God's Search-and-Rescue Operation

Probably few people can imagine the frenetic lifestyle of my sister, who lived in a rambling three-story house, as a mother of eight children, who at one time were all under the age of 10. Burdened with kitchen chores, with her husband away at work every weekday, she usually corralled her infant and a toddler in a playpen and hoped the other youngsters would keep non-destructively and safely occupied somewhere between the attic and the basement.

On one typically troublesome day she panicked when she noticed that the playpen was empty. The toddler had apparently escaped with the baby in tow in a miniature wagon. The other kids discovered the toddler in the laundry room, trying to find the switch on the clothes dryer to dry the diaper-wet baby inside the machine!

While frightening, the “search and rescue mission” was also obliquely humorous. A spontaneous “family rejoicing” emerged. One might say that the “joy of rescue” of the baby exceeded the “joy of security" of the other children. That’s why a just-rescued person receives more “happy hugs” than others not needing to be rescued.

The event was in some way reminiscent of Jesus’ parable in Luke 15; where his corollary is surprising, if not shocking: "There will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent." The joy of rescue from danger is greater than the joy of protection from danger--a biblical principle that resonated in the family's "rescue joy."

From the dawn of human history we find the Creator searching for his first wayward children—Adam and Eve, after the "fall.” They foolishly tried to hide from God to avoid his searching question: "Where are you?" (Gen. 3:9). Though as desperate as a desperado, no moral fugitive can avoid one’s conscience—the inner call of God.

However, many “lost sheep” are so obtunded with worldliness and sin that they neither seek the Shepherd nor are aware of being sought by him. The Lord prefers that the lost sheep seek its Seeker, as implied in Psalms 14 and 53: "The Lord looks down from heaven to see if there are...any who are seeking him." Sadly, the Lord's “search from heaven” is rarely successful. Recall Abraham pleading with God to withhold punishment if even a few God-seekers could be found in Sodom and Gomorrah? Not even 10 godly men could be found!

This distancing of a soul from God can happen in two ways: a) by the soul "getting lost" by imprudently "drifting away" from his shepherding guidance, or b) by deliberately resisting the lure of the Divine Shepherd—a resistance described in Francis Thompson's classic poem, "The Hound the of Heaven" (“I fled him down the labyrinthine ways…”); yet the poet’s theme of divine persistence offers a touching insight into God’s tireless love.

Zacchaeus, from his lofty perch in the sycamore-fig tree, was seeking only a better view of Jesus in the crushing crowd. To entice him, Jesus announced his own seeking plan, stating that “the Son of Man came to seek and rescue what was lost” (Luke19:10). Zacchaeus counter-responded by a soul-gripping conversion and commitment.

Since every child of God is precious to him, beyond all human imagining, the Lord seeks even those who don't earnestly seek and yearn for him. But ideally it should be a two-way seeking operation.

Let me share with you an amazing “seeking while being sought” episode that I experienced almost 65 years ago as a newly ordained priest; it taught me the dynamics of grace in a way that could never be learned in a seminary pastoral theology class.

Just before starting to celebrate a Sunday Mass, I was informed by the pastor that I could not preach my arduously prepared sermon because a chancery notice mandated that only a homily on Mary should be preached at all Masses on that day. Being totally unprepared for this change, I was forced to extemporize, without notes, a Marian homily that was as amateurish and incoherent as if it were delivered by a kindergartner. Humiliated beyond belief, I continued with the Mass, silently asking Mary to let the miserable homily be fruitful for at least one person in the congregation.

Two days later I received a letter from a homeless man who out of idle curiosity had slipped into the back pew during my Mass, to see what changes had occurred since he had last attended Mass several years ago. “I used to have devotion to Mary,” he wrote, “just as you described it in your homily.” The letter went on to say that he had investigated and found that I was a seminary professor, and that he would be coming to the seminary to go to confession and “get back to the practice of his neglected Catholic Faith.” Imagine my shock when I saw the anonymous signature: “A shepherd in the mist”—his way of stating that he was a fallen-away priest!

After confession and several follow-up counseling sessions, arrangements were made with the local bishop and chancery to have this delinquent priest gradually restored to the full functioning of the priestly ministry. He became a very popular, pastorally active and truly pious priest for years before dying a holy and happy death.

I could almost hear the boisterous rejoicing among the denizens of heaven—for two reasons: The Lord showed not only what he can do with a hopelessly botched homily, but also that his search-and-rescue operation works best when the errant soul seeks the Seeker. When the seeking is earnest, like that of the Bethlehem shepherds, the Lord will be found. When I think of rescued souls, like the homeless priest, God’s promise from Jeremiah (29:13-14) takes on a deeper meaning: “When you seek me with all your heart, I will be found by you,” declares the Lord, “and I will bring you back.”