Luke 15:1-10

In March of 1970 I was in my first year of seminary. It was Spring
Break and our Greek professor was taking a few of us on a tour of the
Holy Land. We drove to the church where Tooney was the student
minister. Tooney had his bags packed and at the church, and as soon
as Sunday evening worship was over, he would join us. In the
meantime, we had to listen to his sermon.

It was a rousing and fervent evangelistic sermon in which almost
every sentence was addressed TO YOU, LOST PERSON! YOU NEED JESUS,
LOST PERSON! Considering that it was almost certain that everyone in
the room was a Christian and a committed church member, it seemed to
me to be wildly inappropriate.

On the other hand, somehow he must have touched a nerve. When he gave
the invitation at the end of the service EVERYONE came forward. It
went on and on and on, with weeping and wailing, and the pianist
playing soft music in the background. Finally the music stopped. The
pianist came forward, too, also in tears. So by this time the only
people who hadn't come forward were the three of us strangers,
sitting in the back of the room. I never went back to that church
again, so I can't say if they all changed forever, or if the effect
wore off as soon as they got home. But, at least for a few minutes,
it was a marvelously effective sermon.

It taught me a lesson. I learned that I'm not qualified to judge the
effectiveness of a sermon. It's enough to make a person believe in
the existence of the Holy Spirit.

Nevertheless, I will still say that I believe times have changed.
Preaching to lost persons, and calling them that to their faces, is
not likely to be good evangelism. People no longer know what it means
to be lost. Marvelous topographical maps are available to hikers.
Almost anyone can now afford a GPS tracking device and a cell phone
to call for help. Wives are teaching their husbands to stop and ask
for directions. In terms of being lost or found, people are really
confident and with good reason.

And I think people would resent being called "lost" to their faces.
It carries an implication of superiority: I'm found but you're lost.
You need me, you poor sinner!

So this is not an evangelistic sermon. I'm not preaching to lost
people, today. If you happen to feel lost and want to talk about it,
let's do it privately, later.

It's not an evangelistic sermon, but it is a sermon about evangelism.
We're following up on what we talked about last week. I think this
church needs to reach out to folks who aren't here. They might be
like us, they might be unlike us, but they need to be with us.

Remember this spring we were seeking a vision for this church? And
person after person said to me that they thought the vision had to
involve evangelism. We needed to be reaching out to others.  So today
is where we start. The question is, how are we going to do it?

And I do think it is right and proper to think about and talk to each
other about people being lost, and how do we find them, and
celebrating when they are found. If we are careful and sensitive and
never use this language outside the church building, and if we work
every day on squelching our superior feelings, and if we pray to God
to keep us humble, and if we constantly remind ourselves that the 99
sheep who were found long ago are not as worthy of celebrating, and
don't need as much attention as the one sheep found today, then maybe
we can talk to each other about seeking the lost and celebrating
their being found.

But I don't think we should ever use that language to them. And I
suspect you already agree. For most of us are finding it very
difficult to "witness" to others, the way we've heard we're supposed
to: "Once I was lost but now I am found." It doesn't ring true.

It sure isn't true for me. I grew up in the church. My daddy was the
preacher; my mommy was the organist, and the junior department
superintendent, and the director of the youth choir, and the sponsor
of the Chi Rho group. Every summer my camp counselor parents took me
along for two weeks of camp, not just one. Every Sunday morning I
received my allowance: 90 cents to spend on myself and ten cents in a
separate pile to put in the offering.

I was never lost. Jesus knew exactly where I was every minute. In the
spirit of last Sunday's Psalm, there was no way I could hide. It
would be completely false for me to say, "Once I was lost but now I
am found."

I was never lost, but I have been in pain. I can talk about what it
feels like to hurt. And I can say that every time I hurt, it was the
people of God who reached out to me and loved me and prayed for me
and touched me with tenderness and shared my pain and healed me. No,
they didn't cure me, no they couldn't take away the scars, but they
healed me with love; and I know it was God reaching through them.

Now it seems to me that the people of the world may not know any more
what it is to be lost. But everyone knows what it means to be in
pain. And it is safe to assume that everyone you see, everyone you
talk to, everyone you listen to, is hurting right now. So their pain
is your point of contact. Take advantage of your own pain and God's
healing love in your own life to understand the other person.

Of course most people won't talk about their pain unless they can
trust you. So your job is to become trustworthy. Your job is to be a
good and sympathetic and empathetic listener. And finally, after
you've won their trust, it may be time to briefly mention the church
and how God is healing your pain.

Briefly, I said! The best evangelistic sermon is less than 30 seconds
long. Thirty hours of listening. Thirty seconds of "witnessing."

Turn over your bulletins and look at the blank rectangle on the back.
Spend a few minutes right now, thinking about people you know, who
might be in pain, and who don't have the healing love of a church.
Then write down in that empty space the names of those people you are
willing to pray for and listen to in the days to come.

You are not promising to preach to them. You are only committing
yourself to pray for them and listen to them. If the time ever comes
to evangelize them, the Holy Spirit will let you know. Write those
names now.

[  Three minutes silence ]

Now take your bulletin home with you. Post it on your refrigerator or
fold it into your wallet. Use it as a reminder. Because we are about
to become an evangelistic church. We are about to become an
evangelistic church.

In 1947, when I was five years old, our family took a long vacation
trip out west. We saw the Grand Canyon. We saw Yellowstone Park. We
waded in the Pacific Ocean. And we stopped in Oregon and Washington
to visit some of my mother's relatives.

Near the town of Castle Rock, where some of those relatives lived,
there was a beautiful lake at the foot of a lovely snow-capped
mountain. The grownups decided we'd all go to Spirit Lake for a
picnic.

And while most of the folks were working on setting up, Uncle Jesse
and Aunt Hazel took me on a walk, through the picnic grounds, down a
steep incline, to the beach. And they said, "We'd like to walk on a
little farther. If we leave you here by the lake, can you get back to
our picnic table? All you have to do is go up the hill and walk that
direction to get back." I agreed that I knew exactly how to get back.
They left and I continued playing.

After a while I decided it was probably time to go back to the picnic
table. But when I tried to go up the hill, halfway up my feet slipped
and I slid back down. I tried again and slipped back down. Tried
again and slipped back down. Eventually I gave up in frustration, and
sat down in the dirt and began to cry.

Along came a strange man and woman. "What's the matter, sonny? Are you lost?"

"No," I said. "I know exactly where I am. I know exactly where I want
to go. I just can't get up this hill." So they took me by the hand,
and helped me up the hill, and back to my family.

Now Seattle is full of hills. And I believe that Seattle is full of
people who don't think they are lost, and would resent it if you
suggested that they might be lost. But they hurt. They are in pain.
They suffer. They may even cry, especially if they think no one is
looking. What they need is a listening ear and a loving word and a
helping hand to ease their hurt and get them up their hill and back
home. What they need is your listening ear and your loving word and
your helping hand to ease their hurt and get them up their hill and
back home.

And when they get there, the angels of God will rejoice, and the
heavenly party will begin!

(Comments to Don atcrestnch@televar.com.)
Creston, Washington, USA