By Jeff Scoggins

About 8 or 9 o’clock one night my sister disappeared from my parents’ house. I was visiting them in Iowa where they lived on a few acres out in the middle of farmland. The only thing visible from their house was one other house some distance away, so the night was dark and quiet.

My sister was a responsible adult so her disappearance wasn’t a concern at first. We simply wondered where she had gone. Then we called out for her. Not hearing an answer we called down to the basement. Nothing. We called louder. My dad called outside. Still nothing. Where could she have gone? The vehicles were there and so were her shoes. Besides she wouldn’t have gone out without mentioning it to us.

My dad can create a supersonic whistle, which he used to call us when we were children. So he tried that a couple of times both inside and outside. No Amy. Panic set in. Thoughts of drive-by kidnappings or accidents in the night began to fill our heads. We prayed without ceasing and understood exactly what that meant as we ran frantically here and there searching.

Finally, we called Amy’s friend, Kari. “Did you come a pick up Amy?” We can’t find her anywhere. She had not.

For the dozenth time we searched every room in the house when finally my mother yelled out in relief, “Here she is!” Amy had somehow fallen asleep underneath a pile of blankets at the foot of my parents’ bed. During our desperate search she had slept soundly, oblivious to our calls and unconcerned for her lost condition.

Our world is filled with spiritually sleeping people who are completely unconcerned with their situation because they don’t recognize it for what it is. Indeed, we ourselves could easily be in that condition. After all, in Jesus’ parable of the ten virgins all ten of them slept, including those who were “prepared.” I wonder what the mission of Christ’s church would look like right now if we felt for our neighbors even a small fraction of the panic my family felt for my sister that night.

What difference would it make if we walked through the grocery store or drove through traffic and wondered if the people we were seeing were aware of their spiritual condition? Would we in a slight panic offer up desperate prayers for them? I believe that God responds to different kinds of prayers in different ways just as I respond to the words of my children in different ways. A casual call from my boys warrants a casual response on my part, whereas a desperate call warrants an extreme reaction. Wouldn’t it be the same with our heavenly Father? 

What if we felt at least a degree of panic for the lost condition of those around us, not to mention those we love? This matter of eternal life and eternal death is real, and yet we treat it as though it is the stuff of fairy tales. Could I really have lounged around on the couch that night my sister disappeared and been uninterested in the desperation of my parents? Could I really want to finish my TV program or novel first before helping to locate my lost sister? Of course not. Yet we act like that all the time with our heavenly Father and our fellow brothers and sisters.

Perhaps we should consciously cultivate a little sustainable panic concerning those around us. Maybe then we will join God in his desperation for his children. Maybe then we will understand better how to pray without ceasing. Maybe then we will feel like tearing ourselves away from the TV or some other project to join the search. Maybe then we will actually wake up to our own spiritual condition a little more.