Sunday, April 29, 2018

Assistant Vinegrowers

St. Paul’s Church in Bergen & Church of the Incarnation, Jersey City, NJ
April 29, 2018

Year B: The Fifth Sunday of Easter
Acts 8:26-40
Psalm 22:24-30
1 John 4:7-21
John 15:1-8

Assistant Vinegrowers
            Alleluia! Christ is risen!
            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
The other day I met someone who lives in Country Village, the same neighborhood down on the city line of Jersey City and Bayonne where I grew up and where my parents still live.
            Talking with this Country Village resident got me thinking about my childhood back in the 1970s and early 1980s in that little section of the city with backyards and stand-alone houses and curving streets that had been deliberately planned to look and feel like a miniature suburbia – in fact, just in case we didn’t get it, there are even streets down there named “Suburbia Drive,” Suburbia Court,” and “Suburbia Terrace.”
            It was in many ways an idyllic place to grow up.
            There were a lot of young families and lots of kids.
Many of us kids would troop off together each morning to Our Lady of Mercy School, just a few blocks away but it usually felt like quite a trip, except on math test days when somehow it felt like I got to school in no time at all!
Many of us would go home for lunch (can you imagine?) where in my case, in the early years, my mom would be home and have made a sandwich for me, which I usually ate while catching a cartoon or some other show on TV – and then it was back to school for the afternoon.
I do remember wondering what it was like for the kids who stayed in for lunch. What fun was I missing?
In the good weather, after school all of us kids – even one nerdy boy who would have been perfectly happy staying inside reading books and working on his stamp collection – all of us played outside.
And, of course, in the summer, in my memory at least, we were out from dawn to dusk, running around, riding our bikes, playing, and, yes, occasionally fighting – all of this watched over by attentive parents and other neighbors looking out from their kitchen windows.
It was like Mayberry right here in Jersey City!
It wasn’t perfect of course. It wasn’t just kids who sometimes fought. The adults, too, would have their disagreements and little feuds would get started, sometimes brief and sometimes forever.
And, I’m aware now that there were certain kinds of people who didn’t – and for several reasons probably couldn’t – live in our neighborhood, but, all in all, my sister and I were fortunate indeed to grow up when and where we did.
And, in those days, throughout this city – and in communities throughout our country – it wasn’t much different – lots of people outside: playing, talking, fighting, and loving – developing and strengthening webs of relationships.
Today, though, when I return to Country Village even on a beautiful summer day those same streets are eerily silent – and the same is true in other parts of our city and our country – as people have retreated behind their doors, behind their screens, and those webs of relationships have frayed, and in many cases have snapped.
We no longer play, talk, or love – and most of our fights are now on cable news or social media.
We don’t know each other anymore – and we can see the consequences all over the place, from the meanness of our politics to the profound loneliness that so many of us endure.
This is not the way things were meant to be.
Fortunately, if everything works the way it’s supposed to, when we come here we get a taste of the way things are supposed to be.
I’ve talked to enough of you to know that many of you – maybe even all of you – first came here because you were hungry for community.
Certainly that’s true for Sue and me.
And it’s for community that we keep coming back, week after week.
These past few months, and even just these past couple of weeks, our attention has been drawn even more than usual to the importance of community – the importance of our community – and just what makes our community so special and nourishing for us.
In the Church, we use lots of different metaphors and images to describe the Christian community.
Last week, it was shepherd and sheep imagery. By happy coincidence, that was the Sunday when our own local shepherd, our bishop, made his final visit with us. And, as he always does with the kids, he used his crozier – his shepherd’s staff – to humorously but memorably act out his role of keeping the sheep together and sometimes having to give a little poke when a couple of sheep begin to act out.
There’s a lot of work involved in getting ready for a bishop’s visit. We try to make our church look and sound its best. We make a few changes to the service. And, you may not know that we’re also required to present our parish registers for the bishop’s inspection – these mostly old and fragile books that record all of our services, all of our Communions, and Baptisms, and weddings, and funerals.
I love pulling the registers out of the safe and flipping backward through the pages, looking at all the names – at first I know many of them very well and then gradually I don’t recognize any of them anymore – and yet, somehow, all of us – the dead, living, and the yet to be born – all of us are part of this sheepfold, all part of this community.
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Jesus is the Good Shepherd, and we are the sheep who hear his voice and do our best to stay close to him.
And now this week, in today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus uses a different metaphor, a different image for our community. He says to his disciples, and to us here today:
“I am the vine, you are the branches.”
Jesus is the vine. We are the branches. And, in this metaphor, God is the vinegrower, tending and pruning.
I assume that God could do this vineyard work solo, however, for whatever reason, God invites us to be assistant vinegrowers, tending to the often delicate branches and even grafting new branches onto to the Christian vine.
You may remember I mentioned that last summer Sue and I went on a winery tour out in beautiful Napa and Sonoma counties in California. At each stop the vinegrowers explained the process of tending the vines and then transforming the grapes into wine.
I’ll admit that I was only half-paying attention to all of that technical stuff (I was on vacation after all – and the sips of wine began to catch up with me and didn’t exactly help my focus) but I do remember how each branch is so delicate and each grape is so precious – and it all requires so much care.
And as God’s assistant vinegrowers, that’s the work we are called to do – and, fortunately, we don’t need to know anything about agriculture to do it – all we need to know is how to love one another – to love the branches we’ve known for a long time and to love the fresh new branches just now being grafted onto the vine of Christ.
All we need to know is how to love the branch that is Incarnation and how to love the branch that is St. Paul’s.
As the author of First John says in today’s beautiful second lesson:
“God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them.”
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
After the bishop makes his visit, he and the priest have a follow-up conversation about how things went and what he observed during his visit, complimenting the good stuff and making some suggestions for improvement.
            It’s a great opportunity to learn from someone not really part of this particular community but who is an expert in what makes a healthy Christian community.
I don’t know about you, but I felt really good about the bishop’s visit last week and, frankly, I was looking forward to our conversation.
And, thank goodness, he had a great time with us, and complimented us on all that we have accomplished together.
He also made a couple of comments about our community that are especially important and I want to share them with you.
Reflecting on the strength of our community here, he said it felt like all of the work we’ve done out there in the community, has not only benefited the people outside our doors but has also strengthened us sheep here in the sheepfold.
If you were here at the 10:00 service last week, you’ll remember that we renewed our Baptismal Vows and then the Bishop invited us to come forward to be blessed with Holy Water. The bishop noted that not only did almost everybody come forward but that you – we – approached him with open faces, joyfully ready, eager even, to receive the good gifts that God gives us.
Finally, you know, unifying two churches is no small job – and we still have some tasks ahead, including today when we discuss our name – but the bishop said that he didn’t really feel any anxiety here – that we know we still have work to do and there will surely be bumps along the way – but we also love one another and know that we are loved, no matter what.
So, while out in the world – even in Country Village – we may not love or even know each other anymore - our web of relationships may have frayed and even broken – but here, here in this sheepfold, here on this branch, our community of assistant vinegrowers is strong, and our bonds are getting stronger.
“God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them.”
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Amen.

Sunday, April 08, 2018

The Community of the Risen Christ

St. Paul’s Church in Bergen & Church of the Incarnation, Jersey City NJ
April 8, 2018

Year B: The Second Sunday of Easter
Acts 4:32-35
Psalm 133
1 John 1:1-2:2
John 20:19-31

The Community of the Risen Christ
            Alleluia! Christ is risen!
            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
            Although by now the world has moved on – although by now the Easter candy has been marked down and priced to sell – although by now most of the decorations have been taken down and baskets put away for another year – although by now the world has moved on from Easter – here in church, here in the community of the Risen Christ, here it is still Easter!
            Alleluia! Christ is risen!
            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
            And, it is still Easter at the start of today’s gospel passage. To be precise, it is the evening of the first Easter, when the Risen Christ appears to his frightened disciples – the disciples who were frightened of the authorities who had killed Jesus – and also, perhaps, frightened of the Lord who had every reason to be disappointed and angry at their behavior just a few short days earlier.
            Yet, the first words of the Risen Christ to the community are: “Peace be with you.”
            But, as we know, not everyone was present in the community that night when the Risen Lord appeared, offering peace.
            The Apostle Thomas was missing – and I always wonder why. I always wonder where he was – why wasn’t he there with the rest of the community?
            We know almost nothing about Thomas. He only gets a few spoken lines in the Gospel of John, but although he’ll always be remembered as “Doubting Thomas,” the little we know indicates that in fact he was a man of courage.
            At one point when Jesus announces he’s heading into hostile territory, Thomas declares to his fellow disciples: “Let us also go that we may die with him.”
            And, at the Last Supper, it’s Thomas who has the courage to ask out loud what everybody was probably thinking but was too afraid to admit:
            “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?”
            So, I always wonder why courageous Thomas wasn’t with the others, wasn’t part of the community that first Easter night.
            In my imagination, I see him off by himself somewhere – maybe out in the wilderness crying and shouting up at the sky – disgusted at himself and the others for their cowardice in abandoning Jesus in his suffering – angry maybe at God also, for seeming to also abandon Jesus – and furious at our broken world that kills messengers of hope and peace.
            But then the others report the most amazing news and Thomas… doubts. He doubts Jesus and his promise to rise again but even more than that he doubts the other disciples, he doubts the community – and, let’s face it, considering their pretty poor track record, we’d doubt them too.
            A week later, though, the Risen Christ appears to the community again and this time Thomas is there and he doesn’t have to touch the wounds because he sees all he needs to see and then says more than he probably understood:
            “My Lord and my God!”
            Alleluia! Christ is risen!
            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
            The story of Doubting Thomas is of course meant to encourage us to believe even though we don’t see the Risen Christ in the flesh as he and the first disciples did.
            But, this year in particular, I notice that almost always in the gospels the Risen Christ appears not just to an individual – he could have appeared to Thomas wherever he was, right? – but, instead, the Risen Christ almost always appears to the community – almost always appears in the community.
            And, what was true for the first disciples is true for us today:
            We are the community of the Risen Christ.
            And, while it’s certainly true that we can encounter the Risen Christ as we walk through the park admiring the beauty of creation or as we look into the wondering eyes of a child or as we pray alone in our room, or anywhere anytime, the truth is that despite the church’s many flaws and failings, the Risen Christ appears most clearly here in the community, here when we are gathered together.
            And, as my predecessor, mentor, and friend Dave Hamilton said the last time he preached here at St. Paul’s, “I don’t have to believe it because I’ve seen it.”
            Since Dave will be here next Sunday he’s been on my mind more than usual and I’ve been thinking a lot about when Sue and I first arrived here and what this community of the Risen Christ has meant for us ever since.
            That first Sunday, nearly twenty years ago now, we walked in not knowing what to expect but we found this handsome old building and this beautifully diverse congregation and we also encountered a remarkable one-of-a-kind priest – sort of gruff guy, definitely smart and funny, and, most of all, always willing to show his scars and admit he’s just another sinner on the road just like the rest of us.
            That first Sunday, having spotted us as newcomers, Dave made a point of coming down the aisle at the peace, reached out his hand to us, and said,
            “Hi, I’m Dave. Welcome to St. Paul’s.”
            And, with a certainty I had rarely known before or have known since, I knew this was exactly right – the beginning of our membership in this community where Sue and I – and I’m hoping you too – see the Risen Christ all the time.
            Alleluia! Christ is risen!
            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
            I’ve also been reflecting on Holy Week and Easter and, you know, for the past four years the highlight of Holy Week for me, and I’m sure at least some of you, has been our Good Friday Stations of the Cross Procession as we carry the cross to places of suffering and violence in our neighborhoods.
            However, you may be surprised to learn that not everyone thinks this is a good or even appropriate idea.
            Over the years I’ve heard from other Christians that our procession is not focused enough on Christ - that somehow we muddy the waters by focusing both on the suffering of Jesus two thousand years ago and the suffering of our neighbors today.
            In fact, a discussion along those lines broke out on Facebook after this year’s procession.
            While I sort of understand where people are coming from when they raise these concerns, my experience is that carrying the cross through our streets is pretty much the most Christ-centered thing we do all year – and I’m more deeply aware of and moved by Christ’s suffering when we’re out on the cracked sidewalks and potholed streets than when we’re safe and secure worshiping here in church.
            And carrying the cross through the streets and witnessing the brokenness of our community is also a most powerful reminder that the Risen Christ still bears the wounds of his crucifixion – that the Risen Christ is the wounded Christ who invited Thomas and invites us to see and even touch his wounds - and believe.
            Alleluia! Christ is risen!
            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
            In today’s first lesson from the Acts of the Apostles we hear a probably at least somewhat idealized vision of the early Church where “the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul” and they shared all that they had and gave powerful testimony about the Risen Lord.
            The truth is that we are more often like the first disciples: frightened, confused, and divided – with some, like Thomas, separated from the community, at least for a time.
            Certainly much of the history of the Episcopal Church in Jersey City has been a discouraging tale of fear, confusion, and division – a long way from the church of Acts, the church of “one heart and soul.”
            But, you know, over the past few months, I’ve been seeing the Risen Christ more clearly in our communities – in this community – as we’ve worked to set aside our fear, confusion, and division and moved closer to the oneness that has been God’s dream and God’s will for us all along.
            Now, I can see the Risen Christ more clearly in this place – clearer even than that day that Sue and I first walked through those doors.
            As a great priest once said, “I don’t have to believe it, because I’ve seen it.”
            Yes, we still have a ways to go and our community won’t ever be perfect, and yet, here together as the Community of the Risen Christ, we can join with the Apostle Thomas who saw – who really saw – and cried out,
            “My Lord and my God!”
            Alleluia! Christ is risen!
            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
            Amen.

            

Sunday, April 01, 2018

A Daffodil Easter

St. Paul’s Church in Bergen, Jersey City NJ
April 1, 2018

Easter Day
Acts 10:34-43
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
1 Corinthians 15:1-11
John 20:1-18

A Daffodil Easter
            Alleluia! Christ is risen!
            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
            No matter how many times I hear it, I never get tired of the story.
After what I’m sure was a sleepless night trying not to remember but remembering only too well the horrors she had witnessed as the One she knew and loved as Lord and friend died a shameful and painful death on the cross – after so much sadness and loss – despite so much sadness and loss and fear - Mary Magdalene arrives alone early back at the tomb – so early that it was still dark.
Why?
The Evangelist John doesn’t tell us, but perhaps Mary Magdalene needed some time apart from the other disciples who were hiding in fear of the authorities who had killed Jesus, and ashamed that they had abandoned Jesus at the end.
Maybe she needed time with what she thought was left of Jesus.
Or, perhaps, Mary Magdalene sensed that maybe the horror and the terror and the fear was not the end of the story – maybe even in the midst of so much grief she was able to remember Jesus’ promise to rise again.
In any event, suddenly, right there in the garden, her world was turned upside-down once again – the tomb had been opened and she assumes someone has taken the Lord’s body.
 How can there still be even more horror after everything she has endured?
She runs to get the men, but, after a little footrace back to the tomb, no surprise, they’re no use at all.
And, then Mary Magdalene is alone in the garden once again – or so she thinks.
Even after all this time, the shock and the overflowing joy when Mary hears her name and realizes it’s not a gardener calling to her but it’s Jesus – the shock and the overflowing joy still jump off the page:
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
And, I would say, not a moment too soon!
Not a moment too soon for Mary Magdalene – and not a moment too soon for us.
We had a beautiful Lent here, with lots of wonderful and prayerful services, a diaper drive (which at last count is not quite complete, by the way), and an excellent book study.
We spent time getting ready to welcome homeless guests as part of Family Promise.
We stood and marched in solidarity with victims of gun violence.
And, on Good Friday, once again we carried the cross through the streets of Jersey City, visiting and praying at sites right in our own neighborhoods that have been stained by senseless violence, in some sense making those places holy again.
We had a beautiful Lent as our two congregations, St. Paul’s and Incarnation, have settled into our new life together, not without bumps and challenges, but, for the most part with a loving, generous, and patient spirit.
Yes, we had a beautiful Lent, but out in the world, not so much.
Even the weather in these parts has been a downer.
You may remember we had an early false spring, probably not something to be happy about, but, let’s admit it, it was such a pleasure to feel the warmer air and to see the trees bud and the flowers begin to bloom.
Here at St. Paul’s, we have lots of daffodils which add so much beauty to our grounds – and which bloomed early thanks to that premature spring.
A couple of weeks ago I took a photo of a cluster of those daffodils, knowing that one of our Nor’easters was going to blow through in just a few hours.
As the wet snow fell I went back out and took a picture of those same flowers (that’s how I make myself useful around here!) but this time they were bent, and I feared broken, under the weight of all that heavy snow.
That grim before and after makes me think of Mary Magdalene and the other disciples who had bloomed thanks to the hope and love of Jesus, only to be bent low by his death on the cross.
But, you know, if you look outside today, you’ll see that those little yellow daffodils survived that snowfall and are standing upright, bringing beauty to our Easter Day – not unlike Mary Magdalene, who was once bent with grief and suffering, but after hearing and seeing the Risen Lord, she was overjoyed, upright with new life.
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
And, rather than keeping this best news of all time to herself, Mary Magdalene rushes to tell the others, rushes to tell them:
“I have seen the Lord!”
And, this morning here in church, here in this beautiful old place, we are seeing and hearing the Risen Lord in the Word of God, in our beautiful diversity, in the gorgeous music, in the peace that we will soon share with one another, and, most of all, in the Bread and Wine that we will take into our bodies and souls.
And, we are also seeing the Risen Lord in these three beautiful children – in Rosabelle, Noah, and Andrew. In just a few moments they will take the plunge into the water of Baptism, dying and rising again as beloved members of the Body of Christ.
Their parents have boldly signed them up for the Christian life – a life with great rewards but also big challenges and high expectations – to love our neighbors, all of them, especially the ones we don’t like or disagree with, even the people who disgust us, to love them all as ourselves – to share the Good News in word and deed – to join with Mary Magdalene and so many others who have proclaimed,
“I have seen the Lord!”
And, I would say, not a moment too soon.
Although the weather has improved and, at least for today, the daffodils are standing upright sharing their beauty with us, the sad truth is that so many people around us are still bent with grief and suffering and fear – so many people are bent by the pressures of life, bent by anger and hopelessness and hatred and violence.
At the end of our Good Friday Stations of the Cross, at the last station which was our local police precinct, our prayers were interrupted when suddenly there was angry yelling as a group of people arrived, a family maybe, furious about an assault that had allegedly happened, and looking for justice from the police.
The language was rough and the commotion was disturbing and even a little frightening.
But, as the one cop who had been protecting us tried to sort it out and attempted with not much success to quiet them down, I thought, you know, this uproar was a perfect end for our Good Friday – because this was a glimpse of the broken world for which Jesus suffered and died and for which he rose again.
So, just like Mary Magdalene rushed to the the grieving and frightened disciples - and not a moment too soon - we are called to go out from this beautiful place into our often ugly world, out to all the people bent by suffering and sorrow.
We are called to go out, proclaiming through our words and very lives:
“I have seen the Lord!”
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Amen.