Sermon: Lost-ness

Sermon Preached on

September 10^th and 11^th, 2016

5:30pm and 8:00am | Proper 19, Year C
If found return to The Rev. Vicki K. Hesse

Oh, God, take our minds and think through them,

take our lips and speak through them,

take our hearts and set them on fire. Amen.[i]

Have you ever been lost? 

Of course, we all have at one point or another. 

I remember a time of being lost.

Having arrived by taxi

at my new apartment in Brussels,

met with my new boss and

gotten my company car,

I drove to the airport to pick up

my (ahem) lost luggage,

I faced the Belgian roads. 

All the signs helped me with the 20’ trip

– direction Airport. 

I got my things and headed back. 

Hey, where are the signs to say

“direction home”? 

Non existent. 

2½ hours I drove around Brussels.

Multi-lingual sign.

Confusing cobblestone streets.

Metric speed limits.   I was very lost. 

Until I stopped and

breathed into the cadence of the city. 

This experience that I reflect on,

26 years hence,

demonstrates not only

an outer lost-ness

but also inner lost-ness. 

And, because I still get

outwardly and inwardly lost sometimes,

the following poem by David Wagoner

holds deep meaning for me.[1]

Lost[2]

Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. you must let it find you.

pause

Lost-ness arises in our gospel today:

the lost sheep, the lost coin. 

These two parables seem to distinguish

between the sinner and the righteous. 

Perhaps there is more …

I wonder:

can you be righteous and also be lost?[3]

Jesus begins with “which of you…”

Projecting onto the listeners

an assumption –

“of course you will act this way.”

In the first parable,

the shepherd is supposed to find

the lost sheep.  But think about it –

the shepherd leaves 99 at risk,

in the wilderness, with no protection,

just to find the one that was lost. 

Then when finding the one,

the shepherd rushes the whole flock home

to have a celebration. 

Normal?  Hardly. 

In the second parable,

the woman loses a tenth of her value. 

She turns on all the lights,

she sweeps and mops, cleans and digs in. 

Then when she finds the lost coin,

she has a party with food, drink and celebration

that costs as much as she recovered.

Normal? I don’t think so.

The outrageous celebration that follows

reflects the character of God.

The ridiculously expansive generosity and joy

springs from God’s own heart and

spills out into creation in response to being found. 

Being found - choosing Love, aka "repenting." 

But what is repentance?

As we teach in the baptismal preparation,

repentance, or “metanoia,”

means “transformative change of heart.”

A turning around, a change in perspective.

Or as we say in 12-step groups:

A willingness to become willing

to see things differently.

But can you be righteous and still lost?

Yes, of course.  Yes, I think we are at times. 

We may have our issues, our mistakes,

but for the most part

we don’t really identify with

the “filthy sinners.”

Most of us simply are trying

to live into our baptismal covenant. 

And we can still be lost.  How?

Maybe we were at the peak of our career,

just hitting stride,

having spend 7 ½ years in Europe

building the business

and we get laid off.

Maybe we are parents who

desperately want our children to succeed,

so we schedule or over-plan

our whole lives around

hockey games and dance recitals.

Maybe we have worked all our life,

have a substantial and solid pension plan,

but have little sense of meaning

since our retirement.

Maybe … maybe we seem to have it all together

and we are just plain lost.

Being “righteous” only goes so far

in the “who we are” department…

being “righteous” connects our identity

to “what we have done.” 

And so today’s good news,

reflected in these parables,

is that God grants us a found identity

and locates us in a place way beyond

what we have done,

are doing –

may someday do. 

Although we may feel lost,

this church, this sacred community,

is a place that we can

admit our lost-ness, and

confide our hopes and fears to God. 

For when you turn (or re-turn) to God,

just willing to become willing to see things differently,

God extravagantly and joyously celebrates

with all the angels in heaven and on earth. 

Dietrich Bonhoeffer,

shortly before his execution,

wrote a poem called “Who am I?”

The poem addresses

that existential question of lost-ness

that haunts our human condition:

Here is an excerpt[4]:

"Who am I?  …
… They [also] tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
equably, smilingly, proudly,
like one accustomed to winning.

Am I then really that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself?

Restless and longing and sick,

like a bird in a cage,
Struggling for breath, …

thirsting for words of kindness,

for neighborliness,
…powerlessly trembling

for friends at an infinite distance,
weary and empty at praying,

at thinking, at making,
faint, and ready to say farewell to it all.

Who am I? This or the Other?
Am I one person to-day and to-morrow another?
Am I both at once?

A hypocrite before others…
Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?

Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine,
Whoever I am, Thou Knowest, O God, I am thine."

My sisters and brothers,

These parables are

partially about sinners & righteous folks.  

partially about being lost and then found. 

These parables are totally

about the character of God –

a God so crazy in love with God’s children

that this God will do anything to find them. 

To find us.

And in finding, to outlandishly celebrate

with festive joy

any teensy, tiny turn or re-turn toward Love. 

Jesus asked, “which of you…”

Truthfully, none of us would. 

But God would.  God does, even now.

God is recklessly searching and finding us

in the depths of our righteous lost-ness. 

And in that celebratory finding,

pours out mercy, grace and love.

Forever and to the end of the ages.

Thanks be to God. 

Amen

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[1] Inspired by Parker Palmer’s blog at OnBeing, cited here http://www.onbeing.org/blog/lost-in-the-wilds-of-your-life/6717 on September 8, 2016

[2] Poem “Lost” by David Wagoner, from Collected Poems 1956-1976

[3] Inspired by David Lose at Working Preacher, cited here: https://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=2737 on September 8, 2016

[4] Offered by Author Rev. Mark F. Sturgess Sr. Pastor, Riviera UMC Redondo Beach, CA on his blog at http://www.marksturgess.org/blog/who-am-i-a-poem-by-d-bonhoeffer

and quoted in Douglas John Hall, Waiting for the Gospel: An Appeal to the Dispirited Remnants of Protestant "Establishment" (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2012), 94; translated by J.B. Leishman, and reproduced in G. Leibholz's 'Memoir' of Bonhoeffer, in Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship, 15.

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[i] William Sloan Coffin, cited at http://www.spiritualityandpractice.com/book-reviews/view/18268/the-collected-sermons-of-william-sloane-coffin on August 13, 2016

Sermon: Lost and Found

A Sermon preached in 

Christ Church, Grosse Pointe, Michigan
by The Reverend Vicki Hesse, Associate

The Fourth Sunday Of Lent, Year C

6 March 2016 

In the Name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Listen to this sermon here.

I did not know that I was lost. 

I did not know that I was lost. 

Not until I hit bottom

through a complicated season in my life –

at the confluence of

addictions, grief, transition,

and employment layoff. 

I must say,

sitting in that place in my life

that seemed to be a pigsty

was truly a deep low. 

I did not know that I was lost. 

Every time I hear today’s gospel story,

the parable of the prodigal son,

I relate closely with the son. 

The son, who rejected his father,

partied away his inheritance,

lost everything, and hit bottom. 

I relate to the son who realized,

as he was sitting with the pigs,

that he needed restoration and reconciliation.  I relate to the son who is welcomed,

despite what he did. 

The familiar parable of the prodigal son

begins with context:

the people crowding near Jesus were tax collectors and sinners. 

This bothered the Pharisees and scribes.

They discounted Jesus’ legitimacy as a teacher

by criticizing his relationships

with people who had sinned.

In response, Jesus tells 3 parables, revealing that the God of whom he speaks

is a God of compassion, joyously welcoming

repentant sinners into God’s house. 

Well, that is the simple and short version. 

We know it’s more complicated

when humans get involved. 

Rembrandt’s seventeenth-century painting provides rich depth to the story,

about which Henri Nouwen wrote during a particular struggle in his life.  

From the first viewing until six years later, Nouwen wrestled with God about his journey

of being lost and found.

He saw himself first in the son,

then in the brother and

finally in the father.

As we gaze on the image, we, too, can see ourselves in three ways

reflected in this profound painting.

First the painting draws us toward the son

at the moment of The Return.

But from what has the son returned? 

In one short sentence, the gospel tell us

that the son had asked from his father

his share of the inheritance

even before the father had died.

It is easy to gloss over what that meant,

which was hurtful, offensive, and

“tantamount to wishing his father was dead.”[1] 

 

Although Rembrandt did not paint

that precursor scene of the parable,

the depth of the pain and conviction of the son is palpable; it is reflected in

the depth of the compassion and conviction

the father expresses;

the depth of a father’s love shown

in the embrace. 

Rembrandt’s portrayal wonderfully captures

the extent of the son’s poverty.

His shaven head, as a prisoner.

His ragged clothes, barely covering his body. His torn shoes so worn,

exposing feet of suffering and misery.

The only shred of dignity is his sword –

the sword of truth that linked him

to the father during his Away –

and gave him permission to return.

God wants to restore us to our full dignity

so God plants this sword of truth

in our souls at our birth, at our baptism,

or even before we are born,

as we are knitted together in the womb. 

Pause

Second, the painting draws our eyes

toward the tall, stern elder who

dominates the right side of the painting. 

The brother and his father have a similar look:

both bearded, wearing large red cloaks,

light their faces. 

But what differences!

the brother’s facial expression

reflects his resentment for having lived his dutiful and obedient life without fanfare.

We all know many

elder sons and elder daughters

who are lost while still at home –

filled with judgment and condemnation,

anger and bitterness, where joy cannot exist. 

Although light reflects the joy of the house,

the elder son cannot accept it.

By his erect stance, we see how lost he is.

This portrayal of the elder is not lost on me;

my choice to compare, to be resentful,

to despair while desiring love

yet not able to let go of resentment.

How can the elder son also be found? 

Only by God who does not force love,

but goes out to the elder son.

“You are with me always.” 

We, too, have the choice

to stay in the darkness or

to step into the light and

invoke the spiritual disciplines

of trust and gratitude,

accepting God’s gift.

Without trust, we cannot be found. 

Without gratitude, we cannot walk in light.

pause

Third, the painting

draws our eyes toward the father,

whom Rembrandt captured physically:

(half-blind, mustached & bearded,

dressed in gold-embroidered deep red cloak,

a cloak spread out like wings,

with large hands on the shoulders of the son.) 

And, whom Rembrandt captured spiritually:

With infinite compassion,

unconditional love and

everlasting forgiveness. 

At once, human and divine natures fuse.

At once, the wholeness of the father represents

the God that I want to believe in:

one who is present and tactile,

one who stretches out arms of blessing,

one who always waits and does not push,

one who keeps approaching us,

offering strong love and belonging.

Look closely at the hands of the father,

they are markedly different. [Nouwen writes [2] ]

“The father’s left hand is strong and muscular,

fingers spread out, covering a large part

of the son’s shoulder and back. 

The hand not only touches, but also it holds.

The right hand is refined, soft, and tender. 

The fingers are close to each other and elegant. 

This hand caresses, strokes, and offers consolation. This is a mother’s hand.

Rembrandt invites us, through these hands

to see God as both Father and Mother,

one who is strong and encouraging

as well as soft and caring. 

He confirms and she consoles.”

In this image, we are challenged:

Are we not called to be this father

to ourselves, our neighbors and our creation?  Are we not called

to accept, to welcome, and to love others

with trust and gratitude for the differences they bring into our lives? 

I did not know that I was lost,

but in my lostness, God found me. 

In my elder brother resentment and bitter heart, God softened me.

In the image of the father, I am confronted

as a mature person in faith and wisdom,

to be that person, too.

God calls us to welcome returning people

into our lives, in our community, in our world. 

It is a spiritual discipline to choose life and choose joy, not death and cynicism.

In the image of the father, God calls us

“To be not just the one who is forgiven,

but to forgive. 

Not just the one who is welcomed home,

but the one who welcomes home;

not just the one who receives compassion,

but the one who offers it as well.”[3]

Rembrandt’s painting offers so much.

The textures, the colors, the hues,

the message beneath the message –

all this invites us to see ourselves. 

Are you lost? 

Because today’s good news, captured by Rembrandt, is that

God’s love is greater than we can ever know. 

Our compassionate God

welcomes us home,

blesses us with strong and caressing hands,

comes out and calls us

to share in love

and

invites us, too,

to welcome, bless and love

just as God first loved us.

Welcome home.

Amen

 

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[1] Henri Nouwen, Return of The Prodigal Son, (xxx,xxx, 1983), p. 35

[2] Nouwen, p. 99

[3] Nouwen, p. 122