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This Man Receiveth Sinners
Sunday, September 13, 2026 — Proper 19, Year C
By Shawn P. Cosner, J.D.
The wrong people are getting close to him, and the right people cannot stand it.
"Then drew near unto him all the publicans and sinners for to hear him. And the Pharisees and scribes murmured, saying, This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them." — Luke 15:1-2 (KJV)
Publicans and sinners. Tax collectors, which meant collaborators, thieves with a government badge, and sinners, which was the label the religious hung on everyone they had already written off. They are the ones drawing near. And the scribes murmur it like an accusation: this man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them. They meant it as the charge against him. It is the best sentence in the chapter. He answers the murmur not with a defense but with three stories, and this morning we get the first two.
"What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it?" — Luke 15:4 (KJV)
Leave the ninety and nine. Notice where he leaves them. In the wilderness. He does not get the ninety-nine safely penned first and then go looking. He leaves the whole flock exposed and goes after the one. That is terrible flock management. It is love, and love has never once been good at math. And hear the end of the verse: until he find it. Not until he gets tired. Not until it costs too much. Until he find it.
"And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing." — Luke 15:5 (KJV)
On his shoulders. The sheep does not walk home. A lost sheep is a frightened, stupid animal that wandered off and cannot find its own way back, and the shepherd does not drive it home with a rod for the trouble it caused. He picks up the whole weight of it and carries it on his neck. And look at the last word: rejoicing. He is not put out. He is glad the entire way home. You did not contribute one thing to being found. You were lost, and you were carried, and the one carrying you was happy about it.
"I say unto you, that likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance." — Luke 15:7 (KJV)
More joy over one. And catch the hook buried in the tail of it: ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance. He is looking straight at the murmurers when he says it. There are no such people. The ninety-nine who need no repentance are the men standing there complaining that he eats with sinners. He is naming their entire problem in a single phrase. They think they are the safe sheep. They are the ones who never once noticed they were lost.
Then he tells it again, and changes the animal to a coin, and the shepherd to a woman.
"Either what woman having ten pieces of silver, if she lose one piece, doth not light a candle, and sweep the house, and seek diligently till she find it?" — Luke 15:8 (KJV)
She turns the whole house over for one coin. Lights a candle to reach the dark corners, gets down on the floor, sweeps every board, seeks diligently till she find it. And the coin is different from the sheep in one way that matters. The coin could not wander off. It did not choose anything. It just fell, and rolled, and came to rest in the dust under something, worth nothing to anyone while it lay there, doing nothing to be found. Some of you are the sheep that ran. Some of you are the coin that only fell, and got covered, and forgot you were ever worth anything. It does not matter which. She lights the candle for both.
"Likewise, I say unto you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth." — Luke 15:10 (KJV)
Here is the question the whole passage is quietly asking. Which one are you in the story? Most religious people cast themselves as neither the sheep nor the coin. They are the ninety-nine, standing safe in the pen, mildly offended at how much fuss is being made over the return of someone who never should have left. That offense is the murmur. This man receiveth sinners. If the party bothers you, if heaven throwing a celebration over one returning drunk or one repenting cheat strikes you as a lowering of the standard, then you have just told on yourself. You think you are the ninety-nine. You are the older brother, who has not shown up in the chapter yet but is coming. A joy you resent is a joy you have never once been the object of.
Hear a man who knew exactly which animal he was.
"This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners; of whom I am chief." — 1 Timothy 1:15 (KJV)
Chief of sinners. Paul does not stand with the ninety-nine and admire the search from a safe distance. He is the one on the shoulders. And that is the only place from which this is good news instead of an insult. As long as you are counting yourself among the just persons who need no repentance, the parable is aimed at you, not for you.
So stop resenting the search. Come down off the ninety-nine and admit which one you are. The candle is already lit. He is already in the wilderness with the flock left behind, coming after the one, and he means to carry you the whole way home rejoicing. Quit squirming. Let yourself be found.
Amen.
Let him carry you home.
Lord, I have stood too long with the ninety-nine, safe in the pen, quietly offended at the party. Forgive the murmur. I have been the sheep that ran, and I have been the coin that only fell and got covered and forgot it was ever worth anything. Come after me. Light the candle. Sweep the dark corner I rolled into and would not come out of. Put me on your shoulders, because I cannot walk home, and let me feel that you are glad to do it. And do the harder work in me too: teach me to rejoice at the door when someone walks in who never should have made it, instead of checking whether they deserve the welcome I did not deserve either. Chief of sinners is the only pew I have any business in. Sit me down in it, and carry me. Amen.
When someone you had written off gets close to God, is your first reaction joy or a murmur — and what does the murmur tell you about which sheep you think you are?
The charge committed to you for the week ahead. Carry it through. Return Sunday.
This week the charge is the murmur. Learn to hear it in your own chest. There is a person you would not want to see walk into your church, whose sudden repentance you would privately consider a little suspicious, a name that would make you raise an eyebrow if grace found them. Be honest and name that person to yourself. Then do the exact opposite of the ninety-nine. This week do one concrete thing that helps a person the religious have written off get closer to God instead of further away, with no strings, no lecture, and no audience. Sit with them. Feed them. Receive them the way he received sinners and ate with them. And when the murmur rises, and it will, recognize it for what it is. It is the sound a sheep makes when it has forgotten it was ever carried.
Each night this week, before you fall asleep, with your evening prayer or as you lay in bed, take five quiet minutes. Focus only on THAT day. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. Bring the charge into your prayer. Ask: where did I keep it? Where did I miss it? Confess what is honest. Receive what is mercy. Then rest.
On Saturday night, before sleep, judge yourself as you would be judged. Look back across the seven nights. Did you pass the test? Or did the same failing return, day after day, with no change? This is not a place to feel horrible. This is a place to recognize what is real. The Lord knows already. The work is not perfection. The work is RECOGNITION. See where you stand. See where mercy was given. Then bring it all into Sunday. Not as shame, but as the thing that was committed unto thee. Kept, or to be kept again.
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