Day 11—Monday, March 2

Luke 15:3–7

Then Jesus told them this parable: "Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn't he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, 'Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.' I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent."

I was a classroom teacher for 30 years. Every single morning, right after the tardy bell rang, I took attendance. And if any student happened to be absent, something tangible changed. The chemistry of the entire class shifted. If any one of us was not there, we were missing something, and we all felt it.

Maybe we were missing Katie's probing questions that always seemed to push our discussions deeper. Maybe we were missing Anders's puns that made us groan and laugh at the same time. Maybe we were missing Syleah's quiet kindness, the way she noticed when someone was struggling and offered help without being asked. Each student brought their own gifts, their own experiences, their own way of being in the world. And when any single one was missing, school just wasn't the same.

This is what gives me a different take on Jesus's parable of the lost sheep. It’s easiest to focus on the one who is lost, wandering, and vulnerable. But I find myself thinking about the shepherd. Ninety-nine sheep are safe. Ninety-nine are accounted for. Reasonably, the shepherd should be satisfied. The flock is 99% complete. The mission? 99% successful.

But the shepherd doesn't think that way. The shepherd knows that this place - this flock, this fold, this home - isn't complete without every single one. When one goes astray, the shepherd doesn't shrug and make do. The shepherd goes searching, not out of obligation, but because the absence matters.

Think of those you have lost - those who have died, those who have moved away, even those with whom contact has simply faded. The empty chair at the table. The phone call that doesn't come. The laugh we don't hear anymore. Life isn't the same. Such absence creates a space that no one else can fill, no matter how many others might gather around us.

Now turn that around. When you are missing, it's not the same for others. Your friends aren’t complete without you. Your family isn't complete without you. Your church community isn't complete without you. Truly, the body of Christ isn't complete without you.

You are not interchangeable. You are not expendable. You are not a rounding error.

The Good Shepherd knows your name. The Good Shepherd knows what the fold loses when you wander, what set of gifts, what particular presence, what irreplaceable you is absent. And the Good Shepherd will not rest until you are found and brought home, carried on shoulders with joy, because of who you are.

During this Lenten season, we are invited to examine where we have wandered, where we have drifted, where we have gotten lost in the wilderness of our own fears, doubts, and distractions. But we are also invited to remember: even in our lostness, we are missed. Desperately, personally, by name.

You matter. Your presence matters. Your absence leaves a hole that no one else can fill.

This place, and every place, isn't the same without you.

God, our Loving Shepherd, help us to know, deeply and truly, that we matter to you. When we feel invisible, remind us that you see us. When we feel replaceable, remind us that you know our names. When we wander, come find us. And when others wander, give us your heart to notice their absence...and to go after them with your relentless love. Amen.

-Wade Whitehead