Church one time was about getting lost. The story was from Luke, where a shepherd has a hundred sheep and one wanders off. The person acting it out was a mother, who moved me deeply with her expression of anguish as she scrambled for her young son. He was only on the other side of the room, but when she embraced him, many of us who have misplaced a child were in tears.

 

The minister described how we have a flock of innocent emotions... compassion, patience, trust. Yet sometimes they drift off. He explained that the word "sin", which is fraught with baggage, simply means "miss." Holding those qualities as misplaced rather than gone forever felt like a huge relief. I am not a complete loser if my capacity for kindness goes astray. I can beat the bushes looking for it. 

 

Being a shepherd means counting, and going after the ones who are wayward. It is not because he or she is negligent that sheep meander. That is simply what lambs do. One of the preschool teachers I worked with was often counting, counting, to be sure each child was in the flock. 

 

Last month a husband whose wife is distant reached out to me. He is scared. The affection in their relationship is gone. But he is not giving up. He wants help, and is eager to search for it.  

 

I invited them out to talk, and to enjoy a delicious dinner. So far she has avoided my overtures. But I am not giving up either. 

 

The end of the story in Luke says that when the shepherd finds the sheep he brings it back on his shoulders, and rejoices with his friends. I have been to those parties, and they are worth the struggle.