The lost sheep, and our definitions of love

This morning, our Pastor John had the day off, and a familiar face, Tim Condor came and filled in for him. He spoke about the gospel, and about our “elevator stories”, or the things that we tell random people in elevators, like our profession, maybe what we believe, if we’re being bold, and maybe even who we root for in College Sports. Then he spoke about the lost sheep, and God’s unending, passionate, stupidly risky, undeniable love for us.

Then he asked the question: “What is your definition of love?”

For us to imagine how the creator of the Universe and our Savior loves us, we must first understand love. It makes sense, right?

Lately, I’ll admit, I haven't been feeling it. I haven't felt like I’ve been overcome by Grace, or full of the Spirit, in fact, I’ve felt far from it at times. I haven’t felt like I had been abandoned by God, but I’ve been thinking a lot about where that feeling has gone, you know, the one that you get when in his presence, and full of his spirit, during worship, or when you read something that blows your mind, or hear a powerful speaker, or just have one of those God-moments. Today, I think I figured it out, and hopefully its something that stays with me for a while.

For a long time, I thought I knew what love was, I was in love, I felt loved, I thought everything was ok. But one day that all turned around, and that love that I thought I knew was gone, it had left rather abruptly (at least it seemed it for me). My idea of love was changed. It had once been thing feeling, knowing there was always someone there, loving me (yes, I know I used the word in its definition, get over it) to something that would leave over no fault of my own. In the past months, I’ve been on a roller coaster of emotion, feeling at times like maybe I had found it again, only to once again realize that love, or even loving feelings and emotions were fleeting and quick to leave me. It took Tim today to show me that even though it makes more logical sense for the shepherd to stay with the 99 if I fall away from the flock, or if I doubt, or if I weep, or if I struggle, he will always be there for me, to pick me up, throw me on his shoulders (gently, I hope), and bring he home to the rest of the flock rejoicing.

There’s one thing that remains: his love for us.