Sunday started out like every other day. I got up, let the dogs out, turned on the computer, and started to feed Spook, our seventeen year old cat. Now, next to lying in front of the heating vent or tormenting the dogs, breakfast is her favorite activity of the day. She is always standing in the kitchen waiting for my arrival - but not Sunday morning.  

I called her. She didn't come. I looked in front of her favorite vents. She wasn't there. She wasn't behind the door, on the bed, in the afghans, or down in the basement. I looked in all the closets, the bathtub, and behind the refrigerator. After searching for more than a half hour (and beginning to fear the worst), I finally went upstairs and woke up Micheal. He was sick!  

Upon learning about Spook's disappearance, however, he was out of bed in record time! I went back downstairs to continue the search while he attempted to remember the last time he had seen her. It wasn't long after getting up before he and the cat were standing the dining room. Unknown to Micheal, she had followed him into the attic sometime Saturday evening. When he opened the door, she was just sitting there, waiting for someone to rescue her.  

Before we adopted her, Spook had been terribly abused. It took her years to trust us and it has only been in the past few years she has allowed anyone to hold her. While she now enjoys sitting beside us in the evening and will, on occasion, want to climb into our laps, the one thing she rarely does is make any sound.  

Reflecting upon her disappearance, I began to theologize about those folk who have been so hurt and disappointed with life they refuse to allow anyone, including God, to touch them. Like our cat, most of them know they are lost and need to be rescued. They are hungry and need to be fed.  

We are the ones who have been called by Christ to "go into the world" - to look until we find the lost, the lonely, and the seeking. We are the ones with the spiritual food that will fill their souls and satisfy their hunger.  

Upon realizing that Spook was missing, it never occurred to us just to sit down and wait for her to find us. Likewise, when she emerged from the attic filthy, hungry, and tired, the last thing we wanted to do was scold, criticize or punish her. At that point, our primary concern was to feed her, comfort her, and make certain she was safe.

The question is, if many of us are willing to go to that extreme for an animal, what is stopping us from searching for the lost neighbor, co-worker, or friend? Why are we so concerned that they aren't making a sound or asking for help? Shouldn't we be willing to feed them, comfort them, and make certain they are safe? Isn't that what Christ did for us? Shouldn't we be doing it for others?