Lost and found. Lost, and found. This man welcomes sinners and eats with them. Anthropologists will tell you that sitting down at table and breaking bread with someone is the second most physically intimate thing we can do with another person or persons. I want to let that sink in for a second. Sitting down at table and breaking bread with someone is the second most physically intimate thing that we can do with another human being. This man welcomes sinners and eats with them. The religious authorities were offended by this act of inclusivity by Jesus, this act of intimacy. So, he tells them the parable of the lost sheep. Which one of you – think about it – which one of you, you’re the shepherd, these sheep are your lifetime investment. Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the 99 in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? Which one of us would do that? Nobody would do that. Nobody would do that. It’s ridiculous. That’s crazy. This makes absolutely no sense in terms of protecting our investment in our sheep. No one would do that.

Apparently, Jesus is not appealing to our sense, to our logic, to our investments. Apparently, there is something else going on here, something radical, something outrageous, something amazing, something grace. Oh, and how about this one? There will be more joy in heaven – think about it – there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over 99 righteous persons who need no repentance. That’s not fair. That’s looking for loopholes. It’s not fair, and it’s not logical at all. Apparently, there is something else going on here, something beyond fairness. something outrageous, something grace.

Theologians talk about the difference between sin and sins, a state of sin versus specific sinful acts. Sin is a state of being, not a sinful act. As I mentioned earlier, in my dad’s seventh-grade confirmation class we learned that sin is separation from God. Sin is like being a lost sheep, separated, all alone in the world. In his famous book “Mere Christianity,” C.S. Lewis talks about sin and he says this – this is one of my all-time favorite books – “the self-righteous prig may be far closer to hell than the prostitute.” And then Lewis says this – “But of course it is best to be neither.” It’s great. In his essay, “You Are Accepted,” Paul Tillich says that sin is best understood as something deeper than moral violations. Tillich says it is an estrangement, a separation. A separation from others, a separation from ourselves. Tillich approached Christianity as an existentialist. Separation from God, which Tillich calls the very ground of our being, Tillich said that’s what God is. God is, quote, the very ground of our being. God for Tillich is that ground of our being and to live in a state of sin is to live separated from ourselves. We are separated from the very ground of our being. This is not good. Separated from the very ground of our being. This is a state of sin.

In this state we are like a lost sheep separated, not only from the shepherd and the rest of the flock, but separated from ourselves, separated from the very source of our grace and joy. So, Tillich says, we need an experience of grace. We need a savior who will show us the way back from being lost. Grace is accepting the fact that we are accepted by God. That was Tillich’s definition of grace. And I love saying the great Paul Tillich almost got it right. Can you believe I’m saying that? I’m convinced that if Tillich was sitting right there, he would agree with me, because he said his definition of grace is accepting the fact that I am accepted by God, and that’s almost there. Grace is accepting the fact that we are accepted by God. Not just me, we. And that changes everything, doesn’t it? I’m accepted by God, so are you. I’ve shared with you before; I can’t resist sharing with you that I went to the Theological Seminary on the campus of the University of Chicago. Towards the end of his career, long before I got there, Paul Tillich was a professor at the University of Chicago Divinity School. He used to go to Jimmy’s Pub on 55th Street. Vicki and I lived one block from Jimmy’s Pub on 55th Street. All of us seminarians were told that if we found the bar stool that Paul Tillich sat on, sat there and had a beer, we would write great theological treatises, so we tried. I guess I never found the right stool, but it was fun to try. This is existential, it’s paradoxical, it’s nonsensical, it’s contradictory. I think it’s what Jesus is trying to tell us, and it’s this. Each of us is the one sheep that can be lost, each of us. That oneness is something that we all experience. Each of us is the one sheep that Christ is leaving the plot for, which makes no sense whatsoever. It doesn’t make sense, and it’s true.

We have a membership in my family. The Groats have a membership at Costco in Columbus. Are there any other Costco – I know Costco’s kind of far away from Mount Vernon. OK. Costco has had a major impact on my life. We have a family membership at Costco in Columbus – well, it’s the one in Easton. I forget the name of the road now. I can’t believe I can’t remember. We go there a lot. We also have our medications at the pharmacy there. We get all of our vaccinations there. So we go for our prescriptions, we go for food, we go for everything else. Costco also has a food court. I’m telling you these things because you need to know them. Costco also has a food court that I know very well. Costco started in 1984 and when they started you could buy a foot-long hot dog there and a soda for $1.50. It’s a loss leader. The only thing I know about business and marketing is loss leader. I get that. To this day, you can get a foot-long hot dog and a drink there for $1.50, and it’s really good. You can also get a really large slice of pepperoni pizza there for $1.99. I will get my flu shot there soon, the good Lord willing, and when I do, I will reward myself with either a hot dog or a slice of pizza – not both, because I have control. You need to know these things.

I want you to know this. A while back something happened at this food court. I ordered my slice of pizza and picked it up at the counter. They handed me my paper cup, and I headed to the soda dispenser. I filled up my cup with soda and looked for an empty table. I’m guessing they have about 20 or so tables, and they’re metal, and they’re red, and they’re bolted to the floor, the benches, and they’re not really that comfortable. I’m convinced that that’s by design, so that you won’t sit there all day. I was standing there, and I was looking for a table. They only have so many tables in the Costco food court. I looked and I looked, and I looked and there was not one open table. I felt a little awkward, but I’m a secure guy. Whatever. I didn’t know quite what to do. I guess looking back, I felt a little, just a little, just a little like a lost sheep. Just a little, nothing life-threatening or anything. But what happened to me in light of our world today is profound, because that’s what happened. It was just a little, teeny spot in the universe in the great, grand scheme of things. On the one hand, it was nothing. On the other hand, it’s everything. I’ve had time to think about it. I don’t think it was a little thing. I think it’s a big thing. I can’t shake it. I keep thinking about the state of the world now and the state of our nation now, and I have decided not only was it a big thing, but it is also the thing. It’s the thing that we need, and we need it desperately, and if I could, I would model what happened and distribute it all over the world, and I would make everyone drink the potion.

She was really young. I’ve reached that point in my life where everybody’s young. But anyway, she was really young. I’m going to say she was about 20 or 21 years old. She was a very different ethnicity than mine. The color of her skin was different than mine. It was brown, a deep brown color of skin. She had a baby with her. The little baby girl was clearly her baby. They were sitting on one side of the small table, and the other side of the table was open. I was standing there with my slice of pizza and so feeling just a little like a lost sheep, just a little. Our eyes met, she smiled at me, and she gestured. She gestured the universal gesture, a gesture with the right hand that clearly said, “Here, the other side of my table’s open. Sit here. You are welcome at our table.” She didn’t say that. That’s what her gesture said to me. But I said, “Wait a minute. Are you sure you want to do this? Anthropologists say that sitting down at table with someone and breaking bread is the second most physically intimate thing that we can do. What if I’m a sinner? Don’t you want to know if I’m a sinner?” I did not say that. I sat down. We talked a little. She spoke in broken English. Maybe this is too much information, but I was sitting there thinking, “I wonder if she’s worried about being deported.” I didn’t ask her. Her baby smiled at me. They finished before me. We said goodbye, and they left. It certainly won’t make any headlines. I wish I could bottle what happened there and make everyone drink it. It was amazing. It was grace. Lost and found. Amen? Amen.