Luke 15:1-7 · The Parable of the Lost Sheep
The Hands And Arms Of Grace
Luke 15:1-7, Luke 15:8-10, Luke 15:11-32
Sermon
by Glenn E. Ludwig
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There is a wonderful story out of the Middle Ages that goes something like this. It seems people were putting pressure on the Pope, saying to him, "Your Holiness, this is the capital of Christendom. There ought to be only Christians in Rome. Let's get rid of the Jews." The Pope however, replied, "I don't know. Before I do anything, I will have a theological discussion with the chief rabbi of Rome. If the rabbi says the right things, the Jews will be allowed to stay. If he says the wrong things, they will have to go."

So they invited the rabbi in. The Pope dismissed all the Cardinals and said, "Rabbi, we are both theologians. Theologians deal in symbols. Since we use symbols in our communication, let this discussion be entirely in symbols." The rabbi said that was fine with him.

First, the Pope made a large circle with one hand and the rabbi responded by pointing to him. Then the Pope thrust out both arms to the chief rabbi. The rabbi responded by pointing to the Pope with two fingers. Finally, the Pope looked around for an apple and held it up. The rabbi went through the pockets of his long caftan and took out a piece of matzoh. The Pope concluded, "This is one of the finest statements I have heard of. Of course the Jews will be allowed to stay," and he sent the rabbi away.

The Pope, then, brought in the Cardinals and said, "I don't know what you people have been fussing about. I said to the rabbi, 'There is one church and it encompasses the world.' And he said, 'You are the head of it.' Then I said to him, 'There are two swords, the secular and the ecclesiastical,' and he said, 'You hold them both.' And then I said, 'There are foolish people who say the earth is round,' and he said, 'No, the earth is flat.' "

The rabbi went home to his wife and told her. "You know, I haven't the foggiest idea what the fuss was all about. I got in there and the Pope said, "We've got you surrounded.' And I said, 'But we can get to you too.' Then he said, 'We can hack you to pieces,' and I said, 'We can poke your eyes out.' Then he took out his lunch and I took out mine."

Communicating with our hands and arms can be dangerous, it appears. But there are many times and in many ways that we do communicate with symbols and most of them are easily understood. For instance, what does this stand for ... (peace)? How about this ... (number one)? This ... (okay)? And this ... (power)? And what do we try to teach babies even before they can speak ... (bye-bye)? How about this one ... (bad person)? Or ... (come here)? Or ... (come here now!)?

I think there is a symbol present in the story of our gospel for today that is worth pondering for a few moments. The story is all too familiar. There was this son who got tired of working in his father's pizza shop, so he went to his dad and asked him for his part of the inheritance now, so he could go out on his own. The father agreed and the son was off. He immediately bought himself a Porsche 944, picked up Donna Rice, and headed for Las Vegas. There he bought drugs and booze and friends and when the money ran out, so did the drugs and booze and the friends. He ended up working as a busboy for Wayne Newton, so he could pay off his gambling debts, and he had to eat the leftover food on the plates he cleaned from the table to keep alive.

One day, while gnawing on a leftover rib, he realized how foolish he had been and wrote home to dad for help. Without a moment's hesitation and without reading the whole letter which was full of apologies and regrets, dad sent a first class plane ticket back home. The son arrived home and was greeted by dad with the biggest pizza party ever thrown in Baltimore.

Now, your translation may be different from that, but what symbol do you see at work here? Can't you just see the father running to greet that long lost son with arms outstretched and hands opened in welcome and love?

That's precisely how God loves us -- arms outstretched, running toward us always, welcoming us home. Jesus says through this parable, "That's how God loves us."

You realize that we have misnamed that parable for many years. We know it as the parable of the prodigal son. Perhaps it would be best to rename it "The Parable of the Forgiving Father," for that is surely what it is all about.

And we have seen that symbol of the love and acceptance of God in an even more powerful way than in parable form. What about his ... (arms and hands outstretched on a cross)?

Think about those hands for a moment. They are pierced hands, bloody hands, pained hands. And they are spread in a gesture that takes in all the world. On that cross of Golgotha, to which we continue to journey these weeks of Lent, God was saying to you and me, "I love you this much!"

For, whose hands are they? God's Son, hanging pierced and bleeding from a cross, made the ultimate sacrifice for God's rebellious creation. "For God so loved the world (that's us, my friends in Christ) that he gave his only begotten son, that all who believe in him would never die but have eternal life."

We probably have trouble understanding such love. Our concept, our experiences of love, are never like that. We live in a world where we are rewarded for doing good and punished for doing bad. We grew up hearing that if you want something, you have to earn it, work for it, fight for it. That reward system of thought has always been with us. If we work and get good grades, we will get into the best colleges and get our degrees and earn big bucks. If we brush our teeth and floss everyday, we will have good teeth and gums. If we please our employers, we can get a raise. And the list could go on and on.

But God takes that system and turns it upside-down and inside-out. On the cross, the hands and arms of grace spread out to encompass the whole world. God says, "You can't earn this. I'm giving it to you. Here is my son who is going to die so that sin and death won't have to threaten or worry or frighten you anymore. It is my ultimate sacrifice and you don't deserve it. But I love you this much!"

The world, you know, doesn't understand that grace. They don't understand the cross. For them, it is a symbol of failure, of pain, of defeat, of mockery. They thought they were doing away with a troublesome Jew and that would be the end of it. "Ha!" shouts God. "Ha!" And three days later, the world heard that shout through the echo of an empty tomb. The cross and the hands and arms of grace took on a new meaning. Now, instead of a symbol of torture and pain, we carry it as a symbol of victory, of God's power, of hope and salvation, of love -- for you and for me.

The prodigal sons and daughters of God know only too well how beautiful is the sight of the one with open arms and hands welcoming us home. I have known many prodigals, have been one a time or two, but none stands out more than the freshman coed at the college where I served as chaplain for five years. I helped recruit her for the school. Her older sister was one of my students and actively involved in the chapel program.

When younger sister hit campus, she decided to break all ties with her sister, with me, with the chapel, with God. She played prodigal and she played it as well as anyone I've seen. She drank, did drugs, slept with any upperclassman in pants, skipped classes, had rowdy parties in her dorm room -- the whole thing. I gave her her space. But every once in a while, I'd drop her a note to let her know that I was still around and that I cared and that God cared through me. She was in serious academic trouble in three months and her lifestyle was as low as it could get.

One day a rap came on my office door, and I opened it to find my friend with tears streaming down her face. I'll never forget her words to me as she rushed into my arms: "I've come home."

In the embrace that followed, the arms of grace, the arms of God, encircled us both and she knew she was home -- where love and grace and forgiveness are waiting.

I don't know about you, but I thank God for those arms and hands of grace, for they have welcomed me many times when I have been lost and hurting.

Look at that cross, my friends. Those arms welcome you, too. Amen.

CSS Publishing, Lima, Ohio, Walking To Walking With, by Glenn E. Ludwig