Where do the lost things go?

I live not far from a laundromat and it is not unusual to find a lonely sock on the footpath or languishing damply in the gutter.  And it always gives me pause – what will happen when its owner gets home, folds the washing and discovers its mate?  Where do all those lost things go?  The keys, the socks, the wallets, the favourite pen, piece of jewellery…

I feel we are living in a time that is characterised by lost things.  Our world community is marked by deep social, political and cultural divisions.  Public discourse is often shaped by polarisation, mistrust, and a growing tendency to see those who disagree with us as opponents rather than neighbours.  Whether these divisions emerge in communities, workplaces, churches, or online spaces, they challenge our capacity to listen, understand, and live together with compassion. I feel a meanness of spirit is creeping across the land.

And yet it is into this world that we live as the People of God.  These times raise an important question: how can we live the Gospel faithfully in a society that seems increasingly fragmented?

Recently, in reflecting on Gaudium et Spes, Pope Leo observed that “Catholics cannot remain as unengaged spectators toward current events; rather, we must listen with our hearts, allow ourselves to be challenged, and become involved”.

Mature hearts are called for – hearts that can hold the tensions of the world while maintaining a steady course.  It is a time that calls us to engage with courage and grace, to seek truth while practising compassion, and to recognise the dignity of every person as created in the image of God.  We are invited to become witnesses to hope, agents of reconciliation, and builders of communities where justice and mercy can flourish together.  To be good citizens in the world. To take care of each other.

Some years ago, the actor Martin Sheen observed in a speech that:

Whether we acknowledge it or not, we are all responsible for each other and the world, which is exactly the way it is, because consciously or unconsciously, we have made it so.  And while none of us made any of the rules that govern the universe or the human heart, we are all beneficiaries of a divine promise, that the world is still a safe place despite our fears and we in it, are not asked to do great things; we are asked to do all things with great love.

As we reflect on what it means to live the Gospel today, we are challenged to consider how our words, actions, and relationships can embody Christ’s love amid division and contribute to the healing of our communities and society.  This is a world that calls forth the strength that comes from a culture of dialogue and encounter.  Hearts that are able to do all things with great love.

In all of this, we have Jesus as our model and guide.  This weekend’s gospel provides a powerful reminder to us of the extraordinary hospitality that is on offer from our God.  A God who is generous to all – the first and the last.  To those we love and to those with whom we struggle.

Perhaps if we listen to the Gospel message, we realise that lost things don’t really “go” anywhere after all.  A lost friendship lives on in memories.  A lost opportunity becomes part of who we are.  A lost version of ourselves lingers in old photographs, habits, and stories.  Perhaps they gather in the space between forgetting and finding, waiting patiently for us to stumble across them again, though not always in their original form.  A missing key may reappear in a coat pocket. A forgotten dream may return years later as a new calling. Even grief may eventually transform into gratitude for what once was.

And perhaps that is the heart of the Gospel: in God’s eyes, nothing and no one is ever truly lost.  What is broken can be healed.  What is divided can be reconciled.  What seems beyond recovery can be found again through grace, love, and hope.  A united society can be built again.

And when we stumble and lose hope, perhaps these words from the recently deceased poet Wendell Berry might help:

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

May the wisdom of listening hearts bring grace to a world yearning for peace, softened with just a little touch of kindness and great love.

By Cathy Jenkins