I Was Lost, But You Were in a Hurry


I attended your church this morning, but you wouldn’t remember
me. I may be eleven or eighty, and I was hunting for something. I
think I almost found it — I think I would have if you hadn’t been in
such a hurry.

The choir – even you in the congregation – sang hymns about a
loving Lord that made my heart beat faster. I felt a tight, choking
sensation in my throat as your pastor described the condition of a lost

“I am lost. He is talking about me,” I said to myself. “From
the way he speaks, being saved must be very important.” I looked at
you in the pews near me. You were listening – you seemed to think the
pastor’s words were important, too. “All these people are so
concerned,” I thought. “They want me to be saved, too.”

At last the minister finished his message and asked you to stand
and sing another of the beautiful songs you know so well. I swallowed
a lump in my throat and wished I knew the joy with which you sang.
Then your pastor looked at me and started telling me once again how I
could have this joy – but his words were drowned in a buzzing beside

Then I glanced around. You helping your little girl with her
coat and telling her to get her things. I looked to my other side and
saw you touching up your hair.

Looking in front of me, I saw you frown at your watch, as if time
were running out. Suddenly, I didn’t want to look at any more of you.
You really didn’t care. This salvation the pastor had been telling me
about was not important. You didn’t care that I was lost – you only
wanted to get away.

I wanted to get away, too – I wanted to run – but I didn’t. I
waited until the service was over and walked out among you – alone and

This material was provided to the Apostolic Information Service by
David Burgett of Hastings Apostolic Tabernacle in Hastings, MI.