Showing posts with label Daniel Hansknecht. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Daniel Hansknecht. Show all posts

Tuesday, June 30, 2026

The Apostles Saint Peter and Saint Paul, June 30, 2026

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Daniel Hansknecht, OHC

The Apostles Saint Peter and Saint Paul, June 30, 2026


Almighty God, whose blessed apostles Peter and Paul glorified you by their martyrdom: Grant that your Church, instructed by their teaching and example, and knit together in unity by your Spirit, may ever stand firm upon the one foundation, which is Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.
This prayer is a collect taken from our feast day breviary, used to conclude the proper offices for the Feast of Peter and Paul. It, to my mind, pretty succinctly describes why the Church celebrates these two figures, and how we continue to benefit from hearing their stories.
As leaders and teachers, Peter and Paul guided the first Christians through the turbulent and vulnerable early years of the Church’s existence. Their words and actions, as inspired by Jesus Christ and moved by the Holy Spirit, united the new group culturally and theologically; transforming them from a local Jewish sect into an international, multi-ethnic faith which could stand firm under its own strength. Their list of accomplishments is long, and books have literally been written to tell us about their lives, but there is one quality they both share that I would like to focus on: and that is leadership. What is the nature of leadership? How is it different today from the time of Peter and Paul? What characteristics should we look for in our leaders? And how can we act as leaders within our own spheres of influence?
I would personally say that leadership requires one to wear many hats. The first of these is to fill the role of guide and decision maker. Leaders often pick the direction a group will go as they plan for the future. The second is that of a cheerleader. Especially in small groups, leaders often need to inspire confidence, boost morale, and create a sense of unity amongst those who follow them. The third is that of a role model, exemplifying the group’s culture, values, and standards for behavior. And lastly, leaders often need to wear the hat of peacemaker, whether that be external diplomacy or internal conflict resolution.
The prophet Ezekiel showcases each of these nicely when God is said to be a shepherd: God brings the sheep to green pastures, God gathers the scattered sheep and unites them as a single flock, God exemplifies justice by strengthening the weak and destroying the strong, and God resolves the sheep’s metaphorical conflicts when binding up the injured. Way to go, God! I’d vote for you.
However, this prophetic proclamation didn’t come out of blue skies. God chose to announce this role for themself precisely because we were already failing at the job. Just a few verses earlier, Ezekiel calls out the misdoings of the false shepherds:
“The word of the Lord came to me: Mortal, prophesy against the shepherds of Israel; prophesy and say to them: To the shepherds—thus says the Lord God: Woe, you shepherds of Israel who have been feeding yourselves! Should not shepherds feed the sheep? You eat the fat; you clothe yourselves with the wool; you slaughter the fatted calves, but you do not feed the sheep. You have not strengthened the weak; you have not healed the sick; you have not bound up the injured; you have not brought back the strays; you have not sought the lost, but with force and harshness you have ruled them. So they were scattered because there was no shepherd, and scattered - they became food for all the wild animals. My sheep were scattered; they wandered over all the mountains and on every high hill; my sheep were scattered over all the face of the earth, with no one to search or seek for them.” (Ezekiel 34:1-6)
To answer the question ‘How is leadership different today from the time of Peter and Paul?’, I would say: not so different. Like the famous quote from the Book of Ecclesiastes declares:
“What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done; there is nothing new under the sun.” (Ecclesiastes 1:9)
Here, ‘nothing new’ describes both the needs of the people and how people act out when those needs aren’t met. As groups, protests form and revolutions are fomented. As individuals, strongmen shore up their insecurities by seeking power and unquestioned authority. Instead of false shepherds, we can call these defensive egos false leaders, and they continue to prey upon the vulnerable in our societies.
To a degree, even Paul foreshadows the present when he says, “For the time is coming when people will not put up with sound doctrine, but… will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own desires…” That sounds to me remarkably like the effects of an echo chamber; one of the modern ways information is controlled and power is clung to.
Radically different, however, is how Jesus describes leadership: “Whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant” (Matthew 20:26). Supposedly, Robert K. Greenleaf coined the term “servant leadership” in 1970, but I think Jesus beat him to it.
Here within the Order of the Holy Cross, we recently elected a new Superior, and — a full year before the election — we began reflecting on the question of what qualities we wanted from our leadership. I’ve streamlined the list slightly for this sermon, and its contents fall largely into two categories: universal leadership attributes and religious Christian values. For the former, we wanted our Superior to be someone who is clear, consistent, calm, inclusive, organized administratively, personally integrated, trustworthy, and able to disagree with others while remaining in relationship with them. This half of the list reminds me strongly of the Scout Law.
For the latter, we wanted our Superior to be gospel grounded, open to the Spirit, a seeker of the face of God, and to have a pastoral presence. We also wished for them to cultivate ongoing formation, conversion, and kindness by sharing the spiritual riches of our theological and monastic heritage. And, for good measure, it wouldn’t hurt if their name was Jesus Christ.
All joking aside, heavy is the head which wears the crown, and this is a lot for one person to embody and live into. Jesus himself, I think, would agree with me. Simon son of John, do you love me more than these? Simon son of John, do you love me? Simon son of John, do you love me? Three times Peter is asked if he loves Jesus, and every time he says yes, Jesus then tells him where to direct that love.
This is an intentionally repetitive preamble for Peter’s call to leadership. Intentionally repetitive because loving, caring for, and leading others is an important responsibility which Jesus doesn’t want Peter to answer lightly. Nonchalance — a casual “Yeah, sure Jesus” — will only lead to broken hearts and avoidable suffering.
Of course, there are many degrees and scales to this responsibility, and many degrees to one’s success or failure in it. After all, not everyone is called to lead nations, nor is everyone bound to fail catastrophically. However, I believe that everyone has the potential to be called to care for their neighbor, to mentor the young, to speak out for the disenfranchised, or to otherwise feed the sheep in our lives. Paul solemnly urges us to also proclaim the message, teach with patience, and do the work of an evangelist. But, it should be enough that we “seek peace and pursue it” (Psalm 34:14) as the Psalmist writes.
Our Gospel concludes with one more instruction: “Follow me.” John is the only gospeler who doesn’t explicitly quote Jesus as saying, ‘take up your cross’, but given the context of Peter’s death, I would say this line means much the same. As was mentioned in our opening prayer, the martyrdom of these two saints is the culminating way in which they have impressed themselves on history. Although the cross once symbolized death, for us it symbolizes rebirth and new life. Here in the United States, we will soon be celebrating July 4th, Independence Day, which can also be said to symbolize death and rebirth for us as a nation. To conclude things today, I’ve written a short prayer.
Let us pray:
Dear God, please look over and guide all the leaders in our lives. Let them be responsible stewards for the members of their flock. May they guide us to green pastures and clean waters. May they always be sober and help us to endure suffering. We pray for the leaders of our church, the leaders of our nation, our community organizers, our soccer coaches, our schoolteachers, and everyone in between. And should we be so called, may we too live out these prayers. In the name of your son our savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

Sunday, May 3, 2026

The Fifth Sunday of Easter, May 3, 2026

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Daniel Hansknecht, OHC

The Fifth Sunday of Easter, May 3, 2026


In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

Hello, happy Sunday! This morning, I want to tackle some big questions: “Why do we believe?” and, separately, “Why are we Christians?”.

Let’s start with belief. In our Gospel lesson today, Jesus mentions belief six times and, as far as I can tell, means it five different ways. With the help of some online dictionaries, let’s run through them. Right off the bat, we have our religious meaning: to have faith in the existence of something. “Believe in God”. Next we have a relational definition: to have confidence in a person’s abilities, character, or potential. “Believe also in me.” Thirdly, there’s surprise or annoyance: “I can’t believe it!”. “How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me?” Fourth: to trust that something is true or that somebody is telling the truth. “Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves.” And lastly, we have the belief of a dreamer: to think something is possible, in the absence of certainty. “Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do…”

If there’s one throughline between all of these, it is that the possibility of doubt is necessary for belief. God might not be real. The person you trust might lie to you or not live up to their potential. Maybe you’re surprised or annoyed, but you can believe that it happened. Perhaps, some of your dreams fall through. Belief, trust, and faith are all conceptually built on the mystery of an unknown future; staking our hopes on a singular vision that we wish to manifest – amidst countless alternative endings.

It’s a shame we can’t know the future. Where are we going? How do we get there? Why isn’t it all laid out for us? Imagine what it would do for all our anxiety – our troubled hearts, as it were – if it was! But, when addressing the worries of his disciples, Jesus doesn’t eliminate all their doubts. He asks first for their faith, then he offers his plans for the future. Before, they were focused on the negative possibility of Jesus’s absence. Now, he directs them to focus on the positive vision of taking them unto himself in his Father’s house. And when they ask for more guidance, he tells them that he is the way, the truth, and the life, with everything tying back to God.

History shows that they really took to this reassurance. For years after Jesus’s death, resurrection, and ascension, the disciples and others who came to believe in Christ were known simply as followers of “The Way”. They wouldn’t be called Christians until a decade later, when persecution in Jerusalem, sparked by St. Stephen’s death, scattered them abroad to Antioch and elsewhere.

Again though, Jesus leaves room for a certain amount of uncertainty when he calls himself the Way. He could have just as easily called himself “The Road”, or “The Path”, or “The Well-marked Trail”, but he doesn’t. He calls himself “The Way”. While a road is paved and clear cut, a way is more ambiguous. It implies that you know where you are and where your destination is, but not necessarily the specific route to get there. Imagine climbing a tall hill with a clear view. From there, you can see not only where you are going, but also the major landmarks that will act as signposts after you descend. Even though you now know the way, you might still get muddled or lost before finally arriving.

A famous example of this is Moses leading the people of Isreal out of Egypt and to the Promised Land. Ahem, it could definitely be said that their journey was not a simple one. Near the end, however, Moses ascends Mt. Nebo and sees their destination: the land promised to them by God. And, if you turn the words about, “The Promised Land” becomes “The Land of Promise”: a hope for their people’s future after years of troubled hearts and tested faith.

So, let’s go back to the first of my opening questions: “Why do we believe?”. Of all the definitions we named for belief, the one which resonates with me the most is the last one, which seeks to make possible our dreams and imaginations. So, let me rephrase this question as: “Why do we dream?”.

In “Man of La Mancha”, the character Don Quixote sings a song entitled "The Impossible Dream”. That song concludes with the following lyrics:

“And I know, if I’ll only be true to this glorious quest, that my heart will lie peaceful and calm, when I’m laid to my rest. And the world will be better for this: that one man, scorned and covered with scars, still strove with his last ounce of courage to reach the unreachable star!”

We dream because we see the absolute potential that tomorrow might bring. In a world where nightmares seem to abound at every turn, we dream in order to take back a bit of control and choose for ourselves a future worth striving for. Although the Way may be long and winding, or like Moses we might not get there within our lifetime, we keep walking forward for the peace and calm that awaits us in our Father’s house.

Despite the affectations of my wording, however, neither dreaming nor believing are by any means exclusively Christian qualities – far from it! So, why are we Christian?

The most obvious characteristic of Christianity that differentiates it from other religions, or alternatives like atheism, agnosticism, and humanism is the man himself: the person of Jesus Christ. His identity in our faith, as both human and divine, is the very embodiment of the impossible dream; someone who reached the unreachable star. Despite bearing all the foibles of humanity, both his own and those of society, he was a living example of God’s grace and salvation manifested here on Earth. And in his very existence, we can take heart and gain courage as we seek the same, both in ourselves and in our society.

As Jesus himself puts it, “the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these”. Jesus not only believed that we could do it – we could also live as sons and daughters of God – he believed that we would reach even greater heights than he did. Because he pioneered a Way for us to follow, and is even now interceding on our behalf, we are poised to walk even further along his path and realize dreams even more audacious than claiming to be God’s son: “Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as in heaven.”

This line from the Lord’s Prayer is easy to gloss over, because we say it so often. But, when we say it together today, I ask that you say it with intention. For it is the fervent wish of our paragon, our Lord; a grand dream still waiting to come true. May we continue to follow the Way and have the courage to keep reaching for that unreachable star. Amen.


Monday, March 16, 2026

The Fourth Sunday in Lent, March 15, 2026

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Daniel Hansknecht, OHC

The Fourth Sunday in Lent, March 15, 2026


In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

“Jesus said, ‘I came into this world for judgement so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.’”

When the Pharisees overhear this, they ask Jesus the question: “Surely we are not blind, are we?”; simultaneously posing the question and suggesting the answer. But if they assume the answer, why ask at all?

One possibility is because there are no good answers. The Pharisees are wary of Jesus, and this guarded perspective makes his statement come across as rather ominous. Either they are currently blind (a designation whose negative stigmas pervade today’s reading), or they do see and this reversal of fortunes will make them blind! More metaphorically, they might find Jesus insinuating revolutionary thoughts, with the rise of the lowly and casting down of the powerful.

Jesus’s response suggests to me that the very nature of their question was faulty. Notably, he doesn’t answer it outright. Instead of stating his own opinion, Jesus implies that their presumption of knowing the answer itself determined the answer. “Now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.” I can envision the opposite scenario where the Pharisees ask more humbly, “Are we blind?” and Jesus says, “It is good that you ask, ‘Are we blind?’ for it is through such questions that God’s works might be revealed.”

Returning to the actual text, it seems like Jesus and the Pharisees are having two separate, albeit overlapping, conversations. The Pharisees, by their words and actions, are focused on concerns of the world. They believe sin to be something external; a modifier which determines our fate and status, even from birth, in the same way that luck, happiness, and good fortune signify God’s good graces. As figures of religious authority, they care about the status quo. They care more about the letter of the law, the Law of Moses, than the spirit of the law, whose purpose is to embetter the lives of the Israelites who follow it. It is out of fear of usurpation, the fear that their role in society is being taken from them, that they focus so heavily on the granular details of the blind man’s recovery; anything they can grab onto to shake the power of Jesus’s ministry.

Conversely, Jesus speaks and acts out of concern for the world. His time with us is limited, and, as he said to his disciples earlier, “As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” What does it mean to be the light of the world? I think it is telling that the very next line of text describes the physical preparations which Jesus takes to facilitate the healing of the blind man; the Gospeler going so far as to explicitly mention that Jesus’s actions immediately follow those words. To be the light of the world is to cast out the darkness that blinds us.

As Christians and followers of The Way, we are expected to emulate Jesus. Jesus is the light of the world, and we are children of light. But how do we follow up on actions that are so miraculous? I don’t know about you, but if I spat on the ground, made mud, then rubbed it into some poor soul’s face, I don’t think they’d worship me afterwards. So, I think we’re going to have to be a bit more creative.

Let’s start by breaking down our terms; make them a bit more practicable. What does it mean to be blind? What does it mean to cast out darkness, to be light?

By various definitions, it wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that I am blind. I need glasses. I get into trouble when you start mixing Red with other colors. In other ways too. I know for a fact that I have been blind; and foolish; and clumsily ignorant. And, perhaps unsurprisingly, blind to my own blindness. More broadly speaking, I’d say that the things that blind us are anything that narrows, or cuts off, our vision: adrenaline, fear, lack of oxygen…and, funnily enough, light itself! The very thing that grants us our vision can also strip us of it.

So, what’s the difference between light which illuminates and light which blinds? I would say, acclimation. Have any of you ever hankered for food in the middle of the night? You go down to the kitchen, open the fridge, and are suddenly blinded by the light it emits? Well, the fridge wasn’t trying to blind you! Under normal circumstances, the fridge-lights do their job and make visible the cold recesses of its interior. Or, as Paul says to the Ephesians, “everything exposed by the light becomes visible.” You set yourself up for blindness by wandering around in the dark.

With that in mind, let’s go back and look at my first quote of the day. “Jesus said, ‘I came into this world for judgement so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.’” At first blush, this seems to be a 2-step plan: step 1) heal the blind, then step 2) blind those with sight. Now, however, I’m inclined to think that these are both actually the joined outcomes of a singular action: being the light of the world. Jesus has set himself on this path — teaching, healing, flipping tables — and here he spells out the consequences of this path: both the blinding emotions of fear and anger amongst those threatened by him, and the empowering enlightenment of those he helps along the way.

So, again, what are we supposed to do? Paul advises that we, “Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness, but instead expose them.” Great – that’s a first step. But for me, it doesn’t give the specific set of directions that I’m looking for. But don’t worry, good people! I, like Jesus, also have a 2-step plan which might end up being a 1-step plan.

Step 1) See with the eyes of your heart.

To give credit where credit is due, Step 1 once more comes from Paul. Although we didn’t hear it today, the following passage is taken from that same Letter to the Ephesians: “with the eyes of your heart enlightened, you may perceive what is the hope to which [God] has called you…” This kind of sight is different from our day-to-day vision. It involves, by means of strong empathy and vulnerability, opening our hearts to all of the most impassioned emotions in the world around us: all of the rage, the terror, the desperation, the longing, the fascination, the zeal, the love. We open ourselves to the oncoming waves of these emotions, not to combat them, not to subdue them, or even to agree with them. We open our hearts so that we may see them; these invisible, intangible, sometimes ephemeral aspects of ourselves that our eyes cannot see. We see them with our hearts, and we grant them the dignity of acknowledging their existence as they are. This is the first step to loving anything or anyone: seeing them for who they actually are.

Step 2) Fight against fear.

The 1st verse of Psalm 27 has been on my mind while writing and preparing this homily. It says, “The Lord is my light and my salvation — whom then shall I fear?” As I mentioned earlier, fear is one of the ways we blind ourselves, focusing our attention on just the source of our fear at the cost of everything in our peripheral. As an emergency tool, fear is great; it keeps us alive. But when we hold onto fear, when we live in fear, that’s when we get into trouble. As somebody famous once said, “Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.”

Repeatedly throughout the Bible, you’ll hear the angels say, “Do not be afraid.” They  have to say this because angels are terrifying! Their sudden appearance, their supernatural nature, and their radiancy shake those who encounter them. But the reason they say this is because, as messengers of God, they have important things to say; things they are worried you will not hear unless you calm down. And so, we fight against fear so that we can be receptive to the will of God.

The reason I believe this 2-step plan is actually a 1-step plan is because I intend it to be cyclical: never ending, as one leads into the other. An Ouroboros of God’s love shaping itself in our lives. In that same way, we could also expand it into a 4-step plan: Step 1) Fight against your own fear, Step 2) See others with empathy and love, Step 3) Teach others to combat their fears, Step 4) Empower the whole world to see with its collective heart.

In conclusion, let me practice what I preach. Please know, genuinely, that I see you. I love you. And I wish for you to go and do likewise. Amen.

Sunday, September 15, 2019

Pentecost 14C - Sunday, September 15, 2019

Holy Cross MonasteryWest 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.