Dinner with a Sinner
Luke 15:1-31
Now the tax collectors and “sinners” were all gathering around to hear him. 2 But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law muttered, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.”
3 Then Jesus told them this parable: 4 “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Does he not leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? 5 And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders 6 and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’ 7 I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.
8 “Or suppose a woman has ten silver coins and loses one. Does she not light a lamp, sweep the house and search carefully until she finds it? 9 And when she finds it, she calls her friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin.’ 10 In the same way, I tell you, there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”
11 Jesus continued: “There was a man who had two sons. 12 The younger one said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the estate.’ So he divided his property between them.
13 “Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. 14 After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. 15 So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. 16 He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.
17 “When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired men have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! 18 I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. 19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired men.’ 20 So he got up and went to his father.
“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.
21 “The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son’
22 “But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. 23 Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. 24 For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ So they began to celebrate.
25 “Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing. 26 So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on. 27 ‘Your brother has come,’ he replied, ‘and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’
28 “The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him. 29 But he answered his father, ‘Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. 30 But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!’
31 “‘My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. 32 But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’”
Karen and I were one of the few who got to the movie theater in time to see End of the Spear. A few others commented last week, but my summary is simple: it was the most powerful movie I have ever seen. Never have I had such trouble controlling my emotional reactions to the raw power of the story of forgiveness. To understand the story, you need to understand the Waoroni Indians. They were an extremely violent people. For comparison, Washington D.C. has the highest murder rate in the U.S. at .00043%. The Waoroni had a murder rate which exceeded 50%. Tribal massacres and revenge killings were a way of life for them. In the late 1940’s and early 1950’s, they killed eleven men working for the Shell Oil Company. It was no surprise when they speared to death the five missionaries in 1956. But I think the real heroes of the story are Elizabeth Elliot, wife of slain missionary Jim Elliot, and Rachel Saint, sister of slain missionary Nate Saint. Two years after the massacre, Rachel and Elizabeth took their own life in their hands and made contact with the Waoroni. The forgiveness they showed to their relative’s killers was the driving force behind many conversions to Christ. Elizabeth lived with them in the jungles of Ecuador for two years and Rachel lived with them for 30 years. She died of cancer and is buried in the jungle.
Why did they do it? How could they have done such a thing? The only possible answer is that they were following Christ who came “to seek and to save the lost”. This is the way Luke 15 begins—Jesus is again hanging out with sinners and people low on the socioeconomic rung of life. The Pharisees complained that Jesus welcomed sinners and shared meals with them. Sharing a meal with someone was more intimate than just having a conversation. Jesus routinely had dinner with a sinner. That is also the application for each of us. When was the last time you had dinner with a sinner? Ladies, just to be clear, I’m not talking about the evening meal with your husbands.J I am using the word sinner in the same way that Luke used it—to describe anyone who is lost and in need of Christ. When was the last time you invited a lost person over for a meal? When was the last time you hung out with pagans? Jesus did it all the time and in this chapter he told three parables that explain why.
The lost sheep, the lost coin and the lost son all tell the same story: something is lost and an all-out search is made to find what was lost. This is not three different meaning, but one meaning—all people are “lost” without Christ and need to be “found”. This is the offensive message of an exclusive gospel. Most people would not like to be labeled as a lost person. They don’t feel lost and they don’t like the assumption that they need to be found. We are told that it is intolerant to say someone is lost. If that’s true, then Jesus was highly intolerant because he was crystal clear on the matter. He told not one, not two, but three parables to make sure we did not miss the point. He is the way, the truth and the life. All people are lost without him. If you diagnose someone with cancer, it is morally reprehensible to withhold that information from them. Jesus has diagnosed the human condition—we all have a fatal case of cancer of the soul, is it not then morally reprehensible to withhold that information from them? We have an exclusive gospel message but we must communicate it with an inclusive heart. Our message excluded anything but Christ, but our hearts should include all people. It’s time to invite a sinner to dinner.
These three parables present a simple logic: if something is lost, then we must search for it. So then why do we spend so little time in search and rescue efforts? The usual answer is fear. We are afraid to share our faith. We fear being rejected so we don’t do it. But I have a more complete answer. We don’t search for lost souls because we lack compassion. In the lost son, the father looked for his son to return out of compassion. He ran to his son out of compassion. He embraced his son and forgave his son out of compassion. I like Webster’s definition of compassion: sympathetic concern for the suffering of another. This matches perfectly with a search and rescue of souls, for after all, what greater suffering is there than an eternity without Christ? In the original language, the word compassion literally means your bowels—your gut. The idea is that compassion is something that must be felt. It’s not just doing the right thing, but it also includes feeling the right way. A genuine act of compassion hits you right in the gut. You feel the suffering of another. You feel the plight of lost souls. Compassion is something that must be felt and it is the driving force in seeking lost souls.
As
I implied a moment ago, fear does play a big part. I would picture the internal
fight like this. We all have a certain amount of compassion which motivates us
to seek the lost, but we also have a certain amount of fear, which hinders us
from seeking the lost. It is perfectly normal to have some compassion and some
fear, but the problem arises when our level of fear outweighs our level of
compassion. When this happens, 
we
say to the fearful Christian: “What are you afraid of? Just get over your fear
and get out there and spread the gospel!” Does that work? Hardly! What we need
is for our level of compassion to be so powerful that it pushes our fear
backward. What we feel in our gut about lost people overwhelms the fear in our
gut. Compassion wins the day and the gospel goes forth.
Listen to what compassion looked like in the life of missionary Hudson Taylor.
One of the patients whom Hudson treated during those days was an avowed atheist who was dying of gangrene. It was Hudson's daily duty to dress the infected foot. The man, who was vehemently antagonistic toward anything religious, had not entered a church since his wedding day forty years earlier. Recently when a Christian layman came to read Scriptures to him, he flew into a rage and ordered the well-meaning individual out of his room. When the local vicar called on him, the man spit in his face and refused to allow him to speak.
Hudson was deeply concerned about the man's eternal welfare, but did not broach spiritual matters the first two or three days he attended him. Through Hudson's physical care the man's suffering was eased somewhat, and he began to express appreciation to the young medical student.
Then came the day when Hudson screwed up his courage and talked with his patient about his grave condition and his need for the Savior. The man's countenance betrayed obvious annoyance, but instead of bursting out at Hudson he rolled over in bed with his back toward him and refused to say another word. This same response was elicited on future occasions whenever Hudson sought to share a spiritually beneficial word with him.
Hudson often thought about and prayed for him throughout those days. Eventually his heart began to sink, as it seemed his efforts were accomplishing no good and might actually be having the opposite effect of further hardening the man.
Finally one day Hudson could contain himself no longer. As he prepared to leave the patient's room, he paused at the doorway, then suddenly burst into tears. Crossing to the dying man's bedside, he exclaimed: "My friend, whether you will hear or whether you will for-bear, I must deliver my soul. How I wish you would allow me to pray with you."
The man was completely taken aback and stammered, "W-Well, if it will be a relief to you, then do."
Immediately Hudson fell to his knees and poured out his soul to God in behalf of the ailing man. "Then and there, I believe," Hudson recorded later, "the Lord wrought a change in his soul. He was never afterwards unwilling to be spoken to and prayed with, and within a few days he definitely accepted Christ as his Savior. Oh, the joy it was to me to see that dear man rejoicing in hope of the glory of God!"
He further reflected on this incident: "I have often thought since, in connection with this case and the work of God generally, of the words, 'He that goeth forth weeping, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.' Perhaps if there were more of that intense distress for souls that leads to tears, we should more frequently see the results we desire. Sometimes it may be that while we are complaining of the hardness of the hearts of those we are seeking to benefit, the hardness of our own hearts and our own feeble apprehension of the solemn reality of eternal things may be the true cause of our want of success."[i]
Did you catch the bottom line? Unless our compassion becomes so great that we literally weep over lost people, our fear and hardness of heart will keep the gospel locked in a prison within us. More compassion is the cure for evangelism, so how do we increase our level of compassion? For this we must turn to the lost son, usually called the prodigal son.
Think about why we label someone as a prodigal. Usually we mean a young person who has grown up in a Christian home then at some point wanders from the Lord. We believe they are saved, they are just experiencing a time of rebellion that we pray will soon pass. When we speak of a prodigal this way, we are using the term all wrong. This is not the prodigal son from Jesus’ parable. This lost son is a pitiful, dirty wretch of a man, and most importantly, he is not saved. The prodigal is not a wandering believer—he is an unbeliever—a lost soul. In v. 10 Jesus said, In the same way, I tell you, there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.” The sheep was lost but was found. The coin was lost and then found. The son was lost and was then found. The prodigal son is not returning to the Lord, he is repenting for the very first time. He was lost and is now found.
Who is the prodigal? Not our wayward sons and daughters—we were the prodigal. Every Christian in this room was once a lost son or a lost daughter. And here is where compassion is born—the father in the parable is our heavenly Father weeping and rejoicing over us! In v. 20 where it says that the father embraced the son, in the original language it literally means “to fall on the neck”. Can you see the picture? The Father embraced the son so tightly he literally fell on the son’s neck. Warm tears of joy dripped down the neck of the repentant son. That’s you—that’s me—we are the prodigal! When you repented, your heavenly Father fell on your neck. Your dry skin was dotted with the tears of the matchless love of your Father. Your sun-scorched cheeks became wet with the kisses of your merciful Father. Your cold body was warmed by the embrace of the beating heart of your Father. That is you he is weeping over. That is me he wrapped in his powerful arms. It was and is pure, liquid love, dripping down our necks, warming our hearts and changing us from the inside out. That’s compassion. And when the angels in heaven witnessed your embrace, a deafening joy erupted in the heavenlies. The angels look down and shouted, “Look what God just did! Look what the Father just did! See his embrace—see his tears!” It only takes one repentant sinner to make a party in heaven. One—just one—and your repentance was reason for such a party. In August of 1980, God threw a party in heaven for me. I am the prodigal, and my Father has poured out a perfect compassion on me.
This is why we weep over lost souls—we weep because our Father weeps. We weep because we cannot horde his compassion that he lavished on us. Such compassion cannot be created in the heart of man. Do not think you can muster up compassion in your human heart. Compassion like this is a supernatural power which pours down from the throne of God, drenches us with mercy and overflows to those around us. Do you want to keep that compassion all for yourself? Are you really that selfish? To horde the Father’s compassion is the ultimate crime of treachery. To refuse to share the Father’s compassion is to elevate yourself to a position of pride where you look down on the poor paupers of the world and cast off their dying souls. Do not hide his compassion! Do not let fear win the day. Allow the perfect love and compassion of the Father to cast out all fear. Do you know this love? Have you felt the warm tears of your Father down your neck? Have you experienced the tender embrace of your Father? Are you found in Christ? If you do not know the truth of what I am describing, then you can repent for the first time right now. Don’t put it off. Give up your rebellious ways and fall at the feet of your new Father. Wave your white flag in surrender and turn in repentance to him. But if you already know our Father, then for Heavens’ sake do not hide his compassion. For God’s sake, do not horde his compassion.
One evening Hudson Taylor was preaching on John 3:16. A devout Buddhist named Nyi was converted upon hearing the gospel message.
When [Taylor] finished speaking, Nyi stood up, looked around the audience and testified: I have long sought the Truth, as did my father before me, but without finding it. I have traveled far and near, but have 'lever discovered it. In Confucianism, Buddhism, Taoism, I have found no rest; but I do find rest in what we have heard tonight. Henceforth I am a believer in Jesus."
Shortly after Nyi's conversion, there was a meeting of the Buddhist society which he had formerly led. Having resigned from the society, he requested permission to attend the meeting, accompanied by Hudson, in order to share the reasons for his sudden change of faith. Hudson listened with delight as the new convert proclaimed the gospel with clarity and power. As a result of this testimony, another member of the sect was led to saving faith in Christ.
A few days later Nyi surprised Hudson by asking, "How long have you had the Glad Tidings in England?"
The missionary felt a degree of shame as he divulged, "Several hundreds of years."
"What?!" exclaimed the man. "Several hundreds of years?! Is it possible that you have known about Jesus so long, and only now have come to tell us'?" Sadness registered on his face and in his voice as he continued: "My father sought the truth for more than twenty years and died without finding it. Oh, why did you not come sooner'?"[ii]
Why did you not come sooner? I would not like to hear those words spoken to me. A heart growing in compassion will be a bold heart with no regret.
Rich Maurer
February 26, 2006