Costly

Costly

Now the tax collectors and “sinners” were all gathering around to hear him. But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law muttered, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.”

Then Jesus told them this parable: “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’ I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.

“Or suppose a woman has ten silver coins and loses one. Doesn’t she light a lamp, sweep the house and search carefully until she finds it? And when she finds it, she calls her friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin.’ In the same way, I tell you, there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.” (Luke 15:1-10)

Luke tells us that Jesus told not one, but actually three, separate parables to the Pharisees and the scribes, or teachers, that day who were complaining about the fact that not only did Jesus welcome “sinners,” but he ate with them, too.

The first parable is called the Parable of the Lost Sheep, and it’s the story of a man who was tending a flock of one hundred sheep when one goes wandering off. Maybe it was just a matter of sheep-inattentiveness. However, instead of simply writing the sheep off as a loss, the shepherd went searching until he found that lost sheep. And after finding it, he called everyone around to “Rejoice with me, for I have found my lost sheep.” (Verse 6)

The second parable is called the Parable of the Lost Coin. In this story, a woman has ten silver coins in her house but somehow loses one of them. Maybe it was just a matter of being a little careless. But, like the shepherd, she’s not going to write it off as a loss either. So she “lights a lamp, sweeps the whole house, and searches diligently until she finds it.” (Verse 8) And when she does, just like the shepherd, she calls her friends and neighbors over and says, “Rejoice with me, for I have found my lost coin.” (She was also happy that her house was clean, too, and just in time for the party!) The third parable’s the story we’ve been studying over the last few weeks, the Parable of the Prodigal Son.

Now, there are some obvious similarities in these three stories. For instance, in each parable something is lost, i.e., a sheep, a coin and a son. And, in each, the one who loses something gets it back, i.e., the shepherd, the woman and the father. And, finally, each of the narratives ends on a festive note, and we see people rejoicing and celebrating when the lost have been found.

But with all their similarities, there’s one glaring difference between the last parable and the first two. Did you spot it? Look a little harder, because it’s there. Yep, in the first two parables, the shepherd and the woman go out and search frantically for the lost sheep and the lost coin. Nothing gets in the way of these determined “searchers.” So, by the time we get to the last story, and we hear about the deplorable conditions in which the younger son finds himself, we kind of expect that someone will go out and search for him, too. But no one does. It’s surprising, maybe even a little disquieting, don’t you think? I believe it was intentional.

You see, by placing the three parables side-by-side-by-side, Jesus is inviting us to think, and perhaps ask ourselves, “Shouldn’t someone have gone out looking for the lost boy, just like in the first two parables?” (Probably) “But, if so, who would that be? The father? The older brother, maybe? How about a search party? Better yet, how ‘bout Columbo?” (Sorry)

Of course, Jesus knew his Word like the back of his hand, and he knew that at its very beginning (Genesis 4) it tells another story of an elder and younger brother – Cain and Abel. And in that story, God tells the resentful and proud older brother, “You are your brother’s keeper.”

The late Edmund Clowney, a one-time Escondido resident and professor at Westminster Theological Seminary, recounted in a sermon he once gave the true life story of Daniel Dawson, an Army Lieutenant, whose reconnaissance plane had been shot down over the Vietcong jungle. When his brother, Donald, heard the report, he sold everything he had, left his wife with $20, and went to Vietnam. When he arrived, he got his hands on some soldier’s gear and wandered through the guerilla-controlled jungle, looking for his brother. He carried leaflets with pictures of the plane, and offered a reward to anyone who could provide him with news of the missing pilot. He became known as Anh toi phi-cong — the brother of the pilot, or just “the brother.”

And isn’t that what the older brother in the parable should have done? I mean, this is what a true elder brother would have done, don’t you think? He would have said something like, “Look, Dad, my younger brother was a fool for demanding his inheritance and then simply disappearing. But it’s been months since we’ve heard from him, and I’m getting a little concerned – just like you. Fact is, he’s probably broke and in a gutter somewhere. So, I’m gonna go look for him and when I find him, I’ll bring him back. And if his inheritance has been wasted, as I expect, I’ll bring him back at my expense.” Wait. At the older brother’s expense? Yes, at the brother’s expense.

Because, as Jesus said, the father had divided his property between the two boys before the younger one left town. Everything had been divvied up. The younger brother had gotten his share and, we know from the story, his share was completely gone. So, when the father says to the older brother, “My son, everything I have is yours,” he’s not kidding. He’s telling the literal truth. Every penny that remained of the family estate now belonged to the older brother. Every robe, every ring, every sandal, every fattened calf was the older brother’s by right.

It’s tempting to believe that the restoration of the younger brother didn’t involve a cost. We get there by pointing out the fact that the younger brother wanted to make restitution, but his father wouldn’t let him. So, we conclude, his acceptance back into the family was without cost. And we use this conclusion to support the proposition that forgiveness and love should always be free and unconditional. But that’s an oversimplification, I think, and here’s why.

If someone breaks your cell phone, you could demand that they buy you a new one. Right? The alternative, of course, is to forgive them and pay for the replacement yourself, or simply go without your cell phone. (Really?) OK, but now imagine something more serious – someone has maliciously damaged your reputation. Again, like the phone scenario, you have two options. The first would be to make that person pay by going to others who know him and then ruining his name as a way of restoring your own. On the other hand, you could forgive him and take on the much more difficult task of attempting to set the record straight without vilifying him in the process. The forgiveness is free and unconditional to the perpetrator, but it’s costly to you.

Mercy and forgiveness must be free and unmerited to the wrongdoer, because if the wrongdoer has to do something to merit it, then it’s not mercy, is it? But forgiveness always comes at a cost to the one who forgives. And while the parable of the prodigal son showed us how free the father’s forgiveness was, it also gives us insight into its costliness. You see, the younger brother’s restoration was free to him, but it came at an enormous cost to the older brother because the father could not reinstate him except at the expense of his older son. There was no other way.

But Jesus doesn’t put a true elder brother in the story, does he? One who was willing to pay whatever it cost to go on a search and rescue mission looking for his derelict, younger brother. The younger son gets a Pharisee for a brother, instead. And maybe that’s why the parable leaves us hanging – we’re never told what the elder brother eventually decided. But by putting a flawed elder brother in the story, Jesus is inviting us to imagine what a true older brother would’ve done, or what he’d look like.

So, think of the kind of brother we need. We need one who doesn’t just go to the next country to find us, but one who’ll move heaven and earth to do so. We need a brother who is willing to pay not just money, but the cost of his own life to bring us into God’s family. We’ve all rebelled against God. And it doesn’t matter if you’re a “younger brother” or an “older brother,” because we all deserve rejection.

You see, one of the points of the parable is that forgiveness isn’t free. It always involves a price. Someone has to pay. Again, there was no way for the younger brother to return to the family unless the older brother paid the price, himself. And Jesus, our true “older brother,” paid for our redemption with his life – on a cross.

We need to soften our hearts and be moved by the sight of what it cost to bring us home. Jesus emptied himself of his glory and became a servant. (Phil. 2:5-9) He laid aside the omnipotence of his being and, at the cost of his life, paid the debt for our sin and purchased us the only place our hearts can truly find rest – in his Father’s house. And once we begin to comprehend this staggering truth, it can transform us from the inside out. I mean, why wouldn’t you want to offer yourself to someone like that?

John Newton, the author of the hymn, Amazing Grace, wrote another hymn (Olney Hymns, Hymn 3) that succinctly makes this point:

“Our pleasure and our duty,

Though opposite before;

Since we have seen his beauty,

Are joined to part no more:

It is our highest pleasure,

No less than duty’s call;

To love him beyond measure,

And serve him with our all.”

In a few short words, Newton perfectly summarizes our dilemma: we either turn from God and pursue our heart’s desire, like the younger brother, or we repress our desires and perform our moral obligations, like the older brother. But the sacrificial, costly love of Jesus on the cross changes all of that. Because when we see the beauty of what Jesus has done for us, it attracts us to him. We realize that the love we’ve been seeking in other things is really in Jesus. It also eliminates our fear, because if the Lord of the universe loves us enough to die for us, then about what do we have to be afraid?

We will never stop being younger brothers or elder brothers until we acknowledge our need for him, and then rest in faith and gaze with awe at the work of our true elder brother, Jesus Christ. Then, we won’t need religion, because we’ll have a relationship, instead.

Grace,

Randy