Saturday, October 31, 2026From the news

The Ones Who Go Looking

When a trusted rescue role in the Canadian Rocky Mountains is cut, we can grieve the loss honestly and find comfort in a God who never stops searching for the lost and who is our true refuge.

Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Does he not leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it?

Luke 15:4

I lift up my eyes to the mountains— where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.

Psalm 121:1-2

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.

Matthew 11:28

Friends, let us begin gently this morning, because this story carries a weariness many of us will recognize. Scott Ward, now 73 and retired, still remembers the relief on parents' faces when his search dog found their children safe in Banff National Park. He remembers a two-hour climb up a steep mountainside to a man with a broken leg who was close to dying of hypothermia. Now a program he gave years of his life to has been ended, and more than 5,000 people have signed a petition asking for it back. Whatever we think about budgets and public spending, there is something tender in that grief. People care about those who are lost, and that care is good. It reflects something God put in us.

Notice how small the loss looks on paper: one role, one handler, one dog. Yet the article reminds us how much depended on that quiet presence. The dogs could search for a paper clip or a human body. They spared rescuers hours of standing shoulder to shoulder, poking through snow, exposed to danger. Much of what keeps a community safe is unseen until it is gone. Many of us know that feeling in our own lives. A phone call that no longer comes. A routine that quietly disappeared. A person who used to carry a burden alongside us, and now we carry it alone.

Jesus knew this ache. In Luke 15, he tells of a shepherd who has a hundred sheep and loses one. "Does he not leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it?" The shepherd does not shrug at one missing sheep. He goes looking. Our heavenly Father has that same heart. When we feel overlooked, or when someone we love has slipped out of sight, we are not forgotten by the One who searches for every lost child of his.

The psalmist, too, knew mountains. "I lift up my eyes to the mountains— where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth" (Psalm 121:1-2). The mountains of Banff are breathtaking and dangerous at once, and people have always looked to them with a mix of awe and fear. The psalm does not tell us to stop valuing rescuers or to pretend human help doesn't matter. It matters a great deal, and we can honor those who serve and pray for them. But our deepest security does not rest in any program, budget, or government decision. It rests in the Maker of the mountains, who holds the snow, the slopes, and the people on them.

If you are weary today, hear the invitation Jesus gives: "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest" (Matthew 11:28). Maybe you feel like the petition signers, watching something valuable slip away and wishing someone would fix it. Maybe your own search-and-rescue feels like it has been cut back to one exhausted person. Take heart. You do not have to be the only one searching. Bring your worry to the Lord honestly, the way the psalmists did, and let him steady you.

So let us practice a few small things this week. Pray for Scott Ward and for the park staff facing layoffs. Pray for those who make hard decisions in public service, that they would act with wisdom and mercy. And look around your own street, church, and family for someone who has gone quiet. Make the call. Send the message. Be the one who goes looking. We cannot repair every system, but we can reflect the heart of the Shepherd who never stops seeking the lost.