Reflections for the 3rd Sunday after Pentecost, on 1 Peter 5,6-11 and Luke 15,1-10.
‘Who needs a “1”?
The voice of a “1”
is thinner than a squeak.
Who will hear it?
Only the wife…
A “1” is nonsense.
A “1” is zero.”’Although what Vladimir Mayakovsky describes in this poem is the
reality of the Bolshevik Revolution, I have a strong impression that our own reality is not that different at all. For politicians we are the electorate, for economists – human resources. When and for whom are we simply human beings, persons? At least the church should be such a place where it is possible – to be a person. But is it really so? I remember as a few years ago, with a Dutch television crew, I visited the Jasna Gora sanctuary . Owing to Fr. Prior’s kindness, we were able to film in various places normally inaccessible for outsiders. At some point we stood on Jasna Gora’s bulwark on the spot where, during festive celebrations, is located the altor at which church dignitaries, including the Pope, celebrate the Holy Mass. I stood there and looked down at the wide boulevard leading to the monastery. The people crowding down below were the size of pinheads… I thought then that if this is how a church dignitary sees the people, we have come very far away from the approach to the human being which our Lord demonstrates in today’s Gospel.
This approach is explained in two parables. The first one is about a flock of sheep, of which one is lost. The question Jesus asks: “won’t one leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it?”, is not rhetorical. So it must be answered, and the answer, given by our world’s logic, is: no one. No one would be such an idiot to leave ninety nine sheep unattended and go look for the lost single one. But that is how it works in the Kingdom of God.
In order to understand the second parable, we should realize that the lost coin is not merely a penny which fell out of a wallet. It is about one of the pieces of silver which women in Israel of that time used to decorate their foreheads with – as Yemenite Jewish women do until this day. If one of those pieces got lost, no one would probably notice. But she – the owner – would know that something is lacking, that the decoration is not complete, that it’s not the decoration it should be. Hence the hectic search and the joy when it’s found. Such is God which Jesus shows us. In my ecumenical community we sing in one of the hymns:
This house full of people
Do you know who they are?
I hope so.Have you counted us?
Do you know us by name?
If so, you are the one.If you are the one who knows us, who called us by name, than you are The One, you are our God! Do you know what was the first question that God asked man in the Scripture? “Adam, where are you?” Human, where are you? God, from the very beginning of the Biblical story, has been looking for the human being. This is what the first part of this Sunday’s message is focused on.
The second one is woven around the word “conversion” – one of the most often misunderstood words. When some time ago I told an acquaintance that I was joining the Ecumenical Congregation of the Mariavites today, he asked me: “Are you converting?” If what you mean is whether I change my church membership, the answer is: “no.” But if what you mean is conversion as a continual process, than yes – I hope to be continually converting, and I also hope that living according to the Congregation’s rule will help me with it. Since we are in a Lutheran church, I would like to remind in this context the first thesis of Martin Luther: “Our Lord and Master Jesus Christ, when He said Poenitentiam agite, willed that the whole life of believers should be repentance.” That “poenitentiam agite” (repent) doesn’t mean penitentiary practices, some special asceticism or even whipping ones back. It means conversion, “metanoia” – change of heart and mind of the sinful human being. Sinful, that is one that repeatedly cannot achieve the aim he was created for, because this is what the word “sin” originally meant: missing the aim. The church is not meant for perfect people, it’s a nave, a ship taking castaways on board. We all are in a sense such castaways. Wounded by life, in a sense. Some express it, cry over it, others hide their wounds. But we all carry them inside.
The Benedictine monks have a habit of greeting one another with the words: “Please pray for my conversion as I pray for yours.” What it means concretely, in every day’s life, is explained by St. Peter in the letter we just heard: daily fight, daily struggle. Not to close our eyes to the evil around us, but also in ourselves. For although we all were created in God’s image and likeness, and they can’t be erased, they are often very dimmed, even so badly one cannot recognize them anymore. And this is the aim of our struggle: to recover God’s image and God’s likeness in ourselves. Yet at the same time we can trust God when we aren’t able to do it, entrust our worries in him. In the God that reaches out to me, that starts looking for me long before I look for him. Perhaps my voice is really thinner than a squeak, but he can hear it. He can hear it and listens to me. To me, the lost sheep. Me, the lost coin. Me, the human being. Amen.
