Sunday, September 15, 2013: Luke 15:1–10
There is something gratifying about finding something that’s lost or hidden. In the popular game of geocaching, adults go on high-tech treasure hunts and use a GPS to find a geocache (a box or container of theme-related tokens or information). There are over a million geocaches hidden worldwide, including some in the Highlands of Scotland. Apparently the thrill of hide-and-seek does not end when childhood ends.
It is even more gratifying when the “thing” we find is a lost person. As the oldest child of five, I was often told to keep an eye on my younger siblings when we were away from home. The task became part of my DNA. I would count, “One . . . two . . . three . . . four children,” and breathe a sigh of relief when I reached four. Large department stores and amusement parks worried me the most. There were times when my mom would turn around at the cash register and ask, “Where’s Brent?” My heart would sink, and I’d immediately begin looking up and down the aisles. What a relief it was when I spotted my little brother playing with a truck in the toy aisle. While he did not even know he was lost, I rejoiced in his being found.
The joy wiped away any need for a lesson about the importance of staying close to the other brothers and sisters. Nothing else mattered but this strong pull to rejoice over the found object—or in this case, the found and beloved little brother.
