Thirteenth Sunday after Trinity
Preached by the Rev’d Chris Sterry
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Readings: Exodus 32.7–14; Luke 15.1–10
We have before us today two very vivid pictures of God.
In the Old Testament reading, God is angry—angry with his people who have so quickly turned away from him. Moses has been up the mountain for forty days, receiving the commandments. In his absence the people grow restless and demand gods they can see. Aaron gathers their gold, melts it down, and fashions the golden calf. And so the people rise early, offer sacrifices, and bow down before the idol.
God’s response is wrath. “Go down at once,” he says to Moses. “Your people, whom you brought up out of Egypt, have acted perversely.” Notice how God distances himself from them—it is no longer “my people,” but “your people.” He threatens to consume them and make a great nation out of Moses instead.
But Moses pleads. He reminds God of his promises to Abraham, Isaac, and Israel. He appeals to God’s honour before the Egyptians. He prays for mercy. And the scripture says: “And the Lord changed his mind about the disaster he planned to bring on his people.”
That’s a bold passage. It shows us the seriousness of idolatry, the reality of God’s anger—but it also shows us the power of intercession and the depth of God’s mercy.
Then in the gospel we meet Jesus, criticised for the company he keeps. The Pharisees and scribes grumble: “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” And in response Jesus tells two parables: the shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine sheep to seek out the one that is lost, and the woman who sweeps the house diligently to find one missing coin. In both cases, when the lost is found, there is rejoicing. “There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”
Here is the same God we saw in Exodus—but the other side of the picture. Not angry and ready to consume, but searching, forgiving, and rejoicing.
These readings sit very well together, because they remind us that the God we worship is neither indulgent nor implacable. He is not a kindly grandfather who shrugs off sin as if it doesn’t matter. Nor is he a tyrant whose anger is uncontrollable. He is the God who calls his people to faithfulness, who takes sin seriously, but who in his mercy seeks us out and welcomes us home.
In Exodus we see what happens when people forget God and shape him into their own image. The golden calf was not just a statue; it was an attempt to domesticate God, to make him visible and manageable. But our God cannot be reduced to an image or controlled by our hands. That’s why idolatry is so dangerous: it is not simply about statues and shrines, but about making God less than he is, shaping him into something that suits us.
The gospel parables turn that on its head. If in Exodus the people make an image of God, in Luke’s gospel God makes an image of himself—not in gold, but in a story. He is like the shepherd who will not rest until the sheep is found, like the woman who turns the house upside down for one coin. Jesus is saying: “If you want to know what God is like, look here. This is the picture of the Father’s heart.”
What does this mean for us?
First, it is a call to honesty about our own lives. We may not bow down to golden calves, but we all know what it is to put other things in God’s place—our work, our possessions, our reputations, even our families. Anything that claims our ultimate loyalty can become an idol. These things are not wrong in themselves, but when they take the place of God, they twist our lives. The story of the golden calf is a warning against that temptation.
Second, it is a call to remember that God does not abandon us when we fall. Like the sheep that strays, like the coin that rolls into the shadows, we are precious in his sight. And he comes to seek us—not reluctantly, but eagerly, joyfully. That is the wonder of the gospel.
Third, it is a call to share in that same joy. Notice that in both parables the rejoicing is not private. The shepherd calls together his friends and neighbours. The woman invites her neighbours to celebrate. The recovery of the lost is a communal event. And so in the Church, when one sinner repents, when one person finds new life in Christ, we all rejoice together. The Christian life is not meant to be solitary; it is a shared journey of being found and renewed.
And finally, there is encouragement here for us in prayer. Moses intercedes for the people and God listens. That is not to say God is fickle, but that God’s purposes always include mercy. When we pray for others—for our families, our communities, our world—we stand in the line of Moses, appealing to God’s compassion, calling to mind his promises, and asking him to relent, to forgive, to restore.
So, let us hold the two pictures together: the God who is rightly angry when his people turn away, and the God who never ceases to seek out the lost and to rejoice when they return.
Our God is both holy and merciful, both judge and saviour. He calls us away from idols, he seeks us when we stray, he rejoices when we repent, and he invites us to share that joy with one another.
As we worship together this morning, may we remember that we are those who have been sought, found, and restored by the love of God in Jesus Christ. And may our lives show forth that love, to the glory of his name.
Amen.