Love that Keeps Looking

A Sermon by Magz Lemaster – Luke 15:1–10 Preached on September 14, 2025

Good mornin’, friends.

I grew up in a rough house back in Kentucky. On my daddy’s side, I was too soft, too kindhearted, and they thought that made me weak. On my momma’s side, I wasn’t holy enough, not Christian enough.

By the time I was sixteen, I even married a man, thinkin’ maybe if I tried hard enough I’d finally fit, finally be accepted.

But no matter what I did, I carried that feelin’ of bein’ not enough — broken, dirty, never quite right. Some of my family still sees me that way.

But here’s what I’ve learned: every day I wake up and try to make a difference. I work to love people the world calls “less than.” And in that work, I’ve discovered I am good. Not because I’m perfect, but because I’m loved, and because I get to love.

That’s why this story Jesus tells hits me so deep. Folks were grumblin’: “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.”

And instead of arguin’, Jesus told a story.

He said, “If a shepherd loses one sheep, won’t he go out and find it, carry it home on his shoulders, and rejoice?”

And, “If a woman loses one coin, won’t she light a lamp, sweep the house, and search until she finds it — and then call her neighbors to celebrate?”

That’s the heart of it. Love that keeps on lookin’. Love that doesn’t give up.

And let’s be honest — we’ve all lost things. I lose my phone, my wallet, my keys more times than I can count. And when I finally find them, the relief is real. But imagine the joy when it’s not just a wallet, it’s somebody’s whole life that gets found.

That’s what I get to see at Crisis House.

We’ve got a Safe Parking lot at Cuyamaca College, so students living out of their cars can study and sleep without fear.

We’ve got Rapid Rehousing, where families who thought the world had written ’em off finally get to jiggle a key and step inside their own front door.

We’ve even got a row of tiny cabins — not fancy, but a roof, four walls, and the dignity of sayin’, this is mine.

We run Camp HOPE, where kids who’ve lived through violence can laugh under the stars and remember they’re still worth joy.

And we’ve got transitional housing for moms and children leaving abuse, where they can take their first deep breath of safety and dream again.

And let me tell you — every single time a person finds their way to housing, or safety, or hope, it feels just like that coin turning up, that sheep being carried home. It’s joy you can feel in your bones.

But friends, this ain’t work that belongs to just one nonprofit or one preacher. If we’re gonna be part of love like this, then we can’t stay sittin’ pretty with the ninety-nine.

I know St. Mary’s has a big heart. I’ve felt it. But love’s gotta move its feet. It means lookin’ around right here in your own pews and in your own neighborhood, askin’, Who feels lost? Who’s been told they don’t belong? Who’s slippin’ through the cracks while the rest of us stay comfortable?

And I know some of us were raised to think faith was about keepin’ things tidy, not makin’ a fuss. But y’all — real love makes a ruckus. Real love is messy. Every time someone gets housed, every time a child laughs again, every time a survivor takes a step forward, it’s worth celebratin’.

I started out tellin’ you how I grew up feelin’ not enough, too soft, too dirty, too different. But I’ve come to know that the very parts of me folks dismissed are the parts that fuel me to love others.

And that’s true for you too. You don’t have to be polished, you don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be willin’ to join the search, to welcome the ones who’ve been told they don’t belong, and to celebrate loud when they come home.

So let’s not just be the ninety-nine who stay put. Let’s be the ones who go lookin’. Let’s be the people who make room, who risk a little mess, who throw a party when somebody finds their way back to love.

Friends, the church ain’t the building — the church is you. And you’ve got a chance to make sure no one stays lost.