Somewhere in the unseen bureaucracy of heaven, I am convinced there exists a small, perpetually overworked department known as The Ministry of Lost Things.
You can picture it, can’t you? A tidy office with angelic clerks filing reports on missing car keys, vanishing sermon notes, and the single sock that went missing during the spin cycle. Somewhere between “Guardian Angels” and “Department of Miracles” sits this quiet little office, responsible for tracking every umbrella left in the narthex since 1958.
And business, I suspect, is booming.
Now, clergy are particularly good customers. I once misplaced a carefully written sermon mere minutes before the service — only to find it later tucked inside the Book of Common Prayer, right between the Nicene Creed and a funeral homily for Mrs. Murgatroyd. (Both, arguably, about resurrection.) I’ve lost vestments, pens, and, on one memorable occasion, a small silver spoon that mysteriously reappeared during coffee hour three weeks later, perched jauntily in the sugar bowl like it had never left.
But this isn’t really about lost things, is it? It’s about what happens to us when we lose anything — our footing, our patience, our confidence, or our sense of God’s nearness.
In Luke 15, Jesus tells three parables about lostness — the sheep, the coin, the prodigal son. In each, the lost thing doesn’t find its way home through cleverness or effort. It’s found because someone goes looking. The shepherd searches, the woman sweeps the floor, the father keeps his eyes on the road. Heaven, it seems, is filled with a passion for retrieval.
And that’s the heart of grace, isn’t it? That no matter what’s gone missing — our hope, our joy, or our good humour — God is already rummaging through the drawers, gently calling out our names.
Of course, I suspect that in the heavenly filing system, under “Lost Things, Clergy,” there’s a rather fat folder marked Don Davidson. But I also imagine a note attached in some celestial handwriting:
“All accounted for — eventually found — with laughter, patience, and divine persistence. A few small pieces missing.”
So if you’ve lost something lately — an object, a relationship, a bit of your peace of mind — take heart. The Ministry of Lost Things is still open, and business remains brisk.
And if you happen to find my reading glasses in the meantime, please leave them by the font. I have a feeling they’ll turn up there.
A Prayer for the Ministry of Lost Things
Gracious God,
Finder of the lost and Keeper of the found, we give you thanks for your patient love — the love that searches the dark corners of our lives and never tires of calling our names.
When we misplace our peace, our courage, or our sense of direction, remind us that nothing is ever beyond your reach. Gather up our scattered thoughts, our forgotten hopes, and our wandering hearts, and bring them home to you.
Bless all who are searching this day — for meaning, for belonging, for the way forward.
And when we discover again the things we thought were gone, teach us to rejoice, as heaven rejoices over one lost soul found.
In the name of the One who came looking for us, even Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen