The Searcher

‘Tis not for the ninety and nine He goes On a dangerous midnight search. ’Tis not for the ninety and nine who sit In security safe in the church, Whose paths are set in the well-fenced bounds Of conventional Sunday suits, While the songs of their souls sound dreadfully cold To the biker in leathers and boots. ‘Tis not for the ninety and nine good folk Who chapter and verse freely quote, Nor those who appear so exactly sincere As their Bible-text pencils take notes. ‘Tis not for the multitude stuck in the fold That the Shepherd is mostly concerned – But for wanderers lost in the soft ways of sin, Jesus’ eye with compassion-light burns. For the sinner perplexed by the pattern of life, For the one from the hundred astray, For the one who’s abandoned the standards of God, Determined to go his own way, For the one who has tasted the sweetness of sin, And discovered how quick it decays – ’Twas for him that the Shepherd went out in the night Of that sin-uttered “Crucify!” Day. What love! What compassion! What limitless care In His seeking for one who is lost! Oh, what infinite pity must quicken His heart To go out on that search at such cost! And the organ plays softly, The hymn board is fixed, The offering taken for mortar and bricks, And so few in the pew For sinners will search, For the Shepherd, like them, They have shut in the church. John Puckett When a rather unconventional young biker man began coming to the morning service of a traditional chapel some years ago, I was struck with how easy it is for us in our churches to become self-contained and self-content.