“Get Lost”

A Sermon by Rev. Patrice Ficken

Luke 15:1-10

Sanbornton Congregational Church, UCC

September 16, 2007

(Please do not re-print or re-use without permission of the author)

What are the paths that you travel every week? What are the familiar routes, familiar roadways? Home to work, home to school, home to the grocery store, home to church, home to the doctor’s office, home to your best friend’s house?

We get so comfortable traveling these familiar pathways – we don’t realize it until we have to change jobs, or schools, or move to a new home.

In fact, we can get so set in the paths we travel, we can forget that there are alternatives – back roads, back streets open to us – new trails, new discoveries to be made.

(I think of when I stopped working a 9-5 job and how disoriented I felt being out and about during the day, of not having a desk to go to)

Now it may seem strange to talk about familiar pathways when our lectionary presents two stories about losing something, about being lost. First, the parable of the lost sheep; second, the lost coin and third – if we had kept reading on – the parable of the lost son, more commonly known as the prodigal son.

The whole section begins as a response to the Pharisees and scribes grumbling about Jesus “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” As we read these passages and hear their references to “sin” and “going astray” it’s easy to conclude that being lost is a bad thing; something to be avoided whenever possible. Thinking back to times when we felt lost or lost our way we might tend to agree.

In the dramatic opening chapters of the book we read for our first book discussion group, Three Cups of Tea, we read about the failed attempt, by climber Greg Mortenson to reach the top of K2 in Pakistan. There were complex reasons why he never made it to the top, but his troubles truly began during his descent.

We read with amazement how he ends up spending the night alone, with no water, a blanket and a protein bar to sustain him in subzero temperatures – he got separated from his porter who had all his supplies.

To be physically lost – as Mortenson was – clearly has its perils. We seem to know this instinctively when we take a wrong turn and find ourselves lost, disoriented and alone.

Of course, our passages refer not to being physically lost so much as being spiritually lost. What does this mean? To be spiritually lost is to find ourselves at sea, to lose perspective or direction, to feel that nothing matters or has meaning anymore. We can easily feel spiritually lost during times of major transition or loss.

We can also despair when we see others whom we care about wandering aimlessly through their lives. We may worry about our children, our leaders, the Patriots, our loved ones, going down pathways that may not feel right to us. We may find ourselves easily judging others for what seem to us to be foolish choices.

I think of the elder son in the prodigal son story and what he must have thought when his younger brother demanded his share of the inheritance and ran off. We can almost hear the “tsk, tsk, tsk…” in self-righteous judgment. What a jolt it was for him, when he came upon the extravagant feast put on by his father when the “lost” younger brother finally returned. We remember his complaint, his fury – at having been loyal, playing it safe, staying close to him – why no feast for him?

Henri Nouwen reflects on the elder son’s predicament in his book, The Return of the Prodigal Son. The book is a meditation on the Rembrandt painting of this scripture passage.

As Nouwen looks deeply at the painting he notices how the elder son is portrayed standing stiffly apart from the tender, homecoming scene of his father embracing his younger brother with such love and joy. Nouwen is surprised how much he connects with the elder son’s resentment, his pain at watching his younger brother being received so warmly. Nouwen realizes within himself – how often his own resentment keeps him separated from joy.

Rather than judging too harshly those who seem to us to go astray – we can realize that it is often these very experiences that help us to grow, learn and change.

What comes through clearly in all three of these scripture stories is the joy of discovery: the joy of the shepherd finding the lost sheep; the joy of the woman finding her lost coin; the joy of the father in the return of his son.

Perhaps we should heed the advice of travel guru, Rick Steeves – to get lost on purpose. He suggests this as a way to really discover and get to know a new place. Set out with no map, no particular destination and wander about. Ride city buses, get on the subway, wander city streets with no particular aim in mind. Here in NH we might get off on an exit we’ve never taken before. Steeves says that by getting lost on purpose, he has to pay closer attention, talk to people, ask questions, engage with his surroundings in a deeper way.

How many times has it happened that the wrong turn, the unplanned stop or detour provides the most meaningful or the most memorable time of the journey?

For Greg Mortenson this was definitely true. Mortenson, on his descent from K2 got lost not once but twice. The second time, he missed a turn and found himself in a village called Korphe. There, he was greeted by a warm and generous people who shared with him their meager resources to nurse him back to strength and health. Their extravagant hospitality changed his life, setting him off on a new pathway, a new calling – to build schools in Pakistan.

So next time life is feeling a little flat, a little boring – be daring. Take a turn down a road you’ve never traveled before. Sign up for that class. Make that phone call. Speak to the stranger next to you. Follow that path that has been calling to you or that presents itself to you.

Go ahead and get lost, will you? Get lost, knowing that we can never stray too far from the Good Shepherd – whose eyes are always on the horizon, keeping watch, never losing track of even one of his flock.

Get lost to discover who you are; get lost to discover who God is.

Take to heart the words of Robert Frost, “The Road Not Taken”