Lost and Found

Sermon March 30, 2025 Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32 Lost and Found

Pastor Fred Okello

Dear in Christ, we all have items we take custody of—things that are ours, not only because we own them, but also because of the relationship we have developed with them. These could be memories, pets, people, or real items. They are not only "things." They shape our identity. They hold the narrative of our life journey, feelings, and experiences.

A Bible was among the most valued presents I got upon seminary graduation. My mother-in-law gave me a vernacular Bible. More than simply a book, it was a symbol of spiritual support and confirmation from a woman who shared my calling. That Bible was with me for many years. In prayer, in study, and in devotion it was my friend.

But in the rush and adjustment of relocating to the United States, I forgot to pack it. I have never been able to locate it even now. I still find that loss to be troubling. It seems as though a part of my path is lacking.

Not long ago, then, it happened again—this time with my English Bible. This Bible was presented to me by my wife, Carren, hence it is unique to me in another manner. Through the years, I had marked passages, scribbled sermon notes in the margins, and even wept over its pages. One day, I realized it was missing. Having recently come back from Kenya, I couldn't recall where I had last spotted it. I looked through my office, the church platform, Emmanuel Church, and even our Mathews home—nothing.

My boys and Carren had not seen it. She graciously offered to get me another one. Thank God, after many worried days, I found it. And believe me, the joy, the relief, and the calm that flooded over me was beyond description. I was at peace once more!

Jesus shares three parables in Luke 15 with those doubting why He associates with sinners. They don't get why someone who says to be a man of God would associate with folks who are lost, broken, and fallen. Jesus answers with a three-part tale about lost items: a lost sheep, a lost coin, and ultimately, a lost son. Every tale concludes with gladness. The parable of the prodigal son, the most dramatic of all, should be our main emphasis.

A younger son here asks for his inheritance early, essentially telling his father, "I wish you were dead." He departs home and squanders all in reckless life. When famine strikes, he is left with the humiliating task of feeding pigs—a Jewish boy's shameful work. Then he wakes up and chooses to return home, wishing to at least be a servant at his father's residence.

But the father—who had every right to reject him—does something totally unexpected. He runs to greet him, hugs him, puts the finest robe on him, rings his finger, and hosts a banquet. This son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.

There is trending news in my neighborhood back in Africa. A young man vanished after his parents passed away. Years passed with no word from him. In the end, they thought he was dead. The culture holds that when someone vanishes and is considered dead, they symbolically bury a banana trunk in place of the individual. That is what they accomplished for him.

Time went by. His land was taken up by the extended family. The village went on. He was forgotten. But then recently, as an old man, he came back. Many were shocked. A few were terrified. Others doubted it was him. Yet it was him. The village sprang into joy. The local authority even stepped in to verify his identity. The village decided to welcome him despite some people's discomfort—particularly those who had taken what wasn't theirs. He had been missing but suddenly he was back. He had been thought dead, but here he was—alive. Doesn't this seem like a resurrection? Isn't this what grace seems to be?

Though we sometimes emphasize the prodigal son, the father is the actual hero of the tale. The father reflects God's heart for us. This fable is about a loving parent whose arms are always open, not about a wayward kid.

God doesn't substitute us when we go missing, you see. God does not just declare, "Well, I have others in the flock." Absolutely not! He says, “That one is mine. I'll wait. I shall follow. I shall fix. Returning brings no penalty, no shame, no doubt—no matter how long we have been gone. Simply happiness. Simply grace.

You could feel as though you have lost your way—spiritually, emotionally, relationally. You may have drifted far from God or become lukish in your religion. Perhaps you feel dead, buried, unnoticed, or forgotten. The good news, however, is that God is still looking. God still waits. God still rejoices over your return.

Perhaps you are the elder brother—faithful, there, but battling bitterness or self-righteousness. You witness others being honored and think, "What about me?" This narrative also welcomes you to the party. The celebration is for everyone who wishes to live in the Father's home, not only for the lost.

Friends, we have all roamed at some time. We have all been lost. Yet, by God's favor, we are discovered. The heart of heaven rejoices over you not just when you are faultless but also when you return home.

So, I ask you to consider what you have lost today. Do you lack a sense of direction? Is it your happiness? Is it your God relationship? Keep trying. Don't hide it. Begin the trip back as the Father is already sprinting toward you.