Survivors of Oceanic 815, can you hear me? Hello?
I sat in church on Sunday, the awesome day of His resurrection and all I could think about was Lost. Now before you start thinking to yourself how un-spiritual I am (even though you’re probably right, I am an idiot) allow me to explain. As I surveyed the crowd gathered together on this day when we as believers fully recognize and are overjoyed at the gift of our salvation made possible by Jesus death, I couldn’t help but notice the scattered pockets of those in our midst who were clearly not along for the ride. I wondered at where they were in their journey to find Truth and if what we were doing together in that room was helping them, or were we pushing them backward?
So I named them, of course. I created personas for each of these cast members around me who were clearly not feeling the flow of excitement wash over them.
Sawyer, my favorite. A shaved headed, late teen / early twenty something sat in the chair bent over. His girlfriend next to him, she was standing and clapping along with the worship as we sang a hymn I have never heard before. Little old ladies nearby were clapping and boppin to the beat, excited at the “joy of the Lord” that was in the air among us, but what was there to offer this man? Did we forget to include something for him or is he just being stubborn and uninterested? Maybe we were trying to be everything to everybody and in the effort missed the opportunity altogether.
Michael, the one young black man in a sea of old white people. He sat next to his white girlfriend who also seemed annoyed at these bopping, bouncing, clapping fools all raising their hands and singing goofy songs. Clearly he did not trust that bespectacled preacher and his message about some dummies walking on a road and not recognizing Jesus. Did he recognize Jesus in our midst, or did we hide him in “white mans clothes?” I did feel the rhythm of the worship might have been a bit out of step.
And Kate, sweet Kate. This adolescent mystery sat perched between two U.S. Marshalls awaiting her trial. Her grandparents, oblivious to her misery, as they clapped (or at least attempted to clap) along with the beat of the bass drum and continuously elbowed her along, trying desperately to engage her in the worship they were clearly enjoying so much. She must not have understood what was so exciting about this day and perhaps could think only of getting away from her captors.
Enter John Locke, seated alone at the end of an aisle. Motionless, expressionless, and unmoved by the levity around him. Suspicion furrows his brow and you can’t help but wonder what’s on his mind. “What are these people really up to?” “Why are they so happy?” “This is just the lame behavior of a bunch of nitwits… the ‘ignorant Christians’ who couldn’t understand science and evolution if they tried.” Do we have an answer for John? He searches, otherwise he wouldn’t be here, but will we be able to provide an answer for this survivalist searcher? Would he believe the message if we did manage to speak the language he understands?
I’ve been haunted ever since… wondering what island these castaways are really on. I enjoyed Jay’s message and thought it perfect, for me at least, as an excellent reminder to walk the road less traveled. But then I tried to put myself in their shoes and imagine what the message would mean to them. Did we plant a seed at least, or did we get lost in the ocean without an accurate map to their heart? Maybe the waters around them aren’t like the familiar waters we regularly navigate and therefore we need to reconfigure our compasses if we plan to ever reach the island at all.
A rescue is definitely in order. My heart is aching for survivors of Oceanic 815 since I know they deserve to be found. I fear we may be too late and we’re looking in the wrong place so I vow to figure out what frequency these people are on and fix my antenna so that I can broadcast a signal that they will hear. I can tell you for certain by the faces I saw around me… they are waiting for a signal. We’re just broadcasting on the wrong station.
Survivors of Oceanic 815, come in. There is a somebody who wants to save you… tune your hearts to frequency….<chhrhrhhchchhhh>
Hello, can you hear me?
Hello?
