One of the two parables included in the gospel for this Sunday, in what was originally planned as the last sermon in this series on "Called to New Life," retells the familiar story of what is commonly called "The Lost Coin." Another name for the same story is "The Woman Who Won't Rest Until She Finds Something Precious She Has Lost." The woman who won't rest until she finds something precious she has lost.

How terribly apt for the situation in which we find ourselves this morning, as individuals, as Christians, as a nation, as a community of nations in this world, in a week in which we have lost so much that is precious to us. We have lost loved ones, friends, and colleagues. We have lost a sense of security in the world. We have lost our easy cheerfulness and "normal" life. We have lost many illusions about this world in which we live. We have lost the naïveté of faith in God's power to ward off calamity. We are frightened, shaken, torn with grief, and angry. So we search now, for the precious thing we have lost.

For many, the searching began right away last Tuesday morning as news of the attacks spread across the country. Frantically phoning and e-mailing, people tried to make contact with New York and Washington, D.C. Who has not been moved at the sight of desperate, grieving people in lower Manhattan, frantically, methodically, posting and distributing homemade flyers picturing still-missing loved ones? And all of us, hearing again and again the numbers of missing, are searching to make contact with a whole community of people we never knew, but whose loss now leaves a gaping hole in our hearts. We are like Rachel, our Biblical foremother, weeping and wailing for her children who are no more.

We are searching for something precious that has been lost. And some comfort now is found in the affirmation of the preciousness of each life and in the certain knowledge that each is yet and forever a child of God, named by God, known by God, and loved by God in the fullness of their strength and beauty. Requiem eterna. May they rest in peace.

The attacks, which took so many lives, have also claimed as casualty our sense of confidence in the dependability of this world. In the rubble of hundreds of thousands of tons of concrete and steel, we are searching now as well for ground on which to stand, having lost a kind of innocence, a false sense of security, an illusion that the world as we chose to see it was all there to see and know and understand. To some extent, we, too, uncritically believed our own rhetoric. We know now that "airport security" isn't always secure, that air traffic "control" can only guide within the parameters of voluntary compliance, that even the fortress of the Pentagon is vulnerable and exposed.

We are searching for new definitions of security and strength and reliability, and we are driven to our knees in prayer, listening for the still small voice of God amidst the clamor of destruction and the wailing of despair. We have lost something precious to us, but perhaps now in our finding, we will come upon a deeper faith and a deeper truth that will carry us to a closer walk with God.

Most of you know that we have had three worship services here in the Sanctuary this past week, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday noon. Many people came, and together we were searching. Searching for some consolation for our grief and shock. Searching for a way to express our disbelief and horror at the images we have seen and the sounds we have heard this week. We came searching for some bit of comfort and reassurance. Searching to make contact with others, that we might not be alone at such a horrible time. Some were New Yorkers, stranded here on business or on vacation, searching for community and human contact. People of many faiths came here searching. Methodist, Catholic, Jewish, Hindu, nothing in particular, many from the community . . . we came searching for a sense of the presence of God, searching for the assurance of faith.

And searching, we found each other and we experienced the presence of God.

And the search continues. We search for what to tell the children, search for what to tell ourselves about what had happened. We search for a glimpse of life in this new future, utterly different and unfamiliar, for on some level we already understood that time will now be measured in terms of before September 11 and after September 11, 2001.

We are searching for something deep within ourselves, and something far bigger than ourselves, and for something that can only be found in embracing one another. We are searching for greater understanding of those different from us. Who are Muslims? What do they believe? How can I get involved in interfaith dialogue?

We are searching now as a nation, too. We are searching for ways to respond to such a dastardly attack. How do we punish a perpetrator we cannot find? Who are these people and what is the source of their hatred? How do we respond other than by killing thousands more innocent civilians, further perpetuating the cycles of violence? And we have only begun searching for the proper balance between the needs of domestic security and the safeguards of our civil liberties.

We are searching for the true measure of our greatness in this world. We are searching to define our place among the community of nations, and I will say to you this morning that we must not think that military might alone will establish our security or safeguard our future. We know this already. As a nation, we must continue to search for the pearl of great price, and gear up for a war on ignorance, poverty, isolation, and fear.

So, you see, this holy search opens us to new possibilities. It is like the experience many among us have had of a loved one recovering from a serious illness, or even this week, of a friend or relative narrowly escaping harms way.

In the days that follow, we vow to keep in the front of our consciousness the preciousness of life. We pledge to treasure each moment, to never again raise our voices in petty anger, but to express our love. For a moment, our eyes and hearts are open and we recommit to that which is, indeed, most valuable, most important, most lasting, most holy.

The same could now be said of our whole nation. It is true that terrible moments bring out the best in us. We remember what we're really capable of. We become generous and self-giving. We take more care with those we love. We expand our hearts and arms to embrace neighbor and stranger. We re-order our priorities. We are more open and honest with each other. We express our emotions more freely. We get past the small talk to the things that matter most.

We think more about what it really takes to build the common life of our communities. We ask what makes a nation truly great. We seek a more vital relationship with God. We open our souls to the leading of God's love.

I want to encourage us this morning to keep this new set of priorities before us-to see that this opportunity to re-balance and realign our lives is part of searching for something precious we had lost. Let us not rush to return to "normalcy." Some things about "normal life" ought rightly to be left behind! Let's work to keep hearts and minds and doors open, as they have been this week. A gift emerging from these horrendous losses is a gift of new life, a gift of a new nation, a new church, new families, and a new community.

The poet Rilke said it this way: ". . . be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves. . . . Do not now seek answers that cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer."

In these days, brothers and sisters, another search is going on. While we are searching, God is searching our hearts, searching for something precious that was lost. As the Psalmist cried long ago: "Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there. If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me and your right hand shall hold me fast. Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me, and know my thoughts. See if there is any hurtful way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting."

God is searching to find our loyalty, our confidence, our commitment, and our trust. God is searching to find us faithful, and to call us home, to give us strength for the journey and to promise to be with us always.

This sermon series began in another era. And now its themes take on deeper, vital meaning for us. Out of the ash and rubble, God is calling us to new lives, new lives of insight and perspective, new lives of healing and freedom, new lives of humility and hospitality, new lives of intentionality and commitment-more so than we ever imagined.

Be patient toward all that is unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves. For as we and God search together, step by step, stone by stone, as we search we shall find one another, and the best of who we are and who we might become. We shall create our destiny as a people and shine new light on the greatness of our nation. Then, as the Scriptures promise, joy shall one day be restored among all the peoples and among the angels of God. Amen.

© Patricia E. Farris, 2001. Permission is given for brief quotation with attribution. All other rights reserved.