reveal God’s purposes.” This is
how we are called to be faithful with our resources, not to squander or to cheat, but to
employ them in the service of God’s kingdom even in the midst of change and chaos.
Jesus concludes this parable with a simple but piercing truth: No one can serve two
masters. You cannot serve God and wealth. The question is do you own your money or
does your money own you. It doesn’t just mean, “don’t be greedy.” It’s about loyalty, about
trust, about where our hearts rest. If we let money become our master, then it will shape
our choices, our priorities, even our sense of identity. We begin to measure worth by bank
accounts instead of relationships, by investments instead of integrity. We forget who we
were created to be. But when God is our master, everything else finds its place. Money
becomes a tool, not a tyrant. Wealth becomes an opportunity for generosity, not a weapon
for control. Our value is no longer tied to possessions but to the One who claims us as
beloved children. Serving God over wealth also frees us from scarcity thinking. We no
longer say, “we don’t have enough to make a difference,” because we trust the God who
multiplied loaves and fishes, the God who promises that faithfulness in little things leads
to abundance in much. We become a people who use our resources with creativity,
courage, and hope, investing not just in buildings or budgets but in the lives of others, in
relationships of mercy and justice that echo into eternity.

This week Grace is doing just that with our partnership with our brothers and sisters in
Christ at East Heights Methodist and Family Promise, helping families experiencing
homelessness find stability and a path toward permanent housing. And there’s still time to
donate food or help volunteer with set-up and break down. If you’d like to participate,
please contact Kimberley McDarty. So Jesus has a deal for you: to stop living like we are
bound by the debt collectors of this world, to stop living like problems like homelessness
are too big to solve, to stop living like our small towns and churches are slowly dying, and
start living like we are already free in Christ, to start living into the abundant life that is
offered, and to start living as builders of God’s kingdom on earth as it is in heaven. The
question is not whether we have enough, it’s whether we will trust God enough to use what
we’ve been given for the sake of the kingdom. That’s the deal Jesus is offering you.

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Too Bold For Boundaries

Luke 14:25-33

It is a joy and a blessing to be with you in worship this morning. It’s been a whirlwind few weeks—saying goodbye to our church and friends in Austin, moving into a new home, and dropping off our youngest at college. Joy, gratitude, some anxiety, and even grief have been our companions in this season of transition. All of this has had me thinking about family—the ones we are born into and the ones we choose, those ties that bind us together even when separated by distance, those bonds of love that connect us. Which makes Jesus’ words today all the more jarring: “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brother and sister … cannot be my disciple.”

Come on Jesus—surely, you’re not being serious. Why do you have to make it so hard? Can you imagine if Jesus were making our new website (which looks great by the way—check it out at mygpc.org)? Or if Jesus was making an Instagram reel, or TikTok post: “Wanna follow me? Hate your family. Give up your life. Oh, and give away all your stuff.” And remember to hit like and subscribe to follow. Not exactly a great pitch. I’ve been wrestling with these words for the past few weeks as we said goodbye to our oldest, Rowan, in Austin, and then our youngest, Kiran, at Mount Holyoke, and as Rachel and I settle into our new life as empty nesters. I’ll be honest. Jesus’ words make me wince. I imagine I’m not the only one.

So how do we reconcile this? Do we take Jesus literally even as his words seem to go against the spirit of his teaching: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” Remember, Jesus is preaching to a large crowd. This is not an intimate setting with his disciples. Perhaps he is being hyperbolic—employing a “click bait” strategy to capture the crowd’s attention with something sensational, something controversial, something that would cause his listeners to lean in. But he is not exaggerating the cost of discipleship. Some interpreters have sought to soften the text by noting that the Greek word miseō (from the Hebrew shanēʾ) can mean “to love less.” So perhaps Jesus is saying, “Don’t love family or even your own life more than God.” That helps, but we can’t dilute his point. Discipleship comes with a cost. So, let’s take Jesus seriously.

I think that Jesus is pushing us to think differently about family. Too often, family is seen as a boundary—who’s in and who’s out. But for Jesus, family is not a boundary; it’s an invitation. In Matthew’s gospel, when Jesus’ mother and brothers come to see him, he tells the crowd, “Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?” And pointing to his disciples, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother.” Jesus is challenging his followers to extend their love and loyalty beyond their own families—their own fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters. He calls us to stretch, widen, and expand our familial ties until they embrace the whole human family. Love the elders in your community as much as your own parents. Love the children in need as much as your own kids. Love the stranger, the addict, the lonely as much as your own sibling. Following Jesus is not about excluding your parents or children, it’s about treating every woman as your mother, every man as your father, every child as your brother or sister.

When Rachel and I dropped Kiran off at college, the college president extolled the new students to “Be too bold for boundaries.” I love that. And I think Jesus would too. Because that’s what being a disciple is—to be too bold for boundaries. Too bold for the boundaries of family. Too bold for the boundaries of culture. Too bold for the boundaries of party or nation. Too bold for the boundaries of race or religion. Too bold for the boundaries of orientation or gender. Think of the parable of the Good Samaritan—the boundary between Jew and Samaritan was strong, but Jesus showed that compassion makes neighbors out of strangers. Think of Paul’s vision of the church, where “there is no longer Jew or Greek, slave or free, male and female, for all are one in Christ.”

Y’all exemplify this boldness in the mission and ministries here at Grace: reaching out to folks across Wichita with the Good Neighbor Ministry, helping homeowners with yardwork, repairs, and maintenance; your partnership with Wichita International Rescue, helping refugees fleeing violence and oppression make a new home and a new life here in Wichita; the bus ticket ministry that not only helps folks access public transportation, but also welcomes them into our building, providing a place to rest, a snack, a hot cup of coffee, or a cold cup of water. With your partnership with the congregation of El Centro Presbyterian Church in Central Cuba, and your support of missionaries in Kenya and Uganda. This isn’t charity—it’s connection. It’s discipleship. It’s family. The same could be said for your partnership with Pastor Jacob’s congregation, or your work with Wyldlife—inviting middle schoolers to come and find friendship and fellowship. That’s what it looks like when a church is too bold for boundaries. When we invite everyone into God’s story. When we say, “Welcome! You belong. You are part of us. You are family.”

The prophet Jeremiah describes God as a potter, shaping and reshaping us as clay. We often think of this in terms of our individual lives, but the prophet’s vision is not about a person, it is about a people. We are shaped by the bonds of belonging, by the stories we share, by the burdens we carry for one another, by the joys we celebrate. God’s Spirit forms us not as isolated individuals but as a community—an expansive, inclusive, and affirming faith family. “Hate your mother and father” sounds harsh. But beneath the shock is an invitation—an invitation to expand the circle of family until it mirrors the love of God.

The church is that family. A family where there are no boundaries too strong for grace. A family where everyone is welcomed as beloved children of God. A family that I am grateful to be a part of. Thank you for welcoming me into your faith family. I look forward to joining you in welcoming others into this expansive, boundless family of God. Because in Christ, we are too bold for boundaries. May it be so in your life, in the life of your families, in the life of this congregation, and in the life of Christ’s church.

 

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Who’s Lost?

Luke 15:1-10

Do you remember the crowds that were following Jesus last week? Well, I was in that crowd. That’s right, me and Nicodemus, and a few more of our Pharisee friends were there keeping an eye on that Judean rabbi, Jesus. I got to tell you, when he told the crowd that in order to follow him all you have to do is hate your mother and father, and give away all your stuff, we looked at one another and said who would ever do such a thing to follow Jesus.

Well, you know who followed Jesus? You know who this “holy man” is hanging with? Deplorables, fornicators, known sinners, even tax collectors working for Rome. And he’s not just teaching them in the streets. He’s welcomed in their homes. He even sits at their table and eats with them. Can you imagine? Does he not know? Does he not care?

Well, as we were grumbling about this amongst ourselves, this Jesus has the audacity to come up to us, his brothers in righteousness for Israel’s sake, we Pharisees. He comes up to us and tells these stories. This is how the Gospel of Luke recounts Jesus’ words. The Greek is translated into English this way. Listen for God’s word for you.

15 Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. 2 And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” 3 So he told them this parable: 4 “Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? 5 And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices. 6 And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found my lost sheep.’ 7 Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance. 8 “Or what woman having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? 9 And when she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.’ 10 Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”

This is the word of our Lord. Thanks be to God.

Grumbling has become a national pastime. We grumble about our work. We grumble about our boss. We grumble about school. Sometimes we even grumble about church, especially other people’s church. Older folks grumble about the younger generation. Kids grumble about the older generation. We grumble about political leadership. Conservatives grumble about woke liberals. Liberals grumble about conservatives. Moderates complain about both.

This week, the grumbling bubbled over into horrific violence with the political assassination of Charlie Kirk at Utah Valley University. Last month, two children were killed, and 17 people were wounded by a gunman during Mass at Annunciation Catholic School in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Two weeks ago, two students were shot by a classmate at Evergreen High School just outside of Denver. And last week, here in Wichita there were multiple shootings resulting in at least three deaths. So much of this violence grows out of those who are lost to anger and hopelessness and a willingness to see the world in terms of us and them.

Jesus tells the grumbling Pharisees three parables about a lost sheep, a lost coin, and a lost son. This morning the lectionary lifts up the first two of the stories.

One of my favorite theologians, Frederick Buechner explained, “like poetry, parables are not so much meant to be understood as they are meant to be experienced. They are truth given in story form that slip past our defenses and lodge deep into our hearts.” So, let’s take a moment to experience the parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin.

In the first parable a shepherd notices that one of his flock is missing. So, he leaves the rest of the flock to find the one who is lost. Now, you might be thinking, what kind of shepherd would do such a thing, leaving the flock that he is supposed to be protecting in order to find a lost lamb. This fellow does not seem to be a prudent manager. How would you feel if you were left in the wilderness by your shepherd? Well, we know from the beginning of Luke’s gospel that shepherds helped each other to watch their flocks. So, one might assume that the flock was not left entirely unattended. Certainly, Jesus does not seem to think that this is an unusual action for a shepherd to take. What is notable is the celebration upon the return of the lost lamb into the fold. The shepherd gathers his own friends together to celebrate.

Likewise with the parable of the lost coin. It seems reasonable that one would look for a lost coin, after all this was not like losing a few dimes in the couch. The coin here is thought to be a drachma, worth a day’s wage, well worth lighting a lamp and sweeping the house. What is surprising, perhaps even absurd, is that upon finding the coin, the woman gathers her friends to celebrate. And I can’t help but wonder what that celebration might cost.

Both parables turn opportunities for grumbling into opportunities for rejoicing. There is no fault assigned to either the wandering sheep or the wayward coin. The sheep and the coin do nothing to be found. They do not repent. Yet, their return is an occasion to gather the community to celebrate. The shepherd that comes back with the lamb on his shoulders gathers his friends and co-workers to come and celebrate that the lost has been found. Upon finding her lost coin the woman calls to her neighbors to come and rejoice. So it is, says Jesus, with the angels in heaven when those that are lost are found by God.

Sometimes being lost isn’t about a set of keys or a wandering sheep. Sometimes being lost is about losing our way in life or in faith. Many of us know what it feels like to drift, maybe slowly, without realizing it, away from God, away from hope, away from who we were created to be.

The story of our final hymn, Amazing Grace, provides a powerful example. Its author, John Newton, was once deeply lost, not just spiritually, but morally. He was a sailor, “rough in speech and behavior,” and for years he participated in the transatlantic slave trade. By his own admission, his life was headed in a destructive direction. But somewhere in the midst of a storm at sea, Newton cried out to God for mercy. That cry began a turning point. He didn’t change overnight, but over time he was transformed. He eventually became a pastor and an advocate for the abolition of slavery. Looking back, he described his story in the words that have become so familiar to us: “I once was lost but now am found; was blind, but now I see.”

Newton’s story is dramatic for sure, and I’m guessing that not many here have had such a conversion on the stormy seas, but the truth of it is the same for each of us. God searches for us with the persistence of the shepherd looking for a lost sheep, with the determination of the woman sweeping the house for a lost coin. And when we are found, whether after wandering far or just feeling a little lost in the moment, there is joy in heaven, and amazing grace poured out on us.

Now, remember who Jesus is talking to in these parables. He’s not addressing the sinners and tax collectors. They have already been found. He is speaking to his brothers, the Pharisees. Luke’s gospel turns things inside out: the so-called “outsiders” are already dining with Jesus, while the “insiders,” good church folks, are left on the margins, grumbling.

And that’s where the question comes home to us. Are we willing to join the celebration, or do we stay outside, muttering about who deserves to be in and who should be left out? Because the truth is, every one of us has been carried home on the shepherd’s shoulders. Every one of us has been lifted up like the coin found and treasured. Every one of us has been sung over by angels.

So, the invitation is clear: quit the grumbling. Step into the party. Celebrate God’s wide welcome, not just for others but for you. Let us be the community that throws open the doors and joins heaven’s song: “Rejoice with me, for what was lost has been found.” May it be so in your life, in your family, in this congregation, and in Christ’s church.

Rev. Kevin Ireland

 

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08-24-2025 Rev. Steven Marsh – What’s Love Got to Do with It

“What’s Love Got to Do with It

The Unconditional Love of Our God Beckons Us To Serve Part 2

(Together, in a Variety of Ways) ”; Jeremiah 1:4-10, Luke 13:10-17

When Marley’s ghost appears to Ebenezer Scrooge, Marley often refers to “the truncated heart.” Both Marley and Scrooge have sat in their counting house alone, with their concern only focused within those walls. When Marley’s eyes are opened to suffering and the needs of others, he becomes painfully aware that the choices he made in his life made him incapable of helping. The outcome? Marley is the person he made himself to be. And, he has awareness that he could have been more.[1]

Abraham Lincoln in a speech at Edwardsville, Illinois (September 13, 1858) spoke these words,

Our reliance is in love of liberty which God has planted in us. Our defense is in the spirit which primed liberty as the heritage of all men, in all lands everywhere. Destroy this spirit and you have planted the seeds of despotism at your door. Familiarize yourselves with the chains of bondage and you prepare your own limbs to wear them. Accustomed to trample on the rights of others, you have lost the genius of your own independence and become the fit subjects of the first cunning tyrant who rises among you.[2]

God has planted in each one of us the ability to love. It’s love that ensures civil rights, enduring commitments, and flourishing relationships.

It is true that Jeremiah 1:4-10 and Luke 13:10-17 encourage us to remember that God has known each one of us before we were born and calls each one of us to an amazing purpose to love God and love others.

Jeremiah 1:4-10 specifically lifts up the sense of inadequacy we may feel when we realize God’s great love for us. We also may feel that the call to love God and others is above our pay grade. Yes, we can easily ask where God is in all of this. Ahh, but that is the best place to be. God loves us so much that all we need to do is believe that God knows each one of us better than we know ourselves. Karl Barth, a most significant theologian in the 20th century, states unequivocally that before we can embrace the YES that God has for each one of us, we must acknowledge God’s NO. According to Barth, God’s NO informs us that we are not the fully loving people that God created us to be. We’re lacking in this admission. To admit this requires acknowledging we’re stuck in ongoing self-congratulatory “pats on the back.” Our discomfort with being called by God mirrors God’s dissatisfaction with society built by human hands.

Luke 13:10-17 specifically speaks out against legalism. Love cannot thrive and does not thrive in a legalistic approach to life. When Jesus healed the disabled woman on the Sabbath, the religious leaders went “nuts.” This woman is not known by anyone. No one knows her name. She’s not even recognized. The woman is completely pushed to the margins. You see, the disability she had was attributed to some sin in her family lineage. Yep, that’s how it was back then. Jesus’ demonstration of love to the “nobody” violated the religious code by “working” on the Sabbath. The letter of the law was more important than the woman’s well-being.[3]

God’s unconditional love beckons you to allow God to serve you and you in turn to serve others. Anytime two humans move closer to God, we, by necessity, move closer to one another. If Marley could have lived his life over, he would have. Each one of us, like the disabled woman, require the mercy and healing power of Jesus.

What’s love got to do with it? Everything! Again, hear the words of Abraham Lincoln, “Our reliance is in love of liberty which God has planted in us. Our defense is in the spirit which primed liberty as the heritage of all men, in all lands everywhere. Destroy this spirit and you have planted the seeds of despotism at your door.” Share the gifts of God. Embrace “holy restlessness.” Move closer to God and one another. To what holy work are you called? Remember, the unexamined life is not worth living.[4] Amen!

This sermon was preached on Sunday, August 24, 2025

 by the Rev. Dr. Steven M. Marsh in the Great Room and Sanctuary at

Grace Presbyterian Church in Wichita, Kansas

Copyright  2025

All Rights Reserved

Steven M. Marsh

 

[1]I am grateful for Robert A. Ratcliff and his insight on Marley and Ebenezer Scrooge as found in Joel B. Green, Thomas G. Long, Luke A. Powery and Cynthia L. Rigby, editors, Connections, Year C, Volume 3 (Louisville, Kentucky: Westminster John Knox Press, 2019), 236.

[2]Source: Abraham Lincoln in a speech at Edwardsville, Illinois (Sept.13,1858). Christianity Today, Vol. 36, no. 8.

[3]In the three paragraphs above, I am indebted to Elizabeth C. Larocca-Pitts, Robert A. Ratcliff, Angela Dienhart Hancock, Paul K. Hooker, Jill Duffield, Elizabeth F. Caldwell, and Sally Smith Holt in Joel B. Green, Thomas G. Long, Luke A. Powery and Cynthia L. Rigby, editors, Connections, Year C, Volume 3 (Louisville, Kentucky: Westminster John Knox Press, 2019), 251-253, 254-255, 256-258, 259-261, 261-263, 264-266, and 266-267.

[4]Attributed to Socrates.

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