Going After the One

A reflection on James 5:19-20 and the people worth going after

If you have spent any time around cattle, you know that most of the herd follows without much trouble. But there are always a few that present challenges. Some are bunch quitters: independent spirits that resist going with the group. Others are young and inexperienced, still learning the way. And then there are the protective mothers, hiding their calves in the brush, driven by instinct to shield what they love from perceived danger.

For those of us at Black Hills Cowboy Church, this is not abstract imagery. It is the kind of thing that makes immediate sense. And it turns out James had the same picture in mind when he wrote his closing words.


The word James uses for “wander” in the original Greek was specifically used to describe grazing animals that drift away. That is not accidental language. It is a precise and compassionate description of how most people end up far from where they intended to be, not through dramatic rebellion, but through gradual drift.

HOW WANDERING ACTUALLY HAPPENS
Most of us do not struggle primarily with choosing between obvious evil and obvious good. We generally choose good when those are the only options. Our real challenge is distinguishing between good and best, or even more difficult, between really good and best.

Grazing animals move because they are designed to. They see something green and appetizing and they pursue it. That instinct is not bad. It actually prevents overgrazing in one spot. But the same instinct that keeps them fed can lead them straight off a cliff edge if nobody is paying attention.

We function remarkably similarly. And wandering tends to happen in a few recognizable patterns.

Some people are natural boundary-pushers: entrepreneurial, curious, and drawn to the edge. That quality is often a gift. But the same spirit that makes someone innovative can also lead them to wander, grazing closer and closer to the precipice without realizing the danger.

Some people wander protectively, pulling away from community because they have been hurt before and isolation feels safer than vulnerability. Like a mother cow hiding her calf in the brush, the instinct is understandable. But isolation that begins as protection can become its own kind of danger.

And some of us, and I will put myself in this category, wander because something shiny caught our attention. I have a tendency to get genuinely excited about a new idea or direction and slowly lose sight of what I was supposed to be doing in the first place. No dramatic rebellion. Just distraction, gradual and quiet.


A STORY I WATCHED FROM A DISTANCE
Sometimes wandering stories end badly.
Sometimes they do not.
I have a story of one that did not.

I have a brother who is seven years older than me. When he finished high school, he went his own way, away from faith and away from the things he had been raised with. I was young enough that I do not remember the specifics. I just knew he was gone in an important sense.

I cannot tell you exactly who went after him or what that looked like. I was not close enough to see it. But somewhere along the way, something turned. I think having kids was part of it, maybe. The weight of being a parent has a way of pressing questions back to the surface that we thought we had buried.

What I can tell you is who he is now. He is an attentive, devoted father to six children, present in a way that clearly costs him something and clearly matters to him. He is an artist, thoughtful and kind, with a faith that is genuinely his own and a church community where he is growing.


And I am grateful, deeply and quietly grateful, for whoever went after him in those years I was not watching. Whoever asked the questions, kept the door open, and refused to write him off.

That is what James is talking about. That is the stakes.

FOUND PEOPLE AND LOST PEOPLE
Jesus told a story about a shepherd with one hundred sheep. When he discovered one was missing, he did not calculate that ninety-nine out of a hundred was an acceptable success rate. He secured the ninety-nine and went looking for the one.

Here is an uncomfortable truth: I know some found people who do not care much about lost people.

Sometimes it is selfishness. I am safe, that is unfortunate for you. Sometimes it is judgment. That was a really poor choice, what were you thinking? And sometimes it is a failure of imagination. We assume everyone faces the same temptations and battles we do, and we measure their struggle against our own experience of it.

During Sunday's message, Pastor Isaac spoke about those stuck in addiction. Someone who does not struggle with it might look at someone who does with bewilderment, thinking: just stop. But that completely misses what that person is actually facing, a stronghold that exerts real and serious power. True compassion requires us to recognize that different people face different battles. What is manageable for you might be devastating for someone else.

True compassion requires honesty about this. Mercy grows when we remember how much grace it took to bring us home, too.

Rather than writing people off, we are called to reach out, to understand, and to help pull them back.

WHAT TURNING AROUND ACTUALLY LOOKS LIKE
Biblical repentance is more than acknowledgment and remorse. It is a complete change of direction, a 180-degree turn that is physical and practical, not just emotional.

It is not enough for the wandering animal to feel bad about having strayed. It needs to actually turn around and head back toward safety. True repentance involves acknowledging what went wrong, being genuinely sorry for it, and then moving, actually moving, in the opposite direction.

This requires humility from the wanderer. But it also requires patience and wisdom from the person doing the rescuing. Showing up and announcing “you really messed up and need to turn around right now” is rarely effective and almost never kind. What actually works is helping someone see what they truly want, where they truly need to go, and what God has genuinely designed for them. We lead people back. We do not drag them.

WHY IT MATTERS THIS MUCH
God designed us as herd animals. We function better together than alone. We learn better, make better decisions, and are stronger in community than in isolation. This can feel frustrating when we are convinced we are right and someone keeps asking hard questions. But the truth remains: we need each other.

When someone wanders from truth, they are not just taking a minor detour. They are heading down a path that leads toward real loss, loss in relationships, loss of purpose, and spiritual drift that compounds over time. By going after them, we do not just help with their current situation. We turn the trajectory of a whole life.

My brother is proof of that. Six kids who have a present, attentive father. A life full of art and kindness and genuine faith. That is not a small thing. That is the result of someone, somewhere, refusing to give up on a young man who had gone his own way.

And here is one more thing worth saying, because it happened just this past week and I do not want to let it pass without naming it: our congregation prayed for rain. And it rained.
The same God who answered Elijah’s prayers on a dry mountainside, the same God who goes after wandering sheep and brings prodigal sons home, heard our prayers over a dry Wyoming range and sent rain. He is not a distant God who set things in motion and stepped back. He is present. He is listening. And He moves when His people ask.

That matters here because the same faithful God who sends rain when we pray is the God who pursues wanderers when we go after them in His name. We are not doing search and rescue in our own strength. We are joining a God who is already looking, already moving, already refusing to give up on the one.


We are all part of that team. The question is whether we are actively looking, and whether we are willing to go after the one, even when the ninety-nine are accounted for and it would be easier to stay put.

If you are wandering today, let someone help you find your way back. The humility to admit you have strayed is the first step home. And if you know someone who has wandered, do not write them off. Go after them. The stakes are higher than they look from the outside.

A QUESTION TO SIT WITH
Is there someone in your life who has wandered, from faith, from community, from the person you know they were meant to be, that you have quietly written off? What would it look like to refuse to give up on them? And if you are honest with yourself, is there an area of your own life where you have been slowly drifting without naming it? Name it today. That is the first step back.

A PRAYER
Lord, thank You for the people who refused to give up on the wanderers in our lives. Thank You for whoever kept the door open for my brother, for whoever kept asking questions and staying present during the years he was gone. Give us that same stubborn, patient love for the people in our lives who have strayed. Keep us from the comfortable selfishness of caring only about the ninety-nine who are accounted for. And in the places where we ourselves have been quietly drifting, distracted, isolated, or grazing toward the edge without realizing it, bring us back. Gently if possible. Firmly if necessary. But bring us back. And thank You for the rain. Amen.