Homily
Twenty-Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time
The Pharisees accuse Jesus of hanging around with sinners and eating with them, and he responds with three questions: Did you ever meet a sheepless shepherd, a coinless housekeeper, or a sonless father?
- You shepherds! Which of you would not leave you ninety nine sheep all alone in search of the one who had wandered away? Well the honest answer is that no shepherd worth his crook would leave ninety nine sheep unprotected as potential wolf chow in the hope of finding one dumb sheep that was hopelessly lost. Maybe you'd wait for a backup shepherd, but you certainly wouldn't leave the whole flock in search of one percent of your whole investment!
- And what housekeeper, upon losing one penny out of the ten in her pocket book would get up in the middle of the night and scour the house with a broom and a flashlight searching for the lost pittance? Probably only the same crazy lady who would call her neighbors at four in the morning to come to an "I just found a penny under the couch" party. No one I know!
- And what Father would give his youngest son a third of everything he has in the bank, and when the kid returns, having spent the whole kit and kaboodle, kills the fatted calf and rejoices with unmitigated joy? No Father I know.
No father I know, no housekeeper I know, no shepherd I know would ever act like that. For Jesus is not talking about earthly shepherd, housekeepers and father.
This shepherd is the good shepherd. And this housekeeper is the God who never gives up on us. And this father is the one who waits for us in all our prodigality.
The good shepherd knows his sheep and they know him. He lays down his life for them and protects them from the wolf. But today we hear what happens when just one wanders away. Just one. For just one sheep he leaves the flock and goes in search, so much does he love the stray.
I've had a favorite print of this scene hanging in my room since I was first ordained. Just over the edge of a cliff, a lost lamb is entangled in the brambles, having lost it's footing. As a vulture circles overhead the lamb is literally petrified, its joints locked with fear. While with one hand precariously grasping a tree branch, the good shepherd reaches over the cliff to save the lamb, whom he will soon carry home on his shoulders, to the safety of the other ninety nine.
The lost sheep is the young person who, flush with the newfound freedom of early adulthood, wanders away from the Church in search of pleasure and soon falls off the cliff of his own desires, entangled in the selfishness of opportunism, while the vultures of greed circle around his head. But don't worry. For the Good Shepherd is out there seeking him along with his Blessed Mother and every angel and saint. Pray to them for him. For when things look the most precarious, when life appears to have finally fallen hopelessly apart, the goos shepherd will be there to grasp his hand, to pick him up, and to carry him home.
We can never stray so far that God cannot find us. And the Good Shepherd never gives up on the lost sheep.
As the Good Housekeeper values each one of her coins, even when she loses just one penny in the middle of the night. It doesn't matter that its just a penny. She still gets up out of bed, lights the lights, and sweeps every possible corner until she finds it.
She loves even the littlest penny the way that God loves the lowliest sinner. The penny is the addict, who has robbed, cheated and stolen his way through life. His wife gave up on him. The kids, from all three women, gave up on him. Even his mother and father and brothers gave up on him. And he sits in a cell, bloated with emptiness and bitter regret. He is the least of men, and no one will even notice when he dies.
No one but the God who made him, and who has been searching for him through the darkness of each night of his life, sweeping the alleys, looking among the broken dreams that define his horizons. He seeks him
And when this lost penny is found, there will be more rejoicing in heaven than over a whole Cathedral full of righteous ones. And he will call in the angels and saints to celebrate...for this lost little penny of mine is found....let the celebration begin.
As the Father of the prodigal Son, your father and mine, gives us everything....more than our share of the estate...he gives us the cool Fall breezes, the giggling and smile of a little child, the blueness of the sky and the beauty of the flowers, the sound of the voice of the person who loves you, and the whole world, for as far as you can see. It’s all for you.
And what do we do with this grand inheritance? We abuse his creation for our entertainment, we use people for our pleasure, and head off for distant countries, far from his love, where we squander our inheritance on a life of dissipation.
And when we have spent everything....our purity, our innocence, and even our love...when we have sold it all to the highest bidder, we come running back to him, seeking to strike one more bargain....seeking to treat him like just one more merchant to be bought and sold.
And what does he do? Does he scream at us, “You did what?” Do the corners of his mouth inflict a scowl of disappointment and remind us of our sin? Does he turn his back on us in justice and deserved derision?
No, he runs out to meet us, throws his arms around us, interrupts our silly bargaining, and throws a banquet in our honor, never ending, in his Heavenly Kingdom. All because we were sorry, and all because we came home.
And when we complain about how merciful he is being to our brothers when we’ve been working our hands off and he doesn't care when when we whine that he should have thrown the little runt out on his head. When we return bitterness for love and ambition for kindness.
He patiently reminds us of his love, and how he’s made all this for us, of how we will be with him forever, of how we have to celebrate and rejoice, for the one who was dead has come back to life and the one who was lost is found.
That’s what he does, this friend of sinners, this seeker of the lost, this lover of the prodigal, who has mercy on Pharisees and on us.
Monsignor James P. Moroney
Rector
