Or, ‘Perhaps Fr Peter CR was wrong’…
Isaiah 65:1–9 | Psalm 22:20–29 | Galatians 3:10–14, 23–29 | Luke 8:26–39
I have told you this story before. It’s possible you might even remember it. But it is so fitting with the themes from this morning’s readings, and it’s quite likely that you may well have forgotten it in the passing of time, so please indulge me, once again, as I recall the beautiful tale of The Pilgrim at Tinker Creek…
In my first week at theological college we had a lecture with the college principal — Fr Peter — a wise old owl of a man, slow-spoken and razor-sharp, and a storyteller of great power. An octogenarian who swooshed around the corridors, cassock-clad, and preached from text on his mobile phone screen.
That first week, he retold us a story from one of his favourite books, of a woman who, once saw a muskrat gliding through moonlit water — a muskrat so beautiful, so unexpectedly holy in its ordinariness, that she returned again and again, hoping to see it once more. She never did. But that one glimpse changed everything. That one shimmer of wonder called her back, again and again.
Fr Peter said it was the same with God — that each of us had glimpsed divine beauty once, maybe just once, and it had been enough to draw us in. To make us show up again and again, even if God never showed up again in quite the same way.
And I heard this exclamation and realized it was me: “But isn’t God also looking for us? Doesn’t God also long to see us?” And Fr Peter, ever the monk, ever the mystery, said: “Is that what you think? That’s nice…”
And for a while, I wondered if I’d got it wrong. Because here was someone who had given up everything, spent decades in silence and prayer, someone who knew the rhythms of God like breath. If he wasn’t sure God came seeking… maybe I was naive.
But then we have this morning’s reading from Isaiah, who writes:
“I was ready to be sought out by those who did not ask,
to be found by those who did not seek me.
I said, “Here I am, here I am,” to a nation
that did not call on my name. I held out my hands all day long…”
It seems very clear: God moves first. Isn’t that what the whole incarnation shows us?
God shows up uninvited, unexpected, undeterred. Relentlessly pursuing.
God says “Here I am” not once, but twice — as if to be sure we hear it. As if to say: You don’t have to chase glimpses. I’m already here.
And then we meet Jesus, in that fascinating reading from Luke’s gospel.
And we find him sailing across the sea to a place everyone else avoided — Gentile land, haunted land, tomb-filled land — and stepping ashore to find a man no one wanted.
Naked. Alone. Possessed. A man whose very presence made others afraid.
A man society had chained up, cast out, left to rot.
And Jesus seeks him out. Relentlessly pursues him.
Speaks to him. Sees him. Frees him.
It wasn’t the man crying out for God —
it was God crossing the sea to find the man.
This is not a passive God.
This is a God who pursues.
Who disturbs.
Who insists on love even when no one asks for it.
And in Galatians, Paul hammers it home with revolutionary force:
“There is no longer Jew or Greek, no longer slave or free, no longer male and female;
for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.”
This is the God who shatters the categories. Who crosses every boundary.
Who flattens every hierarchy. This is the God who says, ‘You belong, even if the world says otherwise’.
So yes, I’ve come to believe — with my whole heart — that we do glimpse beauty and return to it, again and again. But also, and more deeply, that God comes looking for us.
That the One who made us also misses us. That the divine presence doesn’t just wait in mystery, but comes tearing across boundaries — sailing into unclean lands, shouting “Here I am” to the ones who weren’t even seeking. Even when we’re chained. Even when we’re lost. Even when we’ve given up hope. God finds us. And keeps finding us. Again and again and again.
And we are the body of Christ in this place. We are the hands and feet and presence of God in this place, for this generation. And if we have anything to do in our time here, it is to show that same welcome, that same relentless pursuit of grace and kindness and love, even to those who don’t ask. Even to those who the world tells us to shun. Especially to those, because the grace of our God is always extended beyond every boundary. And if the world doesn’t find acceptance from God’s people, where will they find it?
So whether you feel close to God today, or distant, whether you’re full of faith or full of fear — know this:
You don’t need to chase the muskrat.
The muskrat is swimming toward you.
Amen.
Holy Adventures 