Lost: One summer when they were younger, my
daughters and I visited my mom near Houston, TX for several days. While we were there a distant cousin
died, and we drove to Pasadena—a city that bumps up into Houston like Kansas
City, MO bumps up into Kansas City, KS—for the visitation. I used this
new-fangled Google Maps for directions to the funeral home. But I also had a Houston city map in my
car—which included Pasadena. Lots
of extended family from multiple generations were present. As with many
visitations, it was an opportunity to renew family connections, and we stayed
quite a while. We decided to leave
as dusk approached.
From
the funeral home and I started backtracking—thinking I could reverse the
directions I used to get there to return home. But we encountered a problem—some kind of waterway—a bayou, a
ditch, I don’t remember exactly what. The waterway interrupted the route and we
couldn’t return to the interstate the way we had come. Now I needed to get on the interstate
to get back to my Mom’s house. In our backtracking we drove under the
interstate, but there was no access back onto it. So I had to keep traveling west on the not-very-well
maintained Pasadena city road.
Thinking I could travel just a ways and I’d find some other north/south
road that would parallel the freeway, I kept driving west. But that old Pasadena city road twisted
and turned and before long, I was beyond back-tracking. We were lost. What’s worse, we were in an industrial-looking part of town,
a little on the run-down side.
There weren’t many people out and about and those who were didn’t appear
welcoming. I asked my mom to get
the Houston city map out of the glove box and figure a way back to the
interstate. But she needed a
magnifying glass to see the streets on the map, and I had none. Neither of my daughters had learned to
read a map yet. As we continued
driving, I was getting more and more anxious. It did not seem safe to be traveling here and it certainly
did not seem safe to pull over and stop so that I could look at the map. It was now getting dark, and I was afraid. As Sarah called out the names on the
street signs, Mom heard a street she remembered from years ago—driving to
Gulfgate Shopping Center—near Pasadena.
We turned down that street and in a short while found ourselves near an
access road to the interstate. We
knew where we were. Lost—I’ve been
geographically lost. And I was
afraid.
Lost: The Paola Chamber of Commerce
coordinates Chamber coffees each Friday—held in different businesses around
town with those owners hosting the coffee. The first chamber coffee I attended, I did not know a single
person there. I had absolutely no
connection with anyone there—no visual recollection of anyone, no name sounded
familiar, no connection. Standing all by myself, I felt alone. Have you ever walked into a party where
everyone knew each other and had already mapped out who was conversing with
whom, had already staked out “their” territory? Have you ever been the new student in class, the new kid on
the block? If so, then you may
know what it feels like to be relationally lost; lost in a crowd; alone—feeling
invisible and insignificant.
Lost:
When I was pregnant with Sarah—in my last trimester, one evening I decided to
make pizza for supper—from scratch.
I mixed and kneaded and pressed out the dough. I spread the tomato sauce. I sliced mushrooms and pepperoni. I chopped onions and green peppers. I grated cheese. And I carefully placed all the
ingredients on the pizza and put the pizza in the preheated oven. When the timer went off, I opened the
oven door, grasped the pizza pan, lifted it off the rack and pulled my arm out
of the oven. As I closed the oven
door, I dropped the pizza on the floor.
In that moment, I lost it.
I slumped down on the kitchen floor and burst into tears. Kevin came running into the
kitchen. Are you okay? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?
Look—I pointed at the mess on the floor. It’s okay, he said, it’s just a pizza. But I spent all evening making it. It’s
okay, he said, it’s just a pizza. No,
it’s everything. It’s a metaphor
for my life. I couldn’t hold onto the pizza, and I can’t hold onto everything
in my life—my teaching job, our relationship, my church responsibilities and
now becoming a mommy. Hormones in pregnancy may have intensified my feelings
that evening, but I felt like I was drowning in a sea of emotions. Lost—I’ve been emotionally lost—and
felt despair.
Have
you ever been lost?
Geographically, relationally, emotionally, spiritually lost? Have you been afraid, alone,
confused? Have you felt like you were
invisible and insignificant? Have
you despaired? If so, you might
see yourself in today’s parables.
Jesus
tells 2 parables in today’s text—2 “lost” parables. In the 1st parable, a sheep nibbles herself away
from the flock. Spying what looks
like a tasty bush of berries over there and then some luscious clover over here
and then some fragrant flowers over yonder and all of a sudden she looks around
and she is all alone. She is
confused. How did I get here? She is agitated. Where is the flock? She is lost. Fear sets in and grows with each new, unfamiliar sound. Time passes and despair takes
over. She is convinced she will
never be reunited with the flock. And then, she feels the vibrations of
footsteps; she hears a familiar voice; she sees the face of her shepherd; and
relief washes over her. She is
gently scooped up into the shepherd’s arms, and as she rides on his shoulders,
she marvels that she is so treasured by the shepherd. Treasured, for he left all the others to search for her! Treasured—for he risked everything—his
job, even his life—for her. Lost
and found—the sheep’s emotions move from overwhelming fear to immense
gratitude; from despair to joy.
Jesus
tells 2 parables in today’s text, and in both—the parable of the lost sheep and
the parable of the lost coin—the shepherd and the woman carefully and
thoroughly search for that which was lost. In both parables, the lost is treasured. It is valued; it is held very
dear. And so, in both parables,
the seeker throws a party when finding what was lost. Both the shepherd and the woman invited their families and
friends to come celebrate with them the recovery of their lost treasures—sheep and
coin.
Perhaps
you’ve never been lost, so you don’t see yourself in the role of the lost one. There
is still a place for you in these parables. For you can be one of the celebrants—friend and family
rejoicing over the recovery of that which is treasured, that which had been
lost. Can you see yourself in that
role?—a friend of God, invited to join in the festivities surrounding reconciliation,
redemption, or recovery? In these
2 parables, Jesus conveys “the
joy of finding is so abundant that it cannot be contained; one person alone
cannot adequately celebrate it.”[1] This is God’s joy when finding any one
of us ready to receive God’s grace.
“This joy is the heart of the gospel.”[2]
Can
you see yourself as one, like God, for whom finding and restoring gives
pleasure? Can you see yourself as
one, who like God, will not give up but who will search, leaving no stone
unturned to seek out those who for whatever reason find themselves separated
from God or separated from others? Can you see yourself as one, like God, who
will take risks to light the way for others to see God’s love? As we journey through Lent, may we all find ourselves in these
parables. Lost and found; loved
and treasured; living, loving, and serving; celebrating with Christ.
