Overflowing grace
Commentary
Object:
When the apostle Paul wrote his first letter to Timothy, he shared in writing a part of his own personal testimony. No doubt this material was already familiar to Timothy, who had been a companion of Paul and was a kind of spiritual son to him. Yet we know as parents, as teachers, and as pastors that there are certain things that deserve to be repeated. And, even apart from those instructive roles, every human being needs to be able to tell and affirm, to share and repeat his or her individual story. Indeed, not to tell it would be a certain brand of unfaithfulness both to ourselves and to God.
Part of the significance of telling our story is that it is not ultimately about us. Contemporary Christian artist Big Daddy Weave rightly sings that “to tell you my story is to tell of him.”1 Many of us would echo that sentiment. And this, of course, is the thrust of Paul’s testimony: it is Paul’s story, yet it is ultimately a story about the Lord.
Specifically, Paul’s story is a testimony about God’s love and grace. He writes, “The grace of our Lord overflowed for me.” And it is that overflowing grace of God that we want to explore this week. Both Paul’s witness and Jesus’ parables give voice to it. And even the stern word of judgment from the prophet Jeremiah speaks to that grace of God.
Jeremiah 4:11-12, 22-28
Jeremiah is a judgment prophet. That is a categorization familiar to seminary graduates and Bible students, but it may not be a meaningful term for many of the folks in our pews. And so a bit of historical context may be needed.
Jeremiah’s turbulent ministry was set in Jerusalem in the late 7th and early 6th centuries BC. It became an era of military and political crisis for the southern kingdom of Judah. That crisis, however, was only the visible symptom of an even more significant underlying spiritual crisis. The real problem, you see, was not an ineffectual monarch or an overmatched army. The real problem was a people at a distance from God and far from his designated path.
We might say that Jeremiah’s role, then, was to help the people of his generation see clearly. They needed to see the sin -- both personal and systemic -- to which they were oblivious. And they needed to see, too, the consequences of that sin -- consequences which were ominous on the horizon. The articulation of those consequences is what makes Jeremiah a judgment prophet.
The judgment prophet had a thankless job. He brought an unwelcome message to an unresponsive people. And not only unwelcome, but unorthodox. The paradigm to which the people were accustomed was that their God was on their side against their enemies. Now, however, Jeremiah and others of his calling were saying that the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob was on their enemies’ side.
The startling nature of the judgment message is evident in the very first verses of our selected passage. The prophet predicts a coming wind, but is quick to distinguish it from the sort of wind that is helpful. No, this wind, hot and hard, portends destruction.
After that promise of judgment in our selected verses comes the rationale. It is brief, but it may be even more bleak than the portrait of the coming judgment. The people are fools who do not know God. They are experts in evil, but show little capacity for good. It is a damning assessment, and it makes the judgment unsurprising.
And then comes the portrait of that judgment. It is a powerful word picture and a devastating prospect. We shudder at the scene, which is not overtly a description of what happens to the guilty people but rather the look of the land in the wake of the divine judgment. It is all barrenness and desolation, and it prompts us to think about the larger connection between sin and nature.
As we read the account of creation, when each day’s work was good we sense color, light, vibrancy, fertility, and life. Likewise, the prophetic portraits of God’s someday kingdom are marked by vitality and harmony. In stark contrast, however, is the look of the region surrounding Sodom following its judgment, the destructive catastrophe of the flood, and the bleak, desolate picture painted in our passage from Jeremiah. It is a testament to the grave ripple effect of human sinfulness that God’s good creation is also “lost and ruined by the fall.”2
1 Timothy 1:12-17
I have been involved in a lot of hiring processes. In addition to the jobs for which I myself have applied and interviewed, there have been those scores of situations where I have been part of a team of folks reading applications and evaluating candidates. Sometimes the choice is obvious. Many times, there is a long and careful process of elimination to try to identify the best person for a job.
So now here is the resumé that comes to the attention of heaven. The open position is a heady one -- apostle and evangelist, preacher and teacher, and eventually the author of more books of the Bible than any other individual. And the candidate before us has, in his most recent position, been a blasphemer, a persecutor, and a man of violence.
Have we found our man?
My portrait is somewhat flippant, of course, but it serves to illustrate a point that must not be lost on our congregations. The apostle Paul was not born in stained glass. He was a most unlikely candidate for what he eventually became. So much so, in fact, that the church in Jerusalem was reluctant to accept him and welcome him in, so improbable was he.
How is it, then, that the Lord hired this particular candidate? Indeed, Paul wasn’t even an applicant. The Lord took the initiative and sought out Paul. Christ himself made the initial contact, offering the “position,” if you will, to someone who reckoned himself an opponent.
Paul’s story is a remarkable one, but it is not Paul himself who is most remarkable. Rather, the truly mind-boggling character in the story is God, whose mercy and grace change a persecutor into an apostle, a blasphemer into an evangelist. We consider Paul’s story, and we are reminded of God’s confident question to Sarah: “Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?” (Genesis 18:14).
The apostle’s statement that he had received mercy because he “had acted ignorantly in unbelief” recalls the scene at Calvary. We remember the lovely moment when Jesus prays “Father, forgive them; for they don’t know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34). It is a merciful prayer. And clearly Jesus is saying of his tormentors the same thing that Paul realized about himself in retrospect: namely, that they were acting ignorantly in unbelief.
As Paul bears witness to the saving grace of God, he identifies himself as the “foremost” of sinners. That may not be a claim that stands up to the scrutiny of analytical evaluation. Yet it is the right attitude of anyone who has caught a glimpse of God’s glory and had a taste of his grace. It reminds us of Isaiah’s “woe is me” in the presence of God (Isaiah 6:5) and Charles Wesley’s self-identification as the “chief of sinners.”3
Finally, we see in this passage the logical connection between witness and praise. What we say to God in praise is the natural text for our witness to others, and vice versa. And so it is that Paul’s declaration to Timothy about God’s gracious work in his life gives way irresistibly to an exclamation of praise to God.
Luke 15:1-10
Luke 15, often nicknamed the “lost and found chapter,” features three familiar parables of Jesus. All three tell stories of things that were lost -- or gone -- and then eventually recovered. As the chapter unfolds, we see that those three lost items are of increasing value: one sheep out of a hundred, one coin out of ten, and one son out of two. The first two of those three parables are assigned to us this week.
The context for this collection of teachings is provided in the first two verses of the chapter. That is to say, Jesus does not offer these parables out of the blue. They are a response to what is going on around him. And specifically, what is going on around Jesus is grumbling. The scribes and Pharisees are criticizing Jesus for welcoming sinners and eating with them.
You’ve heard the expression “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” So here, one group’s complaint is another group’s praise. The very thing that the scribes and Pharisees leveled as a charge against Jesus is what you and I declare as part of our praise and thanksgiving. It is not an accusation but an affirmation: we celebrate the truth that he welcomes sinners and eats with them!
The scribes and Pharisees were guilty of a great misunderstanding. Jesus’ parables, therefore, offer a corrective perspective. It is not that these three parables are designed to condemn the critics (with the possible exception of the older brother figure in the third parable). Rather, the parables reveal the beauty of a heavenly reality and the heart of God.
The reality that Jesus wants to put the scribes and Pharisees in touch with is the divine attitude toward sinners. For the antagonists, the reflex response to sinners was condemnation and ostracism. The God whose holiness they endeavored to protect, however, has a different posture towards sinners. Quite the opposite, in fact. For while the scribes and Pharisees wanted to keep sinners at a distance and condemned Jesus for not doing the same, the parables reveal that sinners already are at a distance. That is precisely the problem. And God’s desire is to bring them back again.
Sinners, then, are not portrayed as disobedient so much as lost. And God is portrayed not so much as one who judges as one who seeks and saves. It is a testament to the stubbornness of God’s love and perfect will that he seems unwilling to write off losses on his books. Instead, he is magnificently determined to recover what is gone, to fix what is broken, and to win what seems lost.
The two human characters in the story -- the shepherd and the woman -- are emblematic of our incarnational theology. By seeking what was lost, you see, they had go to where the lost thing was. This is particularly striking in the case of the shepherd, who leaves the 99 in order to “go after the one that is lost.” Just so, we recognize that our Good Shepherd had to leave in order to come. “He left his Father’s throne above,”4 Charles Wesley sings. We could not -- and perhaps would not -- come to him. And so he came to us.
Fans of the movie Apollo 13 will remember the heroic line attributed to Gene Kranz, the Flight Director at NASA for that mission. In the face of a crisis situation with overwhelming odds, Kranz declared, “Failure is not an option.” And one senses that same resolve in the shepherd. He does not search for a convenient or reasonable amount of time. He searches for “the one that is lost until he finds it.” And so too the woman in the second parable. She searches for that lost coin “until she finds it.”
Finally, both parables end on the same celebrative note. The shepherd and the woman rejoice at having recovered what was lost. And it is not a half-hearted thing -- they both throw parties, inviting others to rejoice and celebrate with them. And this, Jesus says, is what happens in heaven when one sinner repents. It is a sweet and lovely reminder of the heart of God and the priority of heaven. We, in turn, should be characterized by the same heart and live with the same priority!
Application
The word Paul uses is unique. In 1 Timothy 1:14, he describes the grace of God in his life, saying that “the grace of our Lord overflowed for me.” The underlying Greek word, huperpleonazo, appears nowhere else in the New Testament. The huper- prefix, though, assures us that it is an enthusiastic sort of word -- the kind that suggests an exclamation point. The NIV renders it “poured out abundantly.” The NASB translates it as “more than abundant.” And the Amplified Bible tries to capture the term with the phrase “flowed out in superabundance.”
This is the nature and quality of God’s grace. It knows no bounds and cannot be confined. While the optimist and pessimist haggle over whether a cup is half-full or half-empty, the beneficiary of grace knows that the cup is overwhelmed. It is inadequate to contain the grace of God.
The image of grace that overflows suggests something very active. It does not just sit, static and measurable, in some cup or bowl. Rather, it is ever pouring, splashing, and flowing in every direction.
The grace of God was not limited by the improbable resumé of Saul of Tarsus. It was not confined to those who were already amenable or supportive. It overflowed beyond the boundaries of the existing body of believers.
The grace of God was not confined to the sheepfold or to the flock that had stayed where it belonged. It poured over the fence and past the gate. It flowed across the countryside, splashing mercifully here and there, until it finally came to the sheep that was lost.
And the overflowing grace of God is evident even in the harsh passage from Jeremiah. Grace is not a mindless smiley face, after all. There is no smiling at sin or injustice. We would think the doctor was daft who grinned while informing the patient of some grave diagnosis.
We rightly affirm the initiative of God’s grace. We noted that initiative above in considering the saving efforts of both the shepherd and the woman in Luke 15. Likewise, divine initiative in Paul’s life and story is undeniable. And it is important to recognize that God’s gracious initiative is also at work in the judgment prophets.
As we said earlier, Jeremiah’s role was to help the people of his generation see more clearly. They refused. But the effort itself -- the urgent outreach to a sinful and endangered nation -- is the initiative of God. Grace is not confined only to the faithful eras in Israel’s history. Rather, it spills over and reaches out to those who were stubbornly at a distance.
Jerusalem of Jeremiah’s day was no less lost than the sheep or the coin of Luke 15. And true to form, God sought them out, eager to save them. The desolate picture that follows their recalcitrance stands in contrast to the heavenly celebration over each sinner that repents. A poignant missed opportunity. But through it all, we see that the grace of God always overflows.
Alternative Application
Luke 15:1-10. “Born Not Free” The stories of the lost sheep and the lost (prodigal) son are perhaps more widely known and more deeply cherished than the middle story about the lost coin. The other two have a relational quality that is so meaningful to us, while the coin is inanimate. We have seen lovely artwork depicting the shepherd carrying back the rescued lamb on his shoulder and the father welcoming home his tattered son. But how many paintings and statues have we seen of the woman finding her coin? It does not have the emotional appeal of the other two.
It does, however, have theological appeal. The brief parable of the lost coin captures a truth about our sinful condition. And it also bears witness to a truth about our salvation.
Unlike the sheep before it and the son after it, the coin has no culpability. The sheep may have wandered and the son chosen to leave, but the coin played no part in its being lost. While it lacks the emotional and relational quality of the other two, this is the advantage of the coin’s inanimateness: it is not responsible for being lost.
Furthermore, there is no weight of responsibility on the coin for solving its condition. That is to say, the sheep might have some capacity to find its way back. Perhaps it could employ its sense of smell, sight, and hearing to relocate the flock. And the son, we know, must make the conscious decision to return home. But the coin doesn’t have any choice in the matter one way or the other.
The coin, therefore, becomes the symbol of our original sin. The doctrine of original sin teaches that we are born lost: it is our individual state of being from the beginning. We are born without a knowledge of God or a relationship with him. Quite apart from any personal culpability, I begin by being lost. Spiritually speaking, we start under the table or between the sofa cushions.
This is not to deny the role we do play in our sinfulness. That is ably portrayed in the other two parables. But the coin reflects one part of my condition: that sin is where I begin.
Meanwhile, the coin also represents a truth about our salvation. Namely, I cannot save myself; God must do it. The coin, you see, cannot decide to return to its rightful place in the pocket or purse. The woman must take the initiative to search for it, and she must do the hard work of finding it. The coin will stay lost until she does.
So too, we rely upon the initiative and work of God. Yes, this truth is not the whole truth, for the prodigal must also make the move to return home. But a lovely and important part of the truth -- and a prominent part of our testimony -- is that God does the searching and the finding. And if he did not, we would still be lost.
2 Joseph Hart, “Come, Ye Sinners, Poor and Needy,” Glory to God: The Presbyterian Hymnal (Presbyterian Publishing Corporation, 2013), #415.
Part of the significance of telling our story is that it is not ultimately about us. Contemporary Christian artist Big Daddy Weave rightly sings that “to tell you my story is to tell of him.”1 Many of us would echo that sentiment. And this, of course, is the thrust of Paul’s testimony: it is Paul’s story, yet it is ultimately a story about the Lord.
Specifically, Paul’s story is a testimony about God’s love and grace. He writes, “The grace of our Lord overflowed for me.” And it is that overflowing grace of God that we want to explore this week. Both Paul’s witness and Jesus’ parables give voice to it. And even the stern word of judgment from the prophet Jeremiah speaks to that grace of God.
Jeremiah 4:11-12, 22-28
Jeremiah is a judgment prophet. That is a categorization familiar to seminary graduates and Bible students, but it may not be a meaningful term for many of the folks in our pews. And so a bit of historical context may be needed.
Jeremiah’s turbulent ministry was set in Jerusalem in the late 7th and early 6th centuries BC. It became an era of military and political crisis for the southern kingdom of Judah. That crisis, however, was only the visible symptom of an even more significant underlying spiritual crisis. The real problem, you see, was not an ineffectual monarch or an overmatched army. The real problem was a people at a distance from God and far from his designated path.
We might say that Jeremiah’s role, then, was to help the people of his generation see clearly. They needed to see the sin -- both personal and systemic -- to which they were oblivious. And they needed to see, too, the consequences of that sin -- consequences which were ominous on the horizon. The articulation of those consequences is what makes Jeremiah a judgment prophet.
The judgment prophet had a thankless job. He brought an unwelcome message to an unresponsive people. And not only unwelcome, but unorthodox. The paradigm to which the people were accustomed was that their God was on their side against their enemies. Now, however, Jeremiah and others of his calling were saying that the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob was on their enemies’ side.
The startling nature of the judgment message is evident in the very first verses of our selected passage. The prophet predicts a coming wind, but is quick to distinguish it from the sort of wind that is helpful. No, this wind, hot and hard, portends destruction.
After that promise of judgment in our selected verses comes the rationale. It is brief, but it may be even more bleak than the portrait of the coming judgment. The people are fools who do not know God. They are experts in evil, but show little capacity for good. It is a damning assessment, and it makes the judgment unsurprising.
And then comes the portrait of that judgment. It is a powerful word picture and a devastating prospect. We shudder at the scene, which is not overtly a description of what happens to the guilty people but rather the look of the land in the wake of the divine judgment. It is all barrenness and desolation, and it prompts us to think about the larger connection between sin and nature.
As we read the account of creation, when each day’s work was good we sense color, light, vibrancy, fertility, and life. Likewise, the prophetic portraits of God’s someday kingdom are marked by vitality and harmony. In stark contrast, however, is the look of the region surrounding Sodom following its judgment, the destructive catastrophe of the flood, and the bleak, desolate picture painted in our passage from Jeremiah. It is a testament to the grave ripple effect of human sinfulness that God’s good creation is also “lost and ruined by the fall.”2
1 Timothy 1:12-17
I have been involved in a lot of hiring processes. In addition to the jobs for which I myself have applied and interviewed, there have been those scores of situations where I have been part of a team of folks reading applications and evaluating candidates. Sometimes the choice is obvious. Many times, there is a long and careful process of elimination to try to identify the best person for a job.
So now here is the resumé that comes to the attention of heaven. The open position is a heady one -- apostle and evangelist, preacher and teacher, and eventually the author of more books of the Bible than any other individual. And the candidate before us has, in his most recent position, been a blasphemer, a persecutor, and a man of violence.
Have we found our man?
My portrait is somewhat flippant, of course, but it serves to illustrate a point that must not be lost on our congregations. The apostle Paul was not born in stained glass. He was a most unlikely candidate for what he eventually became. So much so, in fact, that the church in Jerusalem was reluctant to accept him and welcome him in, so improbable was he.
How is it, then, that the Lord hired this particular candidate? Indeed, Paul wasn’t even an applicant. The Lord took the initiative and sought out Paul. Christ himself made the initial contact, offering the “position,” if you will, to someone who reckoned himself an opponent.
Paul’s story is a remarkable one, but it is not Paul himself who is most remarkable. Rather, the truly mind-boggling character in the story is God, whose mercy and grace change a persecutor into an apostle, a blasphemer into an evangelist. We consider Paul’s story, and we are reminded of God’s confident question to Sarah: “Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?” (Genesis 18:14).
The apostle’s statement that he had received mercy because he “had acted ignorantly in unbelief” recalls the scene at Calvary. We remember the lovely moment when Jesus prays “Father, forgive them; for they don’t know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34). It is a merciful prayer. And clearly Jesus is saying of his tormentors the same thing that Paul realized about himself in retrospect: namely, that they were acting ignorantly in unbelief.
As Paul bears witness to the saving grace of God, he identifies himself as the “foremost” of sinners. That may not be a claim that stands up to the scrutiny of analytical evaluation. Yet it is the right attitude of anyone who has caught a glimpse of God’s glory and had a taste of his grace. It reminds us of Isaiah’s “woe is me” in the presence of God (Isaiah 6:5) and Charles Wesley’s self-identification as the “chief of sinners.”3
Finally, we see in this passage the logical connection between witness and praise. What we say to God in praise is the natural text for our witness to others, and vice versa. And so it is that Paul’s declaration to Timothy about God’s gracious work in his life gives way irresistibly to an exclamation of praise to God.
Luke 15:1-10
Luke 15, often nicknamed the “lost and found chapter,” features three familiar parables of Jesus. All three tell stories of things that were lost -- or gone -- and then eventually recovered. As the chapter unfolds, we see that those three lost items are of increasing value: one sheep out of a hundred, one coin out of ten, and one son out of two. The first two of those three parables are assigned to us this week.
The context for this collection of teachings is provided in the first two verses of the chapter. That is to say, Jesus does not offer these parables out of the blue. They are a response to what is going on around him. And specifically, what is going on around Jesus is grumbling. The scribes and Pharisees are criticizing Jesus for welcoming sinners and eating with them.
You’ve heard the expression “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” So here, one group’s complaint is another group’s praise. The very thing that the scribes and Pharisees leveled as a charge against Jesus is what you and I declare as part of our praise and thanksgiving. It is not an accusation but an affirmation: we celebrate the truth that he welcomes sinners and eats with them!
The scribes and Pharisees were guilty of a great misunderstanding. Jesus’ parables, therefore, offer a corrective perspective. It is not that these three parables are designed to condemn the critics (with the possible exception of the older brother figure in the third parable). Rather, the parables reveal the beauty of a heavenly reality and the heart of God.
The reality that Jesus wants to put the scribes and Pharisees in touch with is the divine attitude toward sinners. For the antagonists, the reflex response to sinners was condemnation and ostracism. The God whose holiness they endeavored to protect, however, has a different posture towards sinners. Quite the opposite, in fact. For while the scribes and Pharisees wanted to keep sinners at a distance and condemned Jesus for not doing the same, the parables reveal that sinners already are at a distance. That is precisely the problem. And God’s desire is to bring them back again.
Sinners, then, are not portrayed as disobedient so much as lost. And God is portrayed not so much as one who judges as one who seeks and saves. It is a testament to the stubbornness of God’s love and perfect will that he seems unwilling to write off losses on his books. Instead, he is magnificently determined to recover what is gone, to fix what is broken, and to win what seems lost.
The two human characters in the story -- the shepherd and the woman -- are emblematic of our incarnational theology. By seeking what was lost, you see, they had go to where the lost thing was. This is particularly striking in the case of the shepherd, who leaves the 99 in order to “go after the one that is lost.” Just so, we recognize that our Good Shepherd had to leave in order to come. “He left his Father’s throne above,”4 Charles Wesley sings. We could not -- and perhaps would not -- come to him. And so he came to us.
Fans of the movie Apollo 13 will remember the heroic line attributed to Gene Kranz, the Flight Director at NASA for that mission. In the face of a crisis situation with overwhelming odds, Kranz declared, “Failure is not an option.” And one senses that same resolve in the shepherd. He does not search for a convenient or reasonable amount of time. He searches for “the one that is lost until he finds it.” And so too the woman in the second parable. She searches for that lost coin “until she finds it.”
Finally, both parables end on the same celebrative note. The shepherd and the woman rejoice at having recovered what was lost. And it is not a half-hearted thing -- they both throw parties, inviting others to rejoice and celebrate with them. And this, Jesus says, is what happens in heaven when one sinner repents. It is a sweet and lovely reminder of the heart of God and the priority of heaven. We, in turn, should be characterized by the same heart and live with the same priority!
Application
The word Paul uses is unique. In 1 Timothy 1:14, he describes the grace of God in his life, saying that “the grace of our Lord overflowed for me.” The underlying Greek word, huperpleonazo, appears nowhere else in the New Testament. The huper- prefix, though, assures us that it is an enthusiastic sort of word -- the kind that suggests an exclamation point. The NIV renders it “poured out abundantly.” The NASB translates it as “more than abundant.” And the Amplified Bible tries to capture the term with the phrase “flowed out in superabundance.”
This is the nature and quality of God’s grace. It knows no bounds and cannot be confined. While the optimist and pessimist haggle over whether a cup is half-full or half-empty, the beneficiary of grace knows that the cup is overwhelmed. It is inadequate to contain the grace of God.
The image of grace that overflows suggests something very active. It does not just sit, static and measurable, in some cup or bowl. Rather, it is ever pouring, splashing, and flowing in every direction.
The grace of God was not limited by the improbable resumé of Saul of Tarsus. It was not confined to those who were already amenable or supportive. It overflowed beyond the boundaries of the existing body of believers.
The grace of God was not confined to the sheepfold or to the flock that had stayed where it belonged. It poured over the fence and past the gate. It flowed across the countryside, splashing mercifully here and there, until it finally came to the sheep that was lost.
And the overflowing grace of God is evident even in the harsh passage from Jeremiah. Grace is not a mindless smiley face, after all. There is no smiling at sin or injustice. We would think the doctor was daft who grinned while informing the patient of some grave diagnosis.
We rightly affirm the initiative of God’s grace. We noted that initiative above in considering the saving efforts of both the shepherd and the woman in Luke 15. Likewise, divine initiative in Paul’s life and story is undeniable. And it is important to recognize that God’s gracious initiative is also at work in the judgment prophets.
As we said earlier, Jeremiah’s role was to help the people of his generation see more clearly. They refused. But the effort itself -- the urgent outreach to a sinful and endangered nation -- is the initiative of God. Grace is not confined only to the faithful eras in Israel’s history. Rather, it spills over and reaches out to those who were stubbornly at a distance.
Jerusalem of Jeremiah’s day was no less lost than the sheep or the coin of Luke 15. And true to form, God sought them out, eager to save them. The desolate picture that follows their recalcitrance stands in contrast to the heavenly celebration over each sinner that repents. A poignant missed opportunity. But through it all, we see that the grace of God always overflows.
Alternative Application
Luke 15:1-10. “Born Not Free” The stories of the lost sheep and the lost (prodigal) son are perhaps more widely known and more deeply cherished than the middle story about the lost coin. The other two have a relational quality that is so meaningful to us, while the coin is inanimate. We have seen lovely artwork depicting the shepherd carrying back the rescued lamb on his shoulder and the father welcoming home his tattered son. But how many paintings and statues have we seen of the woman finding her coin? It does not have the emotional appeal of the other two.
It does, however, have theological appeal. The brief parable of the lost coin captures a truth about our sinful condition. And it also bears witness to a truth about our salvation.
Unlike the sheep before it and the son after it, the coin has no culpability. The sheep may have wandered and the son chosen to leave, but the coin played no part in its being lost. While it lacks the emotional and relational quality of the other two, this is the advantage of the coin’s inanimateness: it is not responsible for being lost.
Furthermore, there is no weight of responsibility on the coin for solving its condition. That is to say, the sheep might have some capacity to find its way back. Perhaps it could employ its sense of smell, sight, and hearing to relocate the flock. And the son, we know, must make the conscious decision to return home. But the coin doesn’t have any choice in the matter one way or the other.
The coin, therefore, becomes the symbol of our original sin. The doctrine of original sin teaches that we are born lost: it is our individual state of being from the beginning. We are born without a knowledge of God or a relationship with him. Quite apart from any personal culpability, I begin by being lost. Spiritually speaking, we start under the table or between the sofa cushions.
This is not to deny the role we do play in our sinfulness. That is ably portrayed in the other two parables. But the coin reflects one part of my condition: that sin is where I begin.
Meanwhile, the coin also represents a truth about our salvation. Namely, I cannot save myself; God must do it. The coin, you see, cannot decide to return to its rightful place in the pocket or purse. The woman must take the initiative to search for it, and she must do the hard work of finding it. The coin will stay lost until she does.
So too, we rely upon the initiative and work of God. Yes, this truth is not the whole truth, for the prodigal must also make the move to return home. But a lovely and important part of the truth -- and a prominent part of our testimony -- is that God does the searching and the finding. And if he did not, we would still be lost.
1 Mike Weaver and Jason Ingram, “My Story,” © 2015 Word Music, LLC, Weave Country (ASCAP) / Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Open Hands Music (SESAC) (All rights on behalf of itself and Open Hands Music administered by Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC)
2 Joseph Hart, “Come, Ye Sinners, Poor and Needy,” Glory to God: The Presbyterian Hymnal (Presbyterian Publishing Corporation, 2013), #415.
