The Lost Shepherd by Chelsea Page

Matt. 18:10   “Take care that you do not despise one of these little ones; for, I tell you, in heaven their angels continually see the face of my Father in heaven. 12 What do you think? If a shepherd has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go in search of the one that went astray? 13 And if he finds it, truly I tell you, he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-nine that never went astray. 14 So it is not the will of your Father in heaven that one of these little ones should be lost.”

As a recent resident of the township of Sheep Ranch in the Sierra Nevada mountains, and the owner of a small herd of goats myself, I will happily argue all day long against the economic sense of Jesus’s preposition in this passage. It makes no sense to leave 99 animals in danger to find the one; that one would have to be really special. But his point is clear. As Christians we are asked to search out and rescue “the lost.”

But who is Jesus talking about? Who are the lost, or the little ones, or the little lost ones? Do you think you know who THEY are? You may know people who seem a little bit lost in life. My mom is a strong take-charge woman and she likes to complain sometimes about “God’s helpless people.” Are they the lost ones? What does it mean to be lost?

Let me tell you a story about someone who went missing. One spring night two years ago, I went out searching for a new volunteer who had gotten lost on a solo hike after the workday was done at our farm. I wish I could say my heart was possessed by frantic concern for her, but in truth my sole emotion was irritation at being pulled away from work and knowing that my weekend plans were likely ruined. She was supposed to be covering chores, not wandering off into the mountains right next to the farm. Rain threatened on the horizon. It might be uncomfortable out there but she won’t die in one night, anyway, I huffed to myself as I huffed and puffed my way up the trail. Rather than looking carefully around me, as I strode up the mountain I began daydreaming about how I’d take her back to my house for a hot shower, loan her some dry clothes, and deposit her back at the empty volunteer house without even a teensy talking-to. Of course someone brand-new to these woods could get lost.

When I hadn’t found her at dusk, I reluctantly headed back to my car. Coming down the mountain I noticed the trail had forks in it. I took a wrong turn, realized my mistake, and back-tracked up a side trail that the rain had turned into a river. As darkness fell, I took another wrong turn and resolved to keep walking until I hit a landmark. When I stumbled upon a frightening compound of decaying cars and a loud generator powering a locked-up trailer, I had to admit I no longer had any idea where I was.  Overwhelmed with craving for the light of human presence I saw in that lit trailer, I banged on the door, but the wind was too loud for them to hear me, and the smell of marijuana in the air gave me pause. Strangers are not usually welcome at marijuana grow operations.

Cut off from my place in the world, I had lost the power to rescue myself, much less my volunteer, from the physical danger of the situation we were in. Crawling into a rusted minivan for shelter nearby, I listened to the storm and felt deep sadness for that lost sheep Jesus was talking about. I thought about how much our goats hate being alone, cut off from their herd. I agonized over images of our volunteer stranded under crashing tree limbs and Marcus frantic with worry. I desperately hoped Marcus wouldn’t get lost himself looking for us. God, thank you for sending me this van, and please tell Marcus I’m okay, I prayed. Tell him to focus on rescuing our volunteer since I couldn’t, and please don’t call my mom.

We may be called to seek out and rescue the lost, but what happens when we become lost ourselves? In our letter from Philippians today, the Philippans feared that Paul was lost in prison. So they sent their leader Epaphroditus 400 miles south to Ephesus to find Paul, with gifts of money and food for Paul to keep him alive in prison. But when he got there he was very sick, and Paul had to nurse him back to health. Now Paul is sending him back to the Philippians with a letter saying thank you and be joyful to God for they were almost lost but were saved.

Marcus did find an exceptionally capable neighbor to drive him up the logging and national forest roads, and they found our volunteer long before I would have if I had continued up the mountain on foot. Hours later, the sheriff’s search and rescue team found me at 3 a.m. with bright lights that shone through the filthy windows of the minivan and caught my attention. Marcus and I rode together in the back of the cop car, and I asked the sheriffs to drive past my house to our volunteer house. There I woke our deeply frazzled volunteer, who had been disoriented by being a stranger in a new place long before she went on a hike and got lost. Gone was all traces of the annoyance toward her I had felt back when she had only barely inconvenienced me. Now we were sisters. “Oh my God, are you okay?” she asked. “I felt so guilty when I heard you were missing.” She studied my sopping appearance. “You poor thing,” she said. “Here, let me get you some dry clothes.”

I have never gone to bed with such gratitude in my life. Sheets had never felt so good. Jesus said it right: “I tell you, there will be more rejoicing in heaven over the one who was found than over the 99 righteous ones who had no need of rescue.” I can tell you from personal experience that needing to be rescued is not fun physically nor psychically, but it does entail true rejoicing. As Paul wrote to the Philippians from prison, “But even if I am being poured out as a libation over the sacrifice and the offering of your faith, I am glad and rejoice with all of you. And in the same way, be also glad and rejoice with me in the Lord.”

But this joy was bittersweet. As you can tell from the way I set out to be the servant, and ended up being the one served, being lost and found is humbling. When I woke up in my clean bed and remembered the night before, I instantly felt lost again. I knew that I had messed up badly by striking out on my own with such poor judgment, and I needed to ask for Marcus’s forgiveness. I needed to be brought back into the fold. Of course he forgave me with open arms, despite the suffering I had caused him, and once again I went from being lost to being found.

This experience changed me. Before, I would never ask for help. That meant I took fewer risks. Now I do. In fact just this past Friday, I was trying to get to my fourth church-related meeting of the day on my bike, and I ended up getting sick and having to ask the person from church to come pick up me. Actually, she offered, but I said yes to the offer of help and that is new for me. How humbling, to be the pastor and to be receiving pastoral care. Get over it, that’s church! It’s part of actually improving the way I approach my role in helping others—I no longer look down on those in need, nor rush off to be savior.

So who are the lost? The lost are not they. The lost are we, and we’re only lost when we’re separated from one another and refusing to either give or receive help. There is no such thing as lost ones verses finders. There is only the herd. None of us are righteous sheep who have no need of rescue. We all share in one big dangerous wilderness called life, and we are all in need of our herd.

I think this is why Jesus talks about the 99 sheep. They are not the fictional righteous sheep that I once fancied myself to be, neglected in favor of the one lost sheep because they had no need. Instead they represented the community—they are the herd, where the one lost sheep belongs. Jesus’s and God’s reconciling ministry on earth returns people to their communities. Think about the terrible decision about DACA this week. The young people who grew up in this country who now have to fear getting deported – they must be feeling so lost right now. But they are OUR kids, they are a part of us. They are only as lost as we allow them to be separated from the herd. Being lost is scary but God gives us a unity we can rejoice in. This is what Paul was talking about when he wrote that letter to the Philippians. Let us rejoice in the power and strength of our community, and make it real. Amen.