St. Paul’s Church in
Bergen, Jersey City NJ
November 6, 2016
Year C: All Saints’
Sunday
Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18
Psalm 149
Ephesians 1:11-23
Luke 6:20-31
Holy Place, Holy People
So,
the other day Althea Maynard and I signed a check to a contractor for over
$8,000 so that he can begin work to repair the front steps that most of you
climbed up (carefully, I hope) on your way into church today.
I
think Susan Den Herder gulped when she cut the check – and I know Althea and I
gulped when we signed it.
It’s
a lot of money for us – and it’s just half of what this urgently needed project
is going to cost.
As
I’ve thought about all that money – and all the other money that we spend to
keep these beautiful old buildings standing and looking as good as possible,
I’ve often envied those pastors who lead churches that don’t own their own
buildings – you know, those churches that rent a movie theatre or a school
auditorium on Sunday, freeing up so many resources to do ministry.
In
fact, sometimes when Vanessa Foster has presented me with the latest building
expense, say the leaking roof or the colony of raccoons gnawing away at
shingles, I’ve often said her, “My next church is going to be a movie theatre
church!”
But,
while that’s tempting, I’m not really serious.
I’m
not serious because there’s something really important – there’s a basic human
need – for holy places.
There’s
a basic need for what Celtic Christians call “thin places” – locations where,
somehow, there’s only a very little distance between heaven and earth.
There’s
a basic human need for places that are set apart, where we do things we don’t
do anyplace else, where some of us dress in ways we don’t at Shop Rite, where
we say together the same prayers and sing special music, where we extend peace
to friend and stranger and maybe even someone we can’t stand, where we line up
to receive the Body and Blood of Christ, where we feast with people we’ve known
forever and some we’ve just met.
There’s
a basic human need for holy places.
And,
though it can be expensive, we are so blessed to have this holy place.
Sometimes
when I’m in here with all of you and especially when I’m in here by myself and
it’s so quiet, I often think of all the prayers that have been offered in here,
silently or aloud, all the prayers that have been heard in heaven, all the
prayers that for over 150 years have bathed these walls.
And,
when I’m at the baptismal font, I think of all my predecessors, from our first
rector, Fernando Putnam, to my friends Frank Carr and David Hamilton, who have
poured water over hundreds and hundreds of heads, welcoming new members into
the Body of Christ.
When
I’m at the font, I sometimes think how it has been soaked with all that Holy
Water, how it’s been made holy by all the hopes and joys that have surrounded
it, how, in a way, it still contains traces of the Christian lives that began
right there.
And,
what a joy that in just a little while, the font will become an even holier
place when Malachi and Aislinn become the two newest members of the Body of
Christ.
Yes,
there’s a basic need for holy places, for places set apart, places where we practice
being holy people.
Holy
place, holy people.
On
this All Saints’ Sunday, we don’t just remember the saints of the past. We are
also reminded that, with God’s help, we are meant to be saints, too.
Just
as this place is holy, you and I are meant to be holy, too – holy not just
during the time we spend here but out there during the rest of our lives.
We
are meant to be holy at school or work or at home or on the bus or, yes, even
at Shop Rite.
In
today’s lesson from the Gospel of Luke, we hear Jesus’ great vision of God’s
kingdom, Jesus’ downside-up vision of a holy world where it’s the poor, and the
hungry, and the mourners who are truly blessed.
We
hear Jesus’ downside-up vision of how his holy followers are supposed to
behave, this always radical and oh-so-difficult call to love our enemies, to do
good to those who hate us, to bless those who curse us, to pray for those who
abuse us, to give away to those who steal from us, to treat other people the
way we ourselves would want to be treated.
That’s
all very hard, and only possible with God’s help, but the truth is that, just
as this place is different from other places, we are meant to be
different from the average person out in the world.
We
the baptized are given the holy task of making Jesus’ downside-up vision a
reality, right here, right now, by loving, and by loving some more, by loving
especially those who are so hard to love.
We
the baptized are meant to be saints. We the baptized are meant to be
living, breathing thin places, with heaven and earth drawing near in and
through us.
Holy
place, holy people.
And,
yes, we the baptized are meant to be holy on this Tuesday and during the difficult
days and weeks ahead.
We
all know that this has been the ugliest and most discouraging presidential
election campaign of our lives. And, like many of you, I admit being very
anxious about the outcome and its aftermath.
The
country’s bitter divisions have revealed the racism and other forms of hatred
that, for many of us anyway, usually live just beneath the surface of American
life.
As
you know, there have been ominous warnings about a rigged election, about not
recognizing the legitimacy of the winner, of continued political gridlock, and even
threats of armed rebellion.
This
is terrible and frightening stuff – and it’s oh so tempting – it would be so
easy and even, for a time, satisfying – to give in and just be like everybody
else – to hurl insults at the people who disagree with us – to post on Facebook
unsubstantiated, misleading, downright false and hurtful rumors from obviously
fake and biased “news” sites – to “un-friend” people - to scapegoat certain
people as the source of all our problems – to assume the worst about each other
- to fear one another – to hate one another – to threaten one another - all
very tempting, easy, and even, for a time, satisfying.
Right?
But,
that’s not the way of Jesus. So, that can’t be our way. We’re meant to be
different. We’re meant to be holy. We’re meant to be saints.
That’s
why you’re invited to come here on Tuesday evening – to come to this holy place
where the walls have been bathed in a century and a half’s worth of prayer – to
come to this “thin place” – to come here where heaven and earth draw near – to come
here and see the font that reminds us that in the water of Baptism we are all
one, all members of the Body of Christ – to come here and be reminded that we
are called not to hate, but always, always, to love and to love some more.
No
matter what happens, some of us will carefully climb up those soon to be
repaired steps and gather here on Tuesday - and even more of us will gather
here again next Sunday, when, yes, thanks be to God, in the water of Baptism we’ll
welcome three more new members of the Body of Christ.
No
matter what happens, brothers and sisters, we will gather here again, to pray
and to sing and to feast and to love, to practice being the saints we are meant
to be: a holy people in a holy place.
Amen.
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