Recently I heard the old hymn, Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing, sung in a clear soprano voice.
As I often do with music and scripture, I listened with my eyes closed. I could feel the soaring tune carry the deep passion and reality expressed in a particular phrase: "prone to wander, Lord, I feel it ... ."
Isn't that the truth at various times in our lives _ this tendency to wander?
Wandering is different than traveling or journeying from here to there; different from emigrating or moving from one home or homeland to another; different from pilgrimage or vacation, which are a purposeful going out and coming back.
Wandering tends to be aimless, pointless, or meaningless.
Wandering often happens in some type of wilderness, be it geographical (forest, desert or mall), personal or spiritual. Wandering involves uncertainty of movement and intent and destination.
The whimsical cartoon, Family Circus, occasionally depicts one of the kids being sent on an errand, with the artist tracing the actual zigzagging path taken, and the predictable resulting inquiry: "Where have you been?" Some truth there, yes?
Another old hymn with a haunting tune explores this common human experience: "I wonder as I wander out under the sky." Wandering is not only associated with wilderness, but with wondering.
Who has not meandered along a quiet road or street, kicking a rock or can, mulling things over silently or muttering aloud about something, not really sure where this was taking you? Such is our tendency at times.
Sacred scriptures know that we are prone to wander, as told in vivid stories of being "out east of paradise," drifting over great floods, exodus, exile, blind dependence, far country, valley of darkness. The great religious traditions understand our tendency to wander and wonder in one wilderness or another.
Most religious convictions know also of a great affirmation _ that our wandering never escapes the notice or active care of the Holy One, the Beloved. There is a certain tugging at our being; we may know it as a deep longing or yearning in mind, heart or soul. To yearn for something or someone is powerful; it can stimulate and motivate and activate.
Yearning may be the antidote for wandering. Like the lifeline thrown to one floundering in the water, then pulled gradually to safety, longing is a mutual connection between seeker and sought-after.
Is it possible that our longings are less our own doing and more a gift of love and mercy? Either way, the experience of finding new direction, purpose, meaning, energy and hope is felt as deep and abiding Joy.
The most amazing and grace-filled part of the story of the Wandering Child is when the prodigiously loving parent runs with abandon to embrace the returning one who is still a way off (Holy Bible, Luke 15:20). Every lost-and-found story, biblical and otherwise, results in rejoicing as reunion and rejuvenation occurs: "safely to arrive at home."
In due time may each of us hear this greeting, "Welcome home, wanderer!"
