Search

To search is part of my daily routine. I search for my glasses. I search for my purse, and my debit card, and that pen I had in my hand just a moment ago. I search for the umbrella I’m certain is at the bottom of my tote bag. I search for the scotch tape, the spare cell phone charger, the half-used box of birthday candles, the tall bottle of balsamic vinegar. With every successful recovery, there’s a small victory. A fist pump. A way to move forward. With every failure, there’s a chance I’m going to end up in a bad mood.

The most urgent search effort I ever found myself conducting happened on the upper level of the Lehigh Valley Mall when a certain toddler undid the strap of his stroller as I browsed a sale rack in the J.C. Penney store. It’s a cliché to say this, but nonetheless true: I turned my back for only a second, and suddenly, my bright blonde three-year-old was gone! I whirled in a circle, taking in a quick 360° view of the women’s clothing department. No kid in sight.

My heart raced as sheer panic set in. I looked about for assistance. The closest staffed counter seemed a mile behind me, while only 12 steps in front of me beckoned the proscenium opening between the relatively contained store and the vast mall concourse. He could be anywhere! With anyone! I needed help, now!

I drew in a breath, intending that it would power my voice to call out loudly. But just as I was about to shout, I heard a stifled giggle. It bubbled up sweetly from within a circular rack loaded with a rainbow selection of polo shirts. Pushing aside the clothing curtain, there he was.

“You found me, Mommy!” Apparently, we were playing hide-and-go-seek, but he hadn’t informed me! I sat down on the floor, he jumped into my lap, and he hugged me around the neck while my adrenaline gave way to tears.

Sometimes, the stakes are high.

As I mentioned in my previous essay, I’ve been contemplating my 2021 Watchword. It’s a quote from Jesus. Every day when I read it, I picture that Jesus and I are sitting together at a table in the Panera Bread on Center Street—the particular café with its large windows offering a view of the ducks on Monocacy Creek. In this pleasant setting, I imagine Jesus saying these words as part of a comfortably deep conversation:

“Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find;   knock, and the door will be opened for you.”  Matthew 7:7

Search. What is it, I wonder, that Jesus is inviting me to search for? Surely, it can’t be the mundane things, although this imagined get-together reminds me that all of life’s moments are lived in Christ’s presence. But I suspect there is something more urgent in need of my attention. In this moment, what is imperative? What is directly in front of me that would spur me on with the same intensity inspired by an empty stroller? What is missing right now that needs to be pursued?

“What is it?” I ask my companion across the imaginary table.

He looks at me calmly with his head slightly tilted and his eyebrows raised as if to say, “Keep going. You’ll come to it.”

My mind sweeps back over the events of recent days and weeks, the searchlight landing on scenes both tumultuous and majestic, terrifying and uplifting. The images that captivate me right now are not especially personal, but rather, collective. And what grips me most is the gap: the gap between those who are elated and those who are devastated; the gap between our best selves and our worst impulses; the gap where hardly anybody at all seems to stand anymore. The gap is where the searchlight settles.

“Really?” I ask him. “I’m looking at a ravine.  What is there to examine here?”

My companion leans in toward me, waiting for me to see it.

It comes to me. “Common ground?”

He settles back into his chair.

There you have it. Common ground. Blessed ground. Sacred ground.

I think I’m meant to search for and illuminate the footing that leads, not necessarily from one side to the other, but toward an outcome Jesus has in mind. It’s an outcome that steps us away, urgently, from the fissures that have been exposed and that threaten to swallow us up. At the same time, it’s an outcome that can’t ignore the fissures or try to cover them cosmetically. The search for common ground means we must name those fissures—systemic racism, burgeoning classicism, materialism, garden variety greed, lackluster compassion. The search for common ground involves comprehending the depth of the fissures and being moved by the damage they’ve caused in the souls of all people. God’s people.

This search for common ground is urgent for our times. It should get our adrenaline going. And yet, maybe it should also be routine. Maybe it should be as commonplace as my everyday quest to find my car keys.

Search with me, will you?

Pastor Chris

+++++