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A shepherd scans the horizon, heart pounding, because one sheep has wandered off. Most people wouldn’t notice—ninety-nine are still safe. But he notices. So he takes off, running across hills and valleys, stumbling over rocks, calling out in the fading light. He won’t stop. Not until he finds it. 

A woman kneels on the floor, breath quickening. She had ten silver coins this morning—and now one is missing. She lights a lamp, moves furniture, sweeps every corner, sifts through dust and shadows. One coin might not seem like much. But to her, it’s everything. And when she finds it? She shouts for joy. 

A father sits on the porch, staring down the road. His son left— walked away without looking back. But the father never stopped hoping. And the moment he sees that familiar silhouette on the horizon, he runs. Doesn’t care what people think. He sprints, arms wide, and pulls his child into an embrace so full of grace, it changes everything. 

And then there’s me—wandering the Costco parking lot, keys in hand, utterly convinced my car has disappeared off the face of the earth. You know the feeling. You retrace your steps, second-guess everything, start to wonder if you should just live here now. And then—finally—you spot it. Relief floods in. Found. 

Big or small, we all know what it means to lose something precious. And we all know the joy of finding what we thought was gone forever. 

This is the kind of love Jesus tells us about in the scriptures this week—love that moves. Love that searches. Love that refuses to stay still. 

And this Lent, as we journey to Jerusalem, we step into this same story. We, too, are on the move. And in the middle of it all, God meets us—already seeking, already calling us beloved. 

So, if you feel lost—geographically, spiritually, existentially—this gospel is for you. If you’ve ever wondered whether you belong, hear this: God throws a party when you show up. No guilt. No shame. Just joy. 

See you Sunday. Your seat is waiting—no exceptions. 

Peace, 
Pastor Katie