Pentecost 14C - Sunday, September 15, 2019

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Mr. Ben Hansknecht
Pentecost 14C - Sunday, September 15, 2019

Exodus 32:7-14
1 Timothy 1:12-17
Luke 15:1-10

Click here for an audio version of the sermon.

I’m very fond of stories. Done well, a story can be crafted in such a way as to help make sense of a messy world. They can turn the foreign into the familiar, or the familiar into the foreign. And, to paraphrase a favorite author of mine, stories are “a medium through which we can all connect in ways that we never could solely by explaining ourselves. Because art reaches inside us, and expresses aspects of ourselves that aren’t deliberate, there’s a truth and genuineness to them”.1 In this way, they give the reader or listener the opportunity to immerse themselves into the author’s point of view and experience a perspective outside of their own.

As a teacher, it is evident that Jesus was fond of stories too. Spread throughout the Gospels, he tells nearly 40 of them by means of his parables, each with the hope of guiding his audience, or at least leaving them with something to chew on. Personally, I find them to be the most approachable parts of the Bible. If you’ll pardon the simile, Jesus’ parables are like public swimming pools; depending on your comfort level, they are as deep or as shallow as you are willing to dive into. Sure, they may be simple on the outset, but like many allegories, there’s a lot to talk about for those who want to take the plunge.

So, with that in mind, let’s talk about today’s reading from Luke. The scene is set with Jesus welcoming sinners and tax collectors to his table, where he and his friends are already seated with food and conversation. When he does this, when he makes room for them and opens up the dialogue to them, this is when the scribes and the Pharisees begin to grumble. They mutter to themselves, and I can’t help but visualize them looking down and shaking their heads at the impropriety of it all. Whether or not Jesus was able to hear their exact words, it isn’t that hard to guess what they were thinking about, and it is to them that he addresses his parables.

Now then, how far out do we want to swim? We could talk about the sinners, shuffling closer to hear Jesus over the crowded room. It might be assumed that they are the sheep and the coin. We can talk about how God loves them. How, even when they are lost, God is looking for them, anxious to bring them home. In fact, when he does, we could talk about how the whole world will be filled with such overpowering joy that it can’t help but be shared, for it is truly worth celebrating!

Or, we could talk about the Pharisees. Why are they grumbling? If they aren’t among the lost in these stories, surely that means they are a part of the flock, or at least members of the friends and neighbors. If so, shouldn’t they be happy that the Good Shepherd is out looking for his lambs? Shall we look askance at the fact that they’re the only ones missing from the table? Considering how not everyone who is lost is aware of the fact, perhaps they are the coins after all.

Lastly, we could spend our time together asking more personal questions. What does this have to do with me? Frankly, we’ve lost a big part of the cultural significance of these parables. Would the story even make sense if we were telling the Parable of the Lost Car Keys? I don’t know about you, but when I find mundane objects in my own life, even things I was actively looking for, I don’t feel the compunction to call my friends over and host a party! For, you see, we live in a time that accepts that most everyday items are ultimately disposable. After all, you can always get another. So, how do we make this relatable today?

To answer this question, I’m going to tell you a story of my own. Once upon a time, when I was about 6 years old, my family and I visited Legoland in Windsor, England. We were there with some family friends and having a great time. We soon discovered, however, that there was simply too much to do, sticking together as a single group. And so it came to pass that we split up and agreed to meet at the Gift Shop later that afternoon. Although I remember being there, and all the hullabaloo that followed, I confess that most of this story belongs to my mom. For, you see, when we arrived at the appointed time and the appointed place, one of us was missing: my younger brother, Josh.

Panic erupted. Hysteria ensued. The adults went about calling security. They gave his description: 4 years old, blonde, blue shorts, white shoes, and a hand-me-down t-shirt with a whale on it. Meanwhile, the rest of us kids didn’t know what to do. We were very worried, but looked to the adults for our cues. Backtracking our steps, the last place all the children were together was at the Creation Station, and so the dads left to start searching.

A long, long 15 minutes later, they returned with Josh in tow. Now, let me quote my mom to properly finish this tale.

“I did not hide my joy or relief. I told everyone: security, gift shop staff, my mother [who was with us], random guests ‘We found him!’ And you know what, they were all really happy for us. Not one person said to us, ‘What about my child? Why aren’t you happy about my child?’ Not even the other children with us were jealous of the attention paid Josh.”

When it came to something important, something real, my mom fully embodied the characters in these parables. So too did these total strangers embody the friends and neighbors who came together and celebrated in the heartfelt felicity of their companion. Even if we can no longer relate to the joy of finding a lost coin, the message of these parables lives on.

Now, as a 4 year old, Josh didn’t know the peril he was in. Much like the Pharisees, he didn’t even know that he was lost—separated from those who love him. The narrative grew deeper as he grew older, as he became more capable of swimming out of the shallows. When I asked for his permission to tell this story, all he could recall is being engrossed in his Lego creation; the rest comes from our collective memory, shared within the family.

I too know what it is like to be lost. To feel alone; afraid that no one is looking for me. I’ve felt lost when thinking about the future. What’s next for Ben Hansknecht? For much of my life, I’ve taken opportunities as they came, not really planning, just reacting. In the haze of memory, it feels like years would go by without ever having to make a real decision. Sometimes that would work out—sending me down a path I never could have imagined or anticipated. Other times, haha, not so much!

One of the best things I’ve stumbled into recently, however, would certainly be the Order of the Holy Cross and the Brothers who comprise it. Here at the monastery, I have found something that I was missing. I have found a more complete picture of who I am, or rather, what it means to be me. I have found happiness in the everyday, in the routine, in the rhythm of their life together. And, most importantly, I have found intentionality: the ability to sit down and say, “This is what I want, and this is how I intend to achieve it.”

To be fair, the river of life will always be taking me along for the ride, but now, I feel like I’m more than just keeping afloat. Here, I can say with gratitude that God is still searching, both for me and with me as I have spent this time discerning. Dear people. Witness the things I have found! Come and celebrate with me!

Amen.

1 Sanderson, Brandon. “Voices in My Head: Part Three”. Dragonsteel Ent., 25 Sept. 2018.