Lost

It never ceases to amaze me how quickly group travel can go sideways. There are always personalities that clash, plans that unravel, and places that are mysteriously closed when they are supposed to be open. But in all my years of traveling, we had never — and I mean never — actually lost someone.

Until Istanbul.

In our very short time there, it happened twice.

After hours of travel, arriving in any new airport can feel disorienting. Your brain is foggy with jet lag, your body is exhausted, and when you are in another country, even the language around you can make you feel a little unsteady.

So when the small group I was meeting in Istanbul landed, I texted them the best place for us to gather. What I did not think through was this: not everyone would necessarily have access to their phones. When one, then two, then three people arrived at the meeting spot, we assumed the fourth would be right behind them.

But they were not.

We called and texted over and over, with no response. There was no PA system to page them, and security would not allow anyone to go back into baggage claim. I have rarely felt so helpless. My mind raced with thoughts of how that person must be feeling — alone, in a foreign country, unable to reach anyone.

Finally, after what felt like forever but was probably about 45 minutes, they took a chance and crossed out of the secure area. We saw them, they saw us, and we were together again.

What a relief.

Surely, I thought, that would be the end of it.

But just a day later, as we navigated the crowded, pulsing streets of Istanbul, it happened again. We all hopped on a bus ready to head back to the hotel, only to realize that two people from our group were missing. Panic rose immediately. We drove up and down the street, retracing our steps, trying to piece together where we had become separated. At last, we got one of them on the phone, but the connection was so poor we could barely understand each other.

Again, I felt that same mix of fear and helplessness — for them and for us.

And then, finally, we saw them.

Together again.

Something remarkable came out of those unsettling moments. Our group of 24 people — from different parts of the country, many of them strangers to one another — began to change. We rallied. Over the next few days, people started paying closer attention to each other. They noticed who might need an extra hand, who needed a walking companion, who looked tired, overwhelmed, or alone. There was a tenderness that had not been there before. A watchfulness. A kind of quiet care.

And that, it seems to me, is part of pilgrimage too.

Pilgrimage is not only about the sacred places we visit, but also about what happens among us on the way. It teaches us to travel not merely beside one another, but with one another. Perhaps that is one of the ways God works: finding us when we are frightened or scattered, often through the care and persistence of others.

Sometimes we are the ones who feel lost — uncertain, vulnerable, unable to find our way. And sometimes God’s answer comes not in grand or dramatic ways, but in something deeply human: a familiar face, a hand extended, a group that notices our absence and comes looking. In those moments, we are reminded that God does not leave us to wander alone. God finds us, often through one another.

Sometimes it takes a moment of being lost to remember how much we need one another — and how faithfully God is at work among us, leading us home.