Pierced

Heritage is a powerful thing. My family has been church-goers for generations. Scratch an uncle and you’ll find a man who sat in a pew last Sunday. Open a hymnal and they can sing the song.

Although I caused a ripple when I found Jesus and left the family denomination, they were quick to forgive. It wasn’t like I had joined an hippie commune.

Soon I was teaching Sunday school classes and bringing a salad to the potlucks. I was elected to a board position and headed up the children’s ministry. My resume was growing.

I shunned the bars and the drinking parties. I tuned my radio to Christian music and was proud to return the wrong change to the cashier. I was becoming a Christian of Christians, humble in my growth, of course.

I was glad to read lists like 1 Timothy 6:4, which listed all the sins I had conquered: conceit, arguments, envy, dissension, malicious talk, evil suspicions, friction. I usually glided over those like a deer on ice, but I stumbled this time. Somewhere in that list, God whispered: you are those.

And in an instant, I was pierced. The resume flapped in the wind. I read the sins again with new eyes. Eyes that left tear stains on my Bible page. In an instant, I was utterly broken. My pedigree was shredded and I stood bare before Jesus.

It was then, as I listlessly turned to the next Bible reading, that I read Luke 15. There, Jesus tells the story of the lost lamb. The shepherd searched and searched until it is found. Before, I had read the story with the smugness of the 99 sheep.

The shepherd searched with love and persistence for one. And one who had been pierced rejoiced with him at being found.

Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.' Luke 15:6