Proper 20 C - September 18, 2022

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Josép Martinez-Cubero, OHC

Pentecost, Proper 20 C - September 18, 2022

Jeremiah 8:18-9:1
1 Timothy 2:1-7
Luke 16:1-13

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Studying this gospel passage has been quite a trip. I have read so

much about it that begins with something like: “Scholars are conflicted about the meaning of this gospel passage and cannot agree.” Or “This is a very difficult text.” Or “This is the hardest of Jesus’ parables.” Or “Interpret this parable at your own peril!” The parable strikes a chord because we don’t want to hear that a dishonest manager (or steward, as he is referred to in some translations,) was praised for his shrewdness. In fact, we want to get as far away from that idea as possible, thank you very much!

A long time ago in a different life, I worked as a Human Resources Administrator for a large corporation in New York City. My position required quite a bit of continuing training, and I remember one particular training seminar about knowing when people lie. We were taught how to tell from someone’s body language, facial expressions, and tone of voice whether they were lying. The seminar speaker began the seminar by saying that, the first thing she wanted to make very clear is that everyone lies. No exception. We all lie. And the first lie is to say we don’t lie. She said that those who get the most incensed about being lied to, are usually very good liars themselves.

Those of us who pray the psalms and read the scriptures every day are reminded, hour by hour, of the human condition, and propensity to point the finger and look at the sins of others. We are all saints and sinners. The best thing we can do for ourselves is to stop pointing the finger, come to terms with our own brokenness, give in to God’s eternal loving grace and be grateful for it.

It always works the same way. What annoys us the most, what we judge most, what makes our righteous indignation flair up the most is simply a mirror showing us the parts of ourselves we don’t want to see or accept or love. The degree of our hidden shame is proportionate to the degree of our intolerance or self-righteous judgment. So, of course, a gospel story in which Jesus is talking about a master commending a dishonest manager for acting shrewdly is going to make us very uncomfortable. We want the manager to pay for his dishonesty. We want a God who is just and fair. We want a God who is predictable and follows the rule of law. We want a God with whom we can reconcile our scorekeeping. Why? Well, because as long as we are busy blaming another for their dishonesty, we don’t have to look at our own.

And the idea that Jesus might be placing himself in the position of the shrewd manager? Shocking! In his great book, “Kingdom, Grace, Judgement”, American Episcopal priest, author, chef and Holy Cross Associate, the late Robert Farrar Capon wrote: “[Jesus] was not respectable. He broke the sabbath. He consorted with crooks. And he died as a criminal. Now at last, in the light of this parable, we see why he refused to be respectable: he did it to catch a world that respectability could only terrify and condemn. He became sin for us sinners, weak for us weaklings, lost for us losers, and dead for us dead.”

Jesus was repeatedly criticized and called upon by the religious authorities for his breaches of the law and of decent behavior- healing on the Sabbath, eating with those whom the religious leaders saw as despicable people, ignoring rules of ritual cleanness. None of these might seem particularly offensive today, so, what indecent or immoral individual would scandalize our sensibilities? Is it the woman who wants to get an abortion, the white-collar criminal, or the person transitioning to a different gender? We can be very certain those are some of the people Jesus would be hanging out with. 

By the time of today’s gospel passage, Jesus has been preaching the good news of the Reign of God, healing the sick, raising the dead, and stepping on the toes of every religious leader around Jerusalem. In his dealings with sinners and tax collectors he pronounces to them, “go, your sins are forgiven.” Those who have staked their lives on following the law to the letter do not appreciate this Jesus guy acting as God’s steward and going around forgiving debts. His message to the religious leaders, though, is that God is the eternal creditor and not them. The debts he is cancelling are owed to God, and God commends him for it. So, the Scribes and Pharisees grumble, but instead of answering their criticism Jesus tells a series of Parables:

A shepherd had one hundred sheep. One wandered off, and the shepherd, leaving the ninety-nine sheep behind, goes in search of the lost one. When he finds the sheep, he gathers his friends and rejoices.

A woman had ten silver coins. One disappears, so she lights a lamp and turns her house upside down until she finds it. When she finds the coin, she throws a party with all her friends, costing more than the coin’s worth.

A father had two sons. One demands his inheritance while his father is still alive, runs off to the city and squanders his money. Realizing he can’t possibly survive if he continues making the selfish choices he has been making, he decides to return home to daddy with a nicely prepared speech of repentance. His father seeing him from afar welcomes him home with open arms and throws a party to celebrate his son’s return. His faithful, generous, and devout older son wants none of it. But the father says: “This son of mine that was dead is now alive, the one who was lost is now found.”

A dishonest manager is about to be fired for squandering his master’s funds. Because he doesn’t want to do manual labor and is too proud to beg for charity, he goes around to all his employer’s debtors and cuts deals with them, so they’ll owe him hospitality when he loses his job. Yes, crafty, but he transforms a bad situation into one that benefits, not only him, but also others, and in doing so, repairs relationships. Surprisingly, the employer commends the manager for his shrewdness.

So, I can’t tell you what every sentence of this parable about the dishonest manager means and won’t try to do so. But I can tell you a few things I know about God.

• God seeks for us even when we wander off.
• God will turn our lives upside down to find us, and when we are found, God celebrates.
• God waits for us with open arms, ready to forgive us, even when our selfishness and self-interest has blinded us to the harm we cause ourselves and others.
• God commends us for repairing broken relationships and takes our expectations, perceptions, and preconceived notions and turns them upside down with a grace so crazy, it is incomprehensible to us. And we are called, not to earn it, but to live in it. It is a grace that is freely given. What? That’s right! It is when we consent to that grace that we are able to extend Christ’s love and forgiveness to others.

In God’s economy, Christ, the shrewd manager is squandering forgiveness left and right. The more we grow in our awareness of this, the more we come to realize we are not the scorekeepers. The one who is, has a very different idea of who we are. In the words of Barbara Brown Taylor, “To give in to grace is to surrender our ideas about who God should be in order to embrace God’s idea of who we are, and to have the good sense (simply) to say thank you.” (Barbara Brown Taylor, Living Pulpit, 1995) ¡Que así sea en el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo! ~Amen+
found, God celebrates. 

Proper 19 C, September 11, 2022

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Robert James Magliula, OHC

Pentecost, Proper 19 C - September 11, 2022

Jeremiah 4:11-12, 22-28
1 Timothy 1:12-17
Luke 15:1-10

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This was not just an observation; it was an accusation. At the beginning of the 15 th chapter of Luke, Jesus is criticized for the third time by the Pharisees for spending his days with sinners---lepers, tax collectors, prostitutes---not only talking with them, but eating with them---and even worse, returning their hospitality. Pharisees were taught to avoid sinners and unbelievers, to not touch anyone or anything unclean. For them, Jesus is guilty of violating the law and social norms of the day. Ironically, at the deepest level, their words are a statement of the Good News. Jesus not only welcomes sinners, but he also eats with them. Eating with them means there is relationship and acceptance. Jesus aligned himself with them and is on their side. Throughout the gospel stories Jesus chooses to hang out with the wrong kind of people, crossing lines, and making God just a little too easily available.

Throughout the history of the church, we like the Pharisees, have struggled to establish standards. We have put a lot of effort, time, money, and blood, into defending what we believe about God. Our standards often focus on who is in and who is out. Judgement happens whenever sin is defined as only a legal category of failed behavior. For Jesus the defining characteristic of sin is not misbehavior but being lost. The first concern for Jesus is not who’s in and who’s out, or who gets a dinner invitation. For Jesus, everyone is already in. Everyone is invited.

Given our usual standards, we hear today’s Gospel as being about the lost sheep and the lost coin. But I want to suggest that maybe that’s not its focus. Maybe this gospel is more about the searching shepherd and woman than it is about the lost sheep and coin. Lost sheep and coins happen all the time. But a shepherd who risks everything for one sheep is something different. When the focus is on the searching shepherd and woman then what we believe about God gives way to another question; perhaps a more crucial question: What does God believe about us?

These parables are not about being wrong. They are about being lost. There is nothing about culpability, blame, or finding fault. That doesn’t seem to be Jesus’ concern. His concern is for the one who is lost. He doesn’t explain how the lost one becomes lost. He doesn’t judge. The focus for him is recovering and reclaiming the lost. The starting point for him is grace: searching not blaming, finding not punishing, rejoicing not condemning.

All of us have been lost, at some time and to some degree, through our own fault or sometimes just the circumstances of life. We can all name the pieces of our life that have been lost over the years. To be lost is to live without a sense of grounding, having no anchor or ties to something beyond our selves. We can be good, hard working, and successful and still feel lost. We can be holding it all together, doing all the right things, giving all the right appearances, and still be lost. We can have a good reputation and be lost in questions of our own identity and purpose. We can be so busy and productive that we are lost to the wonder, beauty, and mystery of life. We can be financially secure and still be lost in fear. We can say and do all the right things and be lost in a secret life that is self-destructive. We get lost in our fears, grief, worries, anxieties, anger, prejudice, perfectionism, and need for approval. In our lostness we live fragmented lives.

For God every one of us is unique and irreplaceable. Everyone is loved and desired, including the stranger and the enemy on the other side of the world. No matter who we are or how lost we become, the God revealed in Jesus is constantly searching for us, finding us, and rejoicing over our presence at the table. Everyone matters. Everyone belongs. It is God’s longing for wholeness and union that causes God to search. The creator longing for the created. The divine longing for the human. The lover longing for the beloved. A shepherd searching for a sheep and a woman searching for a coin. That longing lies at the heart of these parables. The shepherd does not wait on us but initiates the search. God is always seeking, without blame or judgment of how or why we became lost, without conditions for coming home.

Our God cannot do otherwise. That is the reality and the foolishness of divine love. +Amen

Proper 18 C, September 4, 2022

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Adam McCoy, OHC

Pentecost, Proper 18 C - September 4, 2022

Deuteronomy 30:15-20
Philemon 1-21
Luke 14:25-33

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The cost of discipleship: Today’s gospel reading opens a world of complexities, more and more the more one ponders it. This morning I want to focus on the images with which our gospel begins and with which it ends: family and possessions, and set that in the context of Paul’s delightful letter to Philemon.

   We all come from families, and every family has its own dramas. Our family dramas can run the gamut from interesting to idiosyncratic, from curious to strange to alarming, from truly weird to dangerously abusive, even to fatal. No matter our own family’s story, however, we are each and every one of us shaped by our interactions with those we grow up with. Once we are adults we are all of us well advised to reflect on our own personal dramas, to recover our memories, reconstruct them, analyze them, and come to terms with them. When we do so they can give us foundations for conscious adult self-understanding. They can give us opportunities for insight and growth. They can strengthen our bonds of love, and they can enlarge the possibilities for our future. Especially if we had a difficult childhood. In any case, one of the steps to fully aware adulthood is to know who we have been and what made us who we are. That can give us choices. Sometimes, however, we are tempted to cling to this self-understanding as though it were itself a possession which we can not give up. If we do cling to

it, our memories can take over our lives. To have a new life, we need to be willing to leave our old one. I am struck by the almost angry force of this morning’s sayings about family and possessions. They seem so all-encompassing, so lacking in nuance that I want tone them down, to “explain” them, to hedge them about with qualifications, and so I (and doubtless many others) ascribe them to Jesus’ use of a particular kind of rhetoric, his habitual use of what some call “semitic hyperbole” - outrageously off the chart exaggeration to make a point. But then I also realize the power that family and possessions can have to shape, dominate and control us if we don’t put them in a proper context. Jesus is calling us to a new, different, better life, and to begin to live that new life we will need to leave behind the negative controlling forces of our past. We need really to put them in the past. As Jesus says in another place, Let the dead bury their dead. If we don’t, we may well not escape, we may not grow, we may not be able to move forward. Unless we let them go, we may not be able to enter the Kingdom.

    And how wonderful that this gospel passage is paired in today’s readings with the Letter to Philemon, which so beautifully models a gracious, Spirit-filled approach to building a godly future out of a less than perfect past. And as it happens, that future seen in the Letter to Philemon grows out of these same two dangerous minefields: possessions and family.

    Onesimus is a slave of Philemon, who is a friend and co-worker of St. Paul. Onesimus is a possession. Philemon owns him. There can be no area of human relations less satisfactory than slavery, whose effects our own age is strenuously engaging to understand and to rectify. We may be shocked that St. Paul does not take the opportunity of this letter to urge Philemon to set Onesimus free. But such was the culture of that place and that time. Rather than pursue manumission, St. Paul does something entirely unexpected, something which foreshadows the coming Kingdom which he, Paul, is proclaiming: Out of slavery, which traps both the owner and the person owned, comes a set of entirely new and transforming relationships.

    Paul asks Philemon to take Onesimus back, after what seems to be a period of estrangement between the master and the slave. Onesimus has become a great help to Paul in Paul’s old age and in his imprisonment. Onesimus has progressed from a state of uselessness to one in which he is valued for his good work. This is the utilitarian basis of slavery: How much better to be a happy worker than a negligent one. A “good” slave.

    But there is more. Paul now considers Onesimus not just a slave, but a part of himself. Indeed, Paul identifies Onesimus as “his own heart”. In sending him back, he is sending Onesimus back to Philemon as the center of his, of Paul’s, own life. He identifies Onesimus as part of his own self. Onesimus has moved from being a “thing” to being a person, and more than a person - to being part of Paul’s self. Slaves and masters become one in each other because they become one in Christ. And even more: Paul identifies himself as Philemon’s father, and so he identifies Philemon as his son. And Paul urges Philemon, as a son, to regard Onesmus as his brother. Paul has become father in Christ to both Philemon and Onesimus, a father who now has two sons, each the brother to the other. And as if to underline the point, that master and slave are equal in Christ, Paul ends the letter by addressing Philemon the master in language that would be used to a slave: “Confident of your obedience, I am writing to you, knowing that you will do even more than I say.” Confident of your obedience. Do even more than I say. The world’s distinction between master and slave in Christ is transformed into a new family of brothers to each other. Possession becomes the starting point of a new relationship of the family of God.

    We may be sure that Paul is deliberate in saying this, that he is not simply using flowery language to dress up an everyday note of recommendation. We may be sure of it because slavery is a primary image in Paul’s understanding of the nature of Christ. In the second chapter of the Letter to the Philippians Paul famously writes: “Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” The saving life of Jesus comes from the deliberate decision to be a servant, a doulos, which in Greek means both servant and slave. Christ’s self-identification as the lowest among us means that the lowest among us can count Jesus as brother, as equal. His obedience to death is the key to life.

    And so for us. Our family, who we have been, does not have to define who we can be. Our possessions do not need to define us, whether they are things or ideas. Our possessions can become occasions for unexpectedly life-giving relationships if we allow them to transform us and themselves be transformed into God-filled vessels of love, leading to relationships we never might have thought possible.

    A memory which used to trap us can become a springboard to wider and deeper and more compassionate engagements with the world and with the people we meet in it. A possession which used to define us can lead to something that enters into the center of our life’s being, into our very heart. Which then can grow and be shared in relationships that build a new family, this one as brothers and sisters, parents and children in the love of God, which is ever reaching out to rebuild the broken world God so earnestly wills to be whole, to be vibrantly alive.

    This is the choice we make when we decide to become disciples of the one who chose to be the servant, the slave of us all. We choose to be like him: in service to each other, and with the Spirit who knits the world back together again. We have been what we were and we have had what we have had. New life comes, not from holding on, but from taking our past, whatever it may have been, and offering it to the One who can make it whole, offering it to the One who can take what we were and what we had and make of its unlikeliness a Kingdom, God’s Kingdom: the blessing of the everlasting Shalom. In the words of God which Moses speaks to Israel and which we have heard this morning: “I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life.”

Proper 13 C - July 31, 2022

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Aidan Owen, OHC

Pentecost, Proper 13 C - July 31, 2022

Hosea 11:1-11
Colossians 3:1-11
Luke 12:13-21

This week a professor of art education came to talk with a few of us about making art withing a monastic context. He was curious about how a monastic setting changes and shapes artistic practice and how the making process may also shape the monastic life. We talked about many things in our nearly four hours of conversation, but I kept coming back to the word “abundance.” At one point I said to him that when I’m making a quilt, for instance, I do the best job that I can within the limitations both of my skill and of the materials. I select a pattern. I choose fabrics that I think will pair well with one another. I do my best to line up the seams, to quilt the piece without any bubbles in it. The whole time I imagine, with great anticipation, what it will look like when it’s done. And yet, no matter how careful I have been, and no matter how many so-called mistakes I have made in the quilting process, every single quilt ends up being so much more than I could have imagined. The finished quilt has a life and a beauty that somehow far far exceeds whatever I have put into it. So it is with the monastic life, and, indeed with any life faithfully lived. Our little efforts at prayer, at compassion, at self-improvement, at loving those God surrounds us with—they’re paltry, really. And yet, somehow life ends up being so much vaster and more abundantly beautiful than we could ever have asked for or imagined. You see, God’s answer is always more. More life. More mercy. More love. Not in spite of our efforts, but not because of them, either. On its surface, this morning’s gospel reading seems refreshingly clear. We get none of the maddening puzzles and turnabouts that so often run through Jesus’ teachings. Greed is bad. When we focus on our possessions, we lose track of our need for God and God’s great mercy toward us. In fact, the more tuned in to our possessions we are, the more they possess us. This is a message we need today, isn’t it? We who are living through the death throes of late-stage capitalism. Who know the rich landowners, who not only store up for themselves huge sums of money and property but also the political control that goes with such riches. We who are living through the early years of climate collapse, due almost entirely to our overweening greed. And this greed is not limited to stuff. Jesus tells us to guard against all kinds of greed, indicating that greed wears many faces. John Cassian, the great pioneer of monastic spirituality, reminds us that greed “is a catchall of the vices and the root of all evil.”1 Greed lies at the root of lust, gluttony, vainglory, and pride, all of which leave us wanting more—more money, more sex, more food, more adulation. Cassian adds that “the madness of covetousness is that it always wants more than whatever a person can accumulate.”2 There is never enough to substitute for God, never enough to make us self-sufficient. Those of us who get caught up in the compulsive accumulation of more—whatever our more of choice may be—end up like the rich man in Jesus’ parable. We become fools, and God, always on the lookout for hypocrisy, exposes our foolishness and undermines our self-destruction. This parable begs an important question. What does it mean to be to “rich toward God?” Again, Cassian provides an answer: “Th[e] madness [of greed] is stopped not with wealth but with poverty.” (XXIV) Holy poverty is the answer to our compulsive grasping at food, money, sex, esteem, self-righteousness, or whatever else we cling to rather than God. The way to be rich toward God is voluntarily to dispossess ourselves of all that is not God. God invites us not only to let go our faults and sharp edges—which would be delightful, wouldn’t it?—but also the good in our lives that is self-centered rather than God-centered. This latter is much harder to relinquish and includes our perception of spiritual “progress” (whatever that is) as well as all our certainties that we are good and right and that we know the best way forward. In Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander, Thomas Merton writes about this dispossession: “At the center of our being is a point of nothingness which is untouched by sin and by illusion, a point of pure truth, a point or spark which belongs entirely to God, which is never at our disposal, from which God disposes of our lives, which is inaccessible to the fantasies of our own mind or the brutalities of our own will. This little point of nothingness and of absolute poverty is the pure glory of God in us. It is so to speak His name written in us, as our poverty[…] . It is like a pure diamond, blazing with the invisible light of heaven. It is in everybody, and if we could see it we would see these billions of points of light coming together in the face and blaze of a sun that would make all the darkness and cruelty of life vanish completely.” God reveals himself, in the face of Jesus, as suffering love, utterly dispossessed in order to draw us ever deeper into the heart of God. Jesus shows us the way of dispossession and emptiness that leads to total freedom in God. The freedom to allow God’s suffering love to flow through us to a hurt and broken world. The freedom to allow God’s mercy to fill us up and to overflow in radiant abundance. From this place, today’s reading takes on a different light. Our initial clarity about this rich landowner and his greed appears smug and self-satisfied in the light of God’s mercy. Jesus says to the young man, “Who set me up to be a judge and arbitrator?” With this question in our hearts, we can look at this foolish rich man, not with condemnation or smugness or superiority, but with compassion. Do you see how he suffers? He not only has no place to store his crops. But he has no community with which to share his abundance. He has no friends to delight his soul. He must find his companionship only in the things that surround him. He may be materially rich, but he is utterly alone. His choices have cut him off from the great abundance that surrounds him. Can we allow our hearts to break for this man, even as we decry and condemn the poverty his wealth inflicts on others? Mercy begets mercy. When we allow God to dispossess us and to draw us into the flow of suffering, merciful love, there is always more love. We can love the poor who have nothing to eat and also the rich who are so enslaved to their possessions and hungers that they enforce poverty on others. Even more difficult, perhaps, we can love ourselves and those people with whom we live, despite our very many faults and trials. No matter what we put into it, this life manages to astound us with God’s extraordinary abundance, if we have the eyes to see it. As Jesus says over and over again in his teaching, the kingdom of God is all around us and within us, and the gate of heaven is everywhere. There is no place separate from God. Even in the midst of death and suffering and heartache, and of the great anxiety of this moment in history, God’s answer is still—and always will be—more life.

Proper 12 C - July 24, 2022

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Robert James Magliula, OHC

Pentecost, Proper 12 C - July 24, 2022

Genesis 18:20-32
Colossians 2:6-15, (16-19)
Luke 11:1-13

Click here for an audio version of this sermon

There’s a big difference between arguing and bargaining. Having just returned from spending two weeks on an island with my two great nieces, who are one and two and a half, I consider myself well-schooled!

Our readings today illustrate the difference between arguing and bargaining with God. In our first lesson we learn that arguing with God is not only good and appropriate, but also our responsibility and duty. Bargaining, on the other hand---although we do it a lot---is destructive, because it’s based on the wrong idea of who God is and what God does. Consider the ways we try to bargain with God. It usually takes the form: “if you do this, then I’ll do that.” It may involve our health, a relationship, our work, …you name it. I find that this way of operating can become so automatic that it’s almost unconscious. The first problem that arises, if we are not granted our request, is that we go to that very human assumption that we are not loved or worthy to receive what we’ve asked for. It’s usually something wrong with us or something wrong with God. Another problem arises when we get what we want and then are faced with keeping our end of the bargain. We don’t always follow through with good resolutions, especially when the pressure is off, and we've gotten what we want. There’s a sort of forgetfulness that descends upon us. Guilt is often the byproduct of this failure to follow through. It’s not the good variety of guilt that can serve as a transition to repentance and change, but the kind that substitutes fear for love. Since we’ve failed God, it leaves us open to interpret the next bad thing that happens to us as a punishment from God. The worst problem of all in bargaining is what it says about what we think of God. Unless we bribe God, God does not love us enough to have our best interest at heart. The premise is that we can control God by making the right deal.

13 th century mystic, Meister Eckhart wrote: “Some people want to love God in the same way they love a cow. They love it for its milk and cheese and the profit they will derive from it. Those who love God for the sake of outward riches or for the sake of inward consolation operate on the same principle. They are not loving God correctly; they are merely loving their own advantage.” If bargaining with God is dangerous to our spiritual and mental health, arguing with God is good for us. The psalms are filled with countless examples as are our lessons for today. When Abraham learns that God is about to destroy Sodom, he argues with God about whether it’s appropriate. The form of the arguing may sound like bargaining to our ears. It resembles the haggling of a Middle Eastern marketplace. Abraham keeps lowering the number of righteous it would take to spare the city. Abraham isn’t trying to get anything for himself nor is he promising to do anything for God. He’s concerned over the destruction of good people. He’s reminding God that it’s not something that God does, that it’s not consistent with God’s nature, which is love. He’s on solid ground when he calls on God to be faithful to God’s character.

The story in Luke is a variation on the same theme. Jesus gives two examples about the right way to pray. The first is the story of a family who discovers they have no provisions when a late-night visitor arrives. Even though the neighbors may resent being disturbed at such a late hour, they will respond to the need, not out of friendship, but because they understand the duty of hospitality in their culture. They are being asked to be true to their own nature---to act appropriately in the situation. So, we are told in both instances that God responds to requests according to the divine nature, at least when those requests are on behalf of others. In fact, it’s our responsibility to make such requests. Intercessory prayer is not a manipulation of God, but a radical and open cooperation with the God who loves and cherishes us. Intercessory prayer helps us to cultivate trust in God’s providence rather than our own will, when we entrust those for whom we pray to the never-failing love and care of God.

Jesus’ second example takes us further by letting us know that we can ask that our own needs be met as well. Again, the last two weeks modeled good and loving parenting for me, even under stressful, loud, and chaotic conditions. Just as a human parent will not withhold what is needed or give what is harmful to their child, so much more will our divine parent care for us. But there’s a catch. Just as a loving parent will not give a scorpion to a child who asks for an egg, so that parent will not give a scorpion to a child who asks for a scorpion. Loving parents know that children do not always know what will harm them. My older great niece was repeatedly reminded, amid loud protesting, that it is her parents’ responsibility to exercise good judgment and protect her. Asking God for the wrong things, no matter how attractive or how much we want, bargain, or protest for them, will not induce God to give them to us. We let God know what we or others need, not because God needs our prayers. God doesn’t need to be reminded of God’s nature or God’s love for us---we do---just like little children---over and over again. So, when we pray, instead of bargaining, let us remember that if we who are infinitely less generous and patient, know how to provide good things for those we love, how much more will God provide for us. Again, Meister Eckhart reminds us: “We should be prepared at all times for the gifts of God and be ready always for new ones. For God is a thousand times more ready to give than we are to receive. As God is omnipotent in deeds, so too the soul is equally profound in its capacity to receive.” We need never fear to make the radical and risky prayer taught and prayed so often by Jesus---“Your will be done.” We can trust that God’s will for us is nothing but the best. +Amen.

Proper 11 C - July 17, 2022

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Josep Martinez-Cubero, OHC

Pentecost, Proper 11 C - July 17, 2022

Genesis 18:1-10a
Colossians 1:15-28
Luke 10:38-42

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Nada te turbe, Nada te espante, Todo se pasa, Dios no se muda, La paciencia Todo lo alcanza; Quien a Dios tiene Nada le falta: Sólo Dios basta. -Santa Teresa de Ávila: Anyone who knows me just a little bit knows that I am an unapologetic doer. Yes, I am a Benedictine monk. I even dare say I am a contemplative monk. But to me, a wonderful contemplative practice can be organizing a closet, or cleaning a room, or painting a hallway. I love tasks, and creating goals for myself, and writing lists and making very detailed schedules. In meetings, I can become restless with a lot of conceptual talk that involves no action, or talk of lovely ideas without a process plan for implementation. Duty and service have always been very important to me, and I don’t think that is ever going to change. This world is both really wonderful and a big mess, but without us doers I believe it would just be a big mess and nothing would ever get done. Needless to say, I find it quite ridiculous that this gospel story is so often used to advocate contemplation over action, or word over deed, or mysticism over activism, or worship over service. Why? Because we need all of it! Our common life requires all of it! What would churches do without the Marthas of the altar guild, or the Marthas who bake the Eucharistic bread, or the Marthas who set up for the Coffee Hour or arrange the altar flowers? What would we do here at Holy Cross Monastery without the Marthas who come weed our gardens, or the Marthas who volunteer in our library and our archives, or do data entry, or organize the files of our associates, or those of us Marthas who take the initiative to do all kinds of things without being asked? I dare say this my community has more than several Marthas!

The Gospel of Luke places great importance on service, on diakonia, from which we draw the word Deacon. Earlier in this gospel, Jesus sends out the 70 disciples to do ministry ahead of him. He tells them that when they are welcomed into someone’s home, they should eat whatever is set before them. Now, in today’s gospel story, it is generally believed that Martha is busy preparing a meal for Jesus and his followers. It’s an assumption that makes sense if one considers the cultural practices of the place and time. So if it is true, and Jesus is actually telling Martha she should sit down with Mary, Jesus and company, won’t have anything in front of them to eat! And immediately before this event Jesus tells what we know as the Parable of the Good Samaritan, and instructs to “Go and do likewise.” So it makes no sense to think that Jesus is now advocating sitting and listening over doing.

So, what is really going on in this story? I don’t think the issue is that Martha is busy serving and providing hospitality. Service is, in fact, a needful thing. Jesus himself came as one who serves. The issue is that she is worried and distracted. The root meaning of the Greek word translated as “worried” is “strangled.” The Greek word translated as “distracted” means “to be pulled, and dragged away in different directions.” These are violent words that signify states of mind that make us isolated and un-whole.

  Martha’s anxiety and distraction are sabotaging her own desire to offer hospitality, leaving no room for the most important aspect, which is gracious attention to her guests. Instead, all she can do is to question Jesus’ love (“Lord, do you not care?”), break all the rules of hospitality by trying to embarrass her sister in front of her guests and fixating on herself (“My sister has left me to do all the work by myself”), and asking Jesus to intervene in a family dispute by triangulating (“Tell her then to help me.”) Yikes! But Jesus will not be triangled!

It is not the doing that goes wrong with Martha. It’s the motivation behind the doing. Martha has let her ego motivate her “doing.” When this happens, it always leads to resentment, which is a disappointed expectation. Her resentment and frustration diminishes her gift of hospitality, which she is working so hard to share.  If our inner life has become strangled and we struggle to give and receive love. If our busyness is dragging us in different directions and has become an affront to the friends we long to host. If our worry is keeping us from being fully present, and fully engaged. If we are using our packed schedule to avoid intimacy with God or with others. If our spiritual practices and devotions have become busy, mechanical and rigid keeping us distracted and blocked from being hosts to Christ’s presence in our hearts. Then Jesus is inviting us to remember that “…there is need of only one thing.”

What is the one thing that is necessary? Today’s gospel story does not tell us. To find the answer we need to look at the text which immediately precedes today’s story. The question: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” The answer: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and all your strength and all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” Plain and simple. Of course, we know this, and yet need to be reminded time and time again. It is only through love that we become the hosts of Christ’s presence in our hearts. It is only through Christ’s presence in our hearts that we can be renewed to give ourselves in love to the world.

I like to think about Jesus’ words to Martha as an invitation, not a rebuke. And that invitation is for all of us, especially those of us of the “doing” disposition. It’s an invitation to know and trust that we are valued not for what we do, but because of who we are, beloved children of God. In a culture of relentless pursuit of productivity, we doers need to be reminded that our worth is not measured by how busy we are, by how much we accomplish, or by how well we meet the expectations of others. We are invited to sit and rest in Christ’s presence and trust that whoever has God lacks nothing; God alone suffices. In the words of Orthodox priest James Krueger: “Self-gifting love is the true goal of contemplative practice, not self-actualization.” It’s important to remember that we are all called to be mystics and prophets! Mysticism that doesn’t lead to prophetic action is disengaged, and sentimental and self-absorbed. Prophetic action that doesn’t spring up from prayer and contemplation is chaotic, and contentious, and it too is self-absorbed.   So, if you are a doer like me, oh, be you, DO! Don’t let any preacher, or pastor, or spiritual director make you feel like you are any less for being who you are. But “do” single-mindedly, and deeply saturated in Christ’s love. That’s how we can live into the Reign of God. If we asked Jesus which example we are to follow, the active Good Samaritan or the contemplative Mary, Jesus would most certainly answer: “Yes!”

I’ll end with the same poem with which I started by Saint Teresa of Ávila:

Let nothing disturb you, Let nothing frighten you, All things are passing away: God never changes. Patience obtains all things. Whoever has God lacks nothing; God alone suffices. ¡Que así sea en el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo! ~Amen+

Proper 9 C - July 3, 2022

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Ephrem Arcement

Pentecost, Proper 9 C - July 3, 2022

Isaiah 66:10-14
Galatians 6:(1-6)7-16
Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

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“Even though it may seem counterintuitive, a comfort zone is a dangerous place to be.” So says Mary Lou Retton. With this in mind, I would like to offer a counter-intuitive interpretation of the gospel passage we just heard…suggesting that the most important truth it has to offer is not that of a practical guide for a mission trip–what to do and what to say. Who of us here will literally go from house to house shaking off the dust from our Birkenstocks when people understandably slam the door in our face? First century Palestine is not twenty-first century New York! Further, what does the commissioning of the seventy on their first preaching mission have to do with a community of monks who take a vow of stability? Actually, much in every way, I dare say! And this is what reveals what is so counter-intuitive to the way we often literalize this passage and prevent it from speaking to us in the here and now of our lives today. While on the surface we most often read Jesus’ commissioning of the seventy as being about evangelism, I would like to suggest that it is just as much, perhaps even more, about sacramentalism. History has, unfortunately, pitted these two dimensions of the church against one another. Today, a whole group of Christians identify themselves as Evangelicals. Others would say, “No, I’m definitely not Evangelical, I’m sacramental and liturgical.” The historical circumstances that have led to such bifurcation are varied and complex and ultimately have to do with the over-emphasis of one dimension over the other (say, the sacramentalism of the Medieval church) and the tendency to over-correct in the opposite direction (say, the evangelicalism of the Protestant Reformation). Thankfully, in the age of ecumenism, these dimensions are beginning to come together once again and the universal Church now has the opportunity to recover some of its catholicity or its wholeness. Both dimensions are at work in Jesus’ life and ministry and are on striking display in this passage from Luke, chapter 10. Jesus has just embarked on his journey toward Jerusalem where, he knows, he will be crucified. On the way, he desires to teach his disciples to follow his example in his preaching and healing ministry. This is the essence of the evangelical dimension. But if we read a little more closely, we recognize more that is going on in this passage–something quite revolutionary and radically new. Unlike other peripatetics of the ancient world, Jesus is not simply concerned about spreading his message about ethical living. He is about something far more life-altering. In the words of St. Paul, he is about effecting a whole “new creation.” Jesus’ message is not transactional, it’s transformational. And this is what makes it sacramental. Karl Rahner, the great Roman Catholic theologian of the twentieth century, said that nothing is finished or fully created until it becomes a sacrament–until the natural becomes supernatural. It’s the sacramental imagination that sees the Temple in Jerusalem, a building constructed with human hands in a particular city in ancient Palestine becoming, through the presence of God, the place where heaven and earth become one, where the human can touch the divine. This was the good news of the Old Testament: humankind is not alone–God is not far away but in our midst…or in the exultant words of the prophet Isaiah, “Rejoice with Jerusalem–that you may nurse and be satisfied from her consoling breast; that you may drink deeply from her glorious bosom.” The Creator of the whole universe is now being manifested and encountered in a fallen, broken world to liberate it from oppression and help it realize its destiny. This truth, this good news, is modulated into a whole new key in the ministry of Jesus when we hear him say, “Whoever listens to you listens to me, and whoever rejects you rejects me, and whoever rejects me rejects the one who sent me.” Jesus is preparing his disciples not to just continue saying and doing the things he said and did once he is gone, he is preparing his disciples to be his presence once he is gone. In fact, he’s teaching his disciples that he will never really be gone at all but will remain with them…not just alongside them but in their very flesh and bone. Could it be that we have sold God short and have made the good news less good than it really is? We see Jesus going about destroying the works of the devil and liberating people from their infirmities. This is good news…but this isn’t the gospel. Freedom is never meant to be an end in itself. The end goal of the liberating power of God is the sending of the Spirit into our cleansed and liberated hearts so that we–you and me–can now become God-bearers to those in need–that’s the gospel! Do you believe yourself to be a God-bearer? Do you think in these daring, sacramental terms? Do you realize that upon your countenance can be seen the face of God? Without the humility of the cross, this is blasphemy and the height of human pride. With the cross, this is life fully alive–creation fulfilled. One who has undergone the transformative dying and rising with Christ is a new creation whose whole reason for being becomes to allow God to be seen, felt, heard, and known in the here and now of our physical existence, especially by those who need to see, feel, hear, and know God most. The good news is not that we now get to go to heaven when we die. It is that heaven gets to come to us while we live! The goal of the Christian life is not salvation. It’s mysticism! God isn’t just concerned with saving us from our sins. God is mostly concerned with transforming our lives, getting us ready for a wedding where human and divine become one! It is no wonder that the message which Jesus instructs his disciples to preach is one of peace. No longer are God and the human heart necessarily antagonistic toward one another. Through the cross of Christ, God can conquer the human heart and liberate it by taking up abode in it. When we now speak, God speaks. When we now bless, God blesses. When we now weep, God weeps. Maybe not in every instance or in every circumstance (for God can never be controlled), but this awesome possibility is now open to each of us, and when our hearts are aligned with God’s, God shines forth and coruscates in revelatory moments of grace…and the kingdom of God is very close indeed!

Proper 7 C - June 19, 2022

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Josep Martinez-Cubero

Pentecost, Proper 7 - June 19, 2022

Isaiah 65:1-9
Galatians 3:23-29
Luke 8:26-39

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As usual with these crazy yet awesome Gospel stories, I have to acknowledge my 21-century sensibilities, so I can then get past them and search for what is also true and the Good News. But I’m not gonna lie, I read the story and the first thing that comes to my mind is: Oh my God, those poor pigs! Why did they have to die so the demoniac could be healed. And why is Jesus negotiating with demons anyway? What about the welfare of the pigherds who watched their livelihood disappearing over a cliff? These are valuable questions, and I would like to think that if the writer was writing today, some of these strange details would probably not be there or be handled differently. The problem is, though, that if we get stuck in what we find strange about the story, we miss how this is our story too. This is our story too because it speaks of a man of the city who had demons, had been naked for a long time and lived in the tombs. In other words, a person who has demons, whose current reality is completely exposed to all, and who is as good as dead for the people around them. And the people of the city have tried to keep this person in chains, to bring this person under control, but have not been successful. This person is a problem! When he sees Jesus, the demoniac throws himself on the ground as if begging for help, but instead howling in protest. "What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God?" It is a "leave me alone!" expression. Have you ever been met with a “leave me alone” that clearly sounds like a cry for help? Have you, yourself, tried to push someone away, when deep inside you are really hoping they won’t let go? Thank God for those people in my life who have refused to leave me alone in those times when I’ve tried to isolate myself! And the first words from Jesus at this encounter? A question, “What is your name?” This is our story too because the first step in getting rid of the demons that enslave us is to be able to name them. The man calls himself Legion, but that is not his true name. That is not who he really is. It is, rather, what has become of him- dispossessed of his humanity, an alien to the town. And why? Well, because there always has to be a scapegoat. There’s always the one to whom the group points the finger and says: “Oh, he is such a mess!” “She’s crazy” We don’t want her here.” They are nothing but trouble.” But it never fails! The person to whom we point the finger is holding a mirror in front of us, revealing what we are trying very hard not to see or know about ourselves. Jesus asks for a name, and by doing so, begins to bring this broken person back to their humanity- to true identity as a beloved child of God. What is your name? Who are you, really? Who are you beneath the labels and the diagnoses? Who are you beneath the fear and the shame? Jesus begins where we ourselves need to begin. With an honest questioning and naming of ourselves. What is your name? “Legion,” the man says, a multitude. The assault on the mind, soul, and body of this naked man of the city who lives in the tombs comes from many sources. This is our story too because what ails us as human beings is Legion. The demons that can haunt us are many- depression, anxiety, all sorts of addictions to alcohol, sex, food, shopping, dieting, exercise... Perhaps we have become slaves to our wealth, or our rightness, or our bitterness, or our dishonesty or our envy. We are all vulnerable to forces that want to keep us isolated, deprived of self-control, and driven toward self-destruction. We are all vulnerable to forces that conspire to keep us dead when God wants us alive; forces that seek to take away our true name, and to separate us from God and from each other. Jesus redirects the demons from the possessed man to the herd of swine that ran down to the lake and drowned. Luke is writing for a community that would have considered pigs unclean. However one may feel about that, the point is the demons are gone! And what happens when the demons of a scapegoat are gone, and the scapegoat has been restored to health? Well, those who were pointing the finger are going to have to change or their own demons are going to start showing up really fast! When the people of the city hear what has happened, they go to Jesus and find that the demon-possessed man is healed, and instead of expressing relief or gratitude or hospitality, they show fear, and beg Jesus to go away. So this is our story too because it illustrates an unpleasant truth about human relationships. It shows the human propensity to want to stick with the demons we know, rather than embrace the freedoms we don’t. It shows the human propensity to want some people to be “bad” so that we seem as good. It shows that the chains that bind so many in this world are the instruments of our own cruel making so we can cover up our own fears. That may be bad news, but it’s not the end of the story. The man who had been identified as naked, living in the tombs, out of control, without a home is, by the end of the story, clothed and in his right mind, no longer out of control, and now sitting at the feet of Jesus and being taught by him. He has been saved. Salvation, in other words, lies at the feet of Jesus, who alone has the power to cast out the demons that torment us. And what happens then? Oh, this is the best part!! Jesus commissions the healed man to stay in town and preach the Gospel to the very people who shunned and shackled him for years. HA! That’s right! We better pay attention because Jesus will choose the very people we consider the most unholy, the most repulsive, the most unworthy to teach us something about what it is to be a human being. Jesus comes to the possessed man seeing and knowing a truth about him that the man can neither see nor know for himself. How can he? He has been convinced that his name is Legion. But Legion is never our ultimate reality or true identity. The assurance of the Gospel is that Jesus comes to the Legion of our lives. Jesus comes before us with a truth that challenges us when we are not true to ourselves. Jesus comes before us as the image of who we truly are, revealing the original beauty of our creation. Jesus comes before us, yes, but we have to be able to name our demons, because Jesus ain’t codependent. We may know what it is like to be Legion. We can tell that story. For every story about Legion, though, there is a counter story that shows who we really are, our true self, beloved of God just as we are, and that’s the Good News! That’s the story Jesus wants us to tell. “Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.” ¡Que así sea en el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo! ~Amen+

Pentecost 17C - Sunday, October 6, 2019

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Bob Pierson, OHC
Pentecost 17C - Sunday, October 6, 2019

Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4
2 Timothy 1:1-14
Luke 17:5-10

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When I read the words of the prophet Habakkuk in today's first reading, I thought perhaps he had been listening in on my personal prayer time.  His words closely mirror my own sentiments:

“O Lord, how long shall I cry for help, and you will not listen?  Or cry to you “Violence!” and you will not save?  Why do you make me see wrong-doing and look at trouble?  Destruction and violence are before me, strife and contention arise.  So the law becomes slack and justice never prevails.”

I will admit that these words may overstate our current situation just a bit, but I think many of us really wonder what's going on in our world today when our nation's leaders seem to be using their power illegally to investigate political rivals, innocent refugees are being imprisoned at our borders along with their children, gun violence continues to be reported in the news almost weekly, and nothing seems to be happening to deal with any of it.  To quote the psalmist, “How long, O Lord!”  So, as Habakkuk continues, he has my attention:

“I will keep watch to see what he will say to me, and what he will answer concerning my complaint.  Then the Lord answered me and said:  Write the vision; make it plain on tablets, so that a runner may read it.  For there is still a vision for the appointed time; it speaks of the end, and does not lie.  If it seems to tarry, wait for it; it will surely come, it will not delay.  Look at the proud! Their spirit is not right in them, but the righteous live by their faith.”

“The righteous live by their faith.”  What does that mean?  Perhaps an answer lies in our other two Scripture passages today.  The gospel passage from Luke has two curious sayings of Jesus.  In the first, after the apostles ask Jesus for an increase of faith, he basically tells them, “You don't need MORE faith.  If you had just a tiny bit of faith, you could do amazing things.  And then Jesus goes on to tell the apostles that they shouldn't expect God to serve them as a reward for their good deeds.  Instead, they need to realize that whatever good they do is simply what they ought to have done as God's servants.  What I hear God saying in Luke today is:  “Plant your mustard seeds, and let me bring them to fruition.  But don't expect me to do it all for you.  You need to be involved in what you are called to do.”  So, the righteous live by their faith, and do what they are called to do, as small as it might seem.

Paul, in his second letter to Timothy, also has something to say about what it means to “live by faith.”  Paul reminds Timothy of his “sincere faith” which he inherited from his mother and grandmother, and asks him to “rekindle the gift of God that is within you through the laying on of my hands.”  God did not give Timothy “a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.”  Paul tells Timothy not to be ashamed of his testimony about our Lord, but rather to join Paul in “suffering for the gospel, relying on the power of God, who saved us and called us with a holy calling.” For Paul, living by faith means using the gifts of power, love, and self-discipline that God has given us, even if it means we get to share in Christ's suffering as a result of living our call.

So as we return now to the prophet Habakkuk we recognize that we are called as God's servants to share the gifts that we have been given and to plant our “mustard seeds” of power and love so that God can use our efforts and help us right the wrong of the world.  Yes, we may feel overwhelmed by the amount of pain and suffering around us, but we don't need to do it all.  As Sister Helen Prejean, from Dead Man Walking once said, “We aren't called to do everything; we are called to do our one thing.”  And if our one thing seems tiny and powerless, we need to remember the snowflake.  All by itself, it is almost nothing, but if we get enough snowflakes all moving together in the wind of God's powerful love, we have a blizzard that cannot be stopped.  I guess the question is “do we have the faith to believe that?”

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

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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.