Sermon Tone Analysis

/Now the tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to hear him.

And the Pharisees and the scribes grumbled, saying, “This man receives sinners and eats with them.”/

So he told them this parable:  “What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he has lost one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the open country, and go after the one that is lost, until he finds it?

And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing.

And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and his neighbours, saying to them, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.’

Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.”[1]

Jesus irritated the religious leaders of His day.

He still irritates religious people.

Perhaps the greatest irritant was His willing association with those whom religious society shunned.

Then, as now, some people were considered less desirable as members of society.

Many people attempt to categorise those coming into the Faith.

There are, however, but two categories possible when considering one’s relationship to God—saints and ain’ts.

One is either born from above into the Family of God, or one is outside that glorious relationship.

In ancient Judea, those outside the Faith were often seen as unworthy of God’s love and were even hated because of their position in society.

Tax collectors were especially hated in Jewish society because they were seen as traitors to their own nation.

Tax collectors bid for the right to collect taxes; Rome was thus assured of receiving the amount promised by the highest bidder.

Tax collectors routinely gouged those they taxed to insure a tidy profit on their concession.

Sinners were those excluded from polite society to this very day—prostitutes, gamblers, thieves—the rowdy elements of the streets.

These were not the white-collar criminals accorded respect and honour because of their possessions; these were those people without sufficient resources to provide for a legal defence or without the means to obtain respect by reason of their name or because of their possessions.

Jesus deliberately associated with such people, welcoming them.

Although a great teacher, He diluted the respect which religious people would otherwise accord Him by His deliberate association with the outcasts of society.

In a very real sense, the major source of irritation was that Jesus was unconventional, that He could not be controlled by the elite.

On one occasion, Jesus again welcomed tax collectors and sinners to hear His teaching and the Pharisees and teachers of the law were muttering.

Never once do we find an occasion when these religious leaders openly questioned Jesus to His face about His practises.

They questioned His disciples [e.g.

*Luke 5:29-32*] or they grumbled among themselves.

Jesus knew their thoughts—He knows the innermost thoughts of each man and He knows what is in the heart of a man.

Knowing their thoughts He addressed Himself to the questions raised, revealing something of the wonderful heart of God.

Jesus addressed their failure to understand divine love by speaking at a level anyone could understand.

He spoke of a father’s love for a wandering son—any parent can grasp this heartfelt love and the compassion for a wayward child.

Jesus spoke of the loss of a dowry—any Jew would have understood the importance of such a loss to a woman of that day.

First, however, Jesus spoke of the concern any shepherd would feel for a wandering sheep.

In an agrarian society, the parable would be instantly understood.

The Worth of a Wanderer —  What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he has lost one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the open country, and go after the one that is lost, until he finds it?

What is the worth of a wandering sheep?

Permit me to rephrase the question.

What is the value of one life?

What is the value of the life of Daniel Pearl?

To Islamic fascists, he was a trophy.

Coerced into reading a statement confessing assorted crimes, including his ancestry, he was beheaded and his head held up like a prize.

Before the deed is forgotten, it may cost the life of multiplied hundreds of Arabs and Americans and uncounted billions of dollars.

What is the value of the lives of Noah, John, Paul, Luke and Mary Yates?

Children between the ages of seven and infancy when drowned by their mother, who among us would place a value on their young lives?

Nations watch in horror as Andrea Yates is on trial for her life, and mothers debate whether it is possible to be so sick as to want to kill one’s own children.

What is the value of the life of Mona Wilson and Serena Abotsway, prostitutes from the mean streets of East Vancouver?

Ask those who knew these women—friends and family members.

Ask the police who have search the grounds of a Port Coquitlam pig farm.

Ask the crown counsel what value can be assigned to these lives.

When we ask such a question, whether we have considered the consequences of the question or not, we are categorising people, assigning value to each life on the basis of social acceptance, personal wealth, human potential as we mortals view potential.

The wife of Daniel Pearl no doubt valued the life of her husband more then even the President of the United States valued that life.

The grandmother of the Yates children valued the lives of her grandchildren more then did all the children’s grieving public throughout North America.

Mona Wilson’s husband, despite his scruffy appearance, valued the life of his wife we may be assured and the friends of Serena Abotsway valued her life we know.

What is the worth of one life?

What value can we place on a life?

Clearly, the Pharisees and the teachers of the law valued life differently than did Jesus.

The people to whom Jesus reached out were sinners unworthy of their attention except to take note to avoid them.

Such distinction between Jesus and these religious leaders ensured constant friction between the two views.

I suppose one of the classic examples of such friction is that provided by the occasion when Jesus was guest at a dinner party given by Simon, a Pharisee.

You can read the story in *Luke 7:36-50*.

As Jesus was reclining at the table, a woman carrying an alabaster jar of perfume entered the house uninvited.

I should imagine that every eye was focused on this woman—because every man present knew her.

If they did not know her through intimate association, they knew her by reputation.

Those men present at that dinner party knew that the woman was a trollop, a despised and despicable creature of the night available to whomever had the price for her that night.

Passed from man-to-man, she had perhaps been used even by some of those who despised her so deeply.

She knelt behind Jesus and perhaps remembering lost promises of her youth, she began to weep so hard that the tears poured down her face and rained down onto Jesus’ feet.

Having no towel, in her embarrassment she began to wipe His feet with her hair.

Then, to the shock of the host and the other guest she began to kiss His feet and poured her perfume on them.

Through all this activity Jesus said not a word, but with studied nonchalance He seems to have observed the discomfort of the others present.

The uncomfortable silence of the moment was finally broken when Jesus spoke to the host: Simon, I have something to say to you.

Carefully, I should imagine, Simon responded: Say it, Teacher.

Jesus continued: A certain moneylender had two debtors.

One owed him five hundred denarii, and the other fifty.

When they could not pay, he cancelled the debt of both.

Now which of them will love him [ajgaphvsei] more?

The one, I suppose, for whom he cancelled the larger debt, Simon answered.

Jesus affirmed Simon’s assessment: You have judged rightly.

Then, turning toward the woman, still kneeling at His feet and still kissing them, Jesus asked Simon in particular and all the guests in general: Do you see this woman?

Who could miss her?  Every eye was turned toward her and every mind was sharply focused on the singular thought that Jesus was permitting her to touch Him.

Before anyone could form a rejoinder, Jesus continued: I entered your house; you gave Me no water for My feet (a responsibility incumbent upon every host), but she has wet My feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair.

You gave Me no kiss (the responsibility of each host as he welcomed a guest into his home), but from the time I came in she has not ceased to kiss My feet.

You did not anoint My head with oil (again the responsibility of the host toward the guest of honour at any such gathering), but she has anointed My feet with ointment.

Then, revealing His heart and the value He placed on all people, Jesus spoke what were perhaps the most stunning words these religious leaders had ever heard: Therefore, I tell you, her sins, which are many, have been forgiven—for she loved much.

But he who is forgiven little, loves little.

Then, focusing on the woman, Jesus said, Your sins are forgiven.

I am astonished when I consider this incident in light of the perfect knowledge of our Lord.

Jesus knew that the sin of this wicked woman would send Him to the cross.

Jesus knew that the evil lurking in the heart of this fallen woman would necessitate His cruel death, would force His unimaginable separation from the Father, and yet He was so moved with compassion for her that He did not shrink back in horror at her touch.

I have on occasion been called to minister to bad people—prostitutes, thieves, murderers, outcasts.

One day in particular I was called to speak to a young woman drying out from drug addition in Twin Maples, a facility in New Westminster.

She had been forced into prostitution at an early age and now in her late teens, she was infected with a variety of loathsome diseases, all the consequence of her life on the streets.

By her own admission she had been used by so many men that she couldn’t begin to recall the numbers.

In the course of several visits, I spoke of the love of Jesus and how God was a loving father who would receive her with a pure, holy love.

She questioned how any man could love her in any manner other then sexually.

She had never known a man who did not use her for his own sexual gratification—beginning with her own father.

I wept at that thought, and as I wept, I asked if I could pray for her.

She told me that she had never had a man weep over her, and therefore I could pray for her.

As I prepared the message, I thought again of the trepidation with which I reached out to her and held her hand as I prayed, asking for God’s mercy and love to be given her.

There was no sense of hesitation on the part of Jesus when He reached out to the wandering elements of society.

He touched sinners—and He ate with them.

Do you love the lost of this world?