Suppose a man has ten media remotes and loses one. Won’t he get an arc lamp and look in every corner of the house, tear down the wallpaper and rip up the pile carpets until he finds it? Won’t he tip out the wheelie bins, the recycling bins and the next door farm’s slurry truck? And when he finds it down the back of the sofa, along with a rotting peach, a dirty nappy, and £27.53 in small change won’t he message all his Facebook friends and tweet all his Twitter follows and invite them round to celebrate with a massive bag of Twiglets and an all night showing of the entire James Bond collection? And won’t he do the exact same thing the very next evening when he loses the remote all over again? And yet again the next week. And again ten days later. And so on for the rest of his life.
In exactly the same way the angels throw a party every time a lost person changes direction and is plucked from the darkness. Again and again and again. With a lot more to eat than an industrial-sized bag of Twiglets.
For a podcast reflection on this parable click here: