On the Road, Together

The Church of St. Paul and Incarnation, Jersey City

April 26, 2020

Year A: The Third Sunday of Easter

Acts 2:14a, 36-41

Psalm 116:1-3, 10-17

1 Peter 1:17-23

Luke 24:13-35

On the Road, Together

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Well, it is still Easter!

            But, for us today, in a time of pandemic and social distancing and rising unemployment, it may not feel very much like Easter.

            And, for the first disciples two thousand years ago, as they tried to make sense of everything that had happened in Jerusalem – the arrest, the torture, the death on a cross, and now some women talking about an empty tomb and angels, it didn’t feel like Easter, either – at least, not yet.

            In today’s gospel lesson from Luke we meet two of those first disciples: Cleopas and his companion, who some suggest may have been his wife.

            Like other Jews from all over, they had been in Jerusalem for the great Passover feast, and like all of Jesus’ followers, they had been horrified that days of hope and promise had ended, it seemed, with suffering and death.

            And now, on that first Easter day, after all of the excitement and tragedy, it’s time for these two disciples to leave the capital city and make the long sad walk back to their home village, Emmaus, which we’re told is about seven miles away.

            In telling this story, Luke does such a beautiful job, painting a vivid picture of these two disciples as they walk along the road, reviewing all that had happened, filled with what must have been so many emotions: deep sadness and disappointment and fear and, maybe, even some guilt and anger.

            There were probably a lot of people on the road that day and, as sometimes happens, a stranger approaches – in this case someone who seems totally out of the loop, doesn’t seem to know what happened to this fellow, the seemingly failed prophet, Jesus of Nazareth.

            Luke lets us know that this stranger is in fact the Risen Jesus, but Cleopas and his companion are kept from seeing him, maybe because Jesus was the last person they expected to meet on the road.

            After the disciples share their sadness, the “stranger” lets them have it – “Oh, how foolish you are!” - and then Jesus gives them what must have been the best Bible study ever – teaching so powerful that it made them feel like their hearts were on fire!

            I imagine them so absorbed in what they were hearing and learning from this “stranger” that they lost track of time and distance, surprised when they get home already, but not so distracted that they forget their manners, or maybe they just didn’t want this time, this journey, to end.

            After Jesus accepts their invitation into their home, they gather at the table.

            And there, Jesus blesses, breaks, and shares the bread and in that moment – just like when Mary Magdalene heard her name in the garden – in that moment Cleopas and his companion they see and they know…

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            After receiving the best news ever, Cleopas and his companion do the only sensible thing. They leave home, get back on the road, and return to Jerusalem to tell everybody.

            And when they get there, they discover that the mood has changed, others have seen the Risen Jesus, and now, not only is it Easter but it finally, finally, feels like Easter!

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Some of you know that I love the story of Jesus and the two disciples on the road to Emmaus.

            I first thought about it when I was in high school, at St. Peter’s Prep, which offered and still offers retreats based on the Emmaus story.

It was then and there that I first began to think about life, about my life, as a journey, a journey on the road where all of us can meet the risen Jesus even when, especially when, we least expect him.

Over all these years, I’ve come to see that this story is like the Christian life in miniature, teaching us so much about discipleship, communion, hospitality, evangelism, and, maybe most of all, meeting Jesus in the stranger.

The story has spoken to me in times when I felt Jesus so very close to me and I can’t wait to share the news and in times when I’ve been like the disciples as they started out on the road, feeling so sad and disappointed.

            I love this story so much that I selected it to be read at our Celebration of New Ministry, the great big party that we had here nearly seven years ago that marked the official start of our work together.

            I picked it because I knew that all of us have been on a journey our whole lives but now, like Cleopas and his companion, we were beginning to walk on the road, together.

            Just like right now in this time of trouble, back then we didn’t know exactly where that journey was going to take us.

Just like now, we couldn’t really see the road ahead but we trusted that the Risen Jesus would be beside us each step of the way.

            And, you know, these days, with a somewhat slower pace of life, I’ve had more time than usual to think and remember, to review the journey we have taken so far – to really see how we have been on the road, together with Jesus.

            Our journey on the road has brought together two neighboring churches that in the past, let’s just say they didn’t have too much to do with each other, but are now one, so united that we can’t even see the seam where we were sewed together.

            Our journey on the road has taken us down to Greenville, fulfilling a decades-long Episcopal dream of offering ministry in that often-neglected neighborhood, opening a community center where people are fed, fed with food, fed with community, fed with love.

            Our journey has taken us to hosting homeless families in our own space, at great cost and sacrifice to us, offering hospitality to the stranger just like Cleopas and his companion did long ago, welcoming strangers who always, always, turn out to be Jesus himself.

            And now our journey has brought us to this strange and unsettling time filled with fear and confusion, and yet, on conference calls every weekday, three times a day, I hear so many of your voices praying for those we love, praying for each other, praying for our leaders, praying for people who work in health care and out in public, the people working to keep us safe and to keep the store shelves filled.

            I hear so many of you grieving the dead, sometimes people we know and more often people who are just names to us, but are never just just names.

            And I hear so many of you giving thanks – rejoicing in another day, thanking God for family and friends, for good health, for this community, and for the technology that allows us to be together even we’re apart.

            Over and over on this journey, and especially these days, our hearts have been burning within us.

            Over and over on the road, together, even in moments of sadness and despair, we have helped each other feel and hear and see the Risen Jesus, who has been beside us the whole time.

            So, no matter what the future brings, we will continue on the road, together – together with each other and together with the Risen Jesus.

            And, we will go out of our way, maybe sometimes even retrace our steps, to do the only sensible thing and share the best news of all time:

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Amen.

           

Seeing the Risen Jesus

The Church of St. Paul and Incarnation, Jersey City NJ

April 19, 2020

Year A: The Second Sunday of Easter

Acts 2:14a, 22-32

Psalm 16

1 Peter 1:3-9

John 20:19-31

Seeing the Risen Jesus

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            On this Second Sunday of Easter, I usually begin by reminding everybody that it’s still Easter – it’s still Easter – and it will still be Easter for weeks – it will still be Easter until we reach the great Feast of Pentecost.

            But, of course, this year is different.

            I don’t know how much last week felt like Easter – I hope it did – and I don’t know if this time around it’s easier or harder to hold onto the spirit of Easter.

            Well, whether we feel it or not, it really is still Easter – it’s Easter for us and in today's gospel lesson it’s still Easter – it’s still the first Easter – for the disciples who are in hiding – they are behind locked doors because, we are told, they are afraid of the Jews.

            Now, just like on Good Friday, we need to stop right here and remind ourselves that every disciple in the room behind locked doors that first Easter night was a Jew, just as Jesus himself lived and died as a faithful Jew.

            So, the disciples are not afraid of “the Jews” – that wouldn’t make any sense – but they are afraid of the religious authorities, the men who had been threatened enough by Jesus that they made sure that he was arrested and executed – end of story, or so they thought.

            It was reasonable for the disciples to be afraid that what had happened to Jesus was going to happen to them next. But, the truth is the authorities probably knew – or could have easily discovered – where the disciples were hiding out, but they didn’t seem to bother with them, probably because they recognized that it was Jesus who had been the threat, not his ragtag band of followers, most of whom had bailed at the first sign of trouble.

            Anyway, although it doesn’t really feel like it yet, it’s still Easter for the disciples behind locked doors, when suddenly the still-wounded but risen Jesus appears.

            In that moment there must have been a storm of emotions raging around the room: shock, fear, guilt, joy – so many powerful and conflicting emotions that the first thing the risen Jesus says to his friends is, “Peace be with you.”

            The wounds convince the disciples that this is in fact Jesus and then, in this telling, not only is it Easter but it’s also Pentecost!

            Jesus breathes the Holy Spirit on the disciples and sends them out to begin the work of the church – to share the best news of all time:

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Finally, there was Easter peace and joy for the first disciples – or, most of the disciples, because we know that at least one of them was absent that first Easter night: Thomas.

            Some of you have heard me preach on this text often enough to know that I always wonder why Thomas was missing.

            Where was Thomas?

            Why wasn’t he with the others that first Easter night?

            Of course, there might be some boring explanation for his “social distancing,” something like he was running an errand, maybe he was sent out to find some food for everybody, but I’m convinced there was more going on with this apostle who will forever be associated with doubt.

            We have a hint from elsewhere in the Gospel of John that Thomas was a courageous man, so I wonder if he was especially ashamed and disgusted by the fact that he and the others had abandoned Jesus at the first sign of trouble.

            Or, maybe Thomas was bitterly disappointed that Jesus didn’t seem to be who or what he and the others had come to believe.

            After all, what kind of Messiah dies the shameful death of a criminal, abandoned by just about everybody, including, it seemed, even God?

            Or, maybe Thomas was just angry – angry at a world where a man who taught nothing but love, who welcomed everybody, who healed the sick - angry at a world where a man like that could be disposed of so brutally – and maybe Thomas was even angry God – a God who would allow so much cruelty and suffering in this broken and blood-soaked world.

            Well, whatever was going on, Thomas missed out on the joy and peace of the first Easter.

            And, when the other disciples tell Thomas the most amazing news, “We have seen the Lord,” he famously doubts them, insisting that he won’t believe unless he can see and touch the wounds of Jesus.

            Fast forward a week and this time Thomas is with the others when the Risen Jesus reappears, offering the same message, “Peace be with you.”

            Thomas must have been shocked and more than a little embarrassed when Jesus turns to him and offers his wounds – look and touch, do not doubt but believe.

            No surprise, whatever doubts Thomas had instantly fall away and he cries out, saying more than he probably understood: “My Lord and my God!”

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Of course, the takeaway for us is that unlike the first disciples in the locked room, unlike the Apostle Thomas, we are not able to see or touch Jesus like they did.

            And, despite our inability to see or touch Jesus, we are still called to believe.

            That’s true enough and certainly challenging enough, but what Christians have also always understood is that, actually, we are able to see the Risen Jesus all the time, if only we set aside our fears and doubts, and really look.

           

            I’ve been reading a new biography of one of my heroes, Dorothy Day, who back in the 1930s co-founded the Catholic Worker movement, which offered – and still offers – food and hospitality to anyone, no matter how smelly or strung out or difficult they might be.

            One Easter long ago, Dorothy Day reflected on doubt and how we – right here and now – can see the Risen Jesus. She wrote:

            “How do we know we believe? How do we know we indeed have faith? Because we have seen His hands and His feet in the poor around us. He has shown Himself to us in them. We start by loving them for Him and we soon love them for themselves, each one a unique person, most special!”

           

            Some of you know that a few of us who help to lead our community center down at Triangle Park in the Greenville section of Jersey City have been looking for ways to reach out to the young men who hang out in and around the park, looking for ways to introduce ourselves to them, to let them know that the center was there for them.

            Well, a few weeks before the virus shut down most everything, we had the chance to experience what Dorothy Day had described. We had worked with some community leaders to invite these guys – yes, gang members - to the center for some pizza and conversation.

            I was feeling kind of nervous about the whole thing and I wasn’t sure that any of them were actually going to show - and I wasn't entirely sure I wanted them to show up, but suddenly the door swung open and about 15 guys came in – some of them so young and still baby-faced and the oldest maybe in their late 20’s.

            We sat around tables eating pizza and drinking soda and these boys and men were incredibly open with us about their lives, honest about what they were up to out on the street, very clear about the challenge they faced of finding a job that would pay the bills.

They told us about the life or death dangers of traveling around a city split up by firm and sharp gang boundaries, lines that are invisible to most of us.

            I have to tell you that night at Triangle Park under harsh florescent lights, sitting on metal folding chairs at tables covered with plastic plates and pizza slices, having honest conversation with young men most of the world dismisses as not worth the trouble, I could see and feel the presence of the Risen Jesus at least as much as I can when we gather here in this beautiful place at our magnificent altar.

            Finally, much of the time these days it feels a lot like the start of the first Easter night – we’re behind locked doors, full of fear and doubt.

            And yet, even in this time of pandemic we are still able to see the Risen Jesus.

 I think of all the doctors and nurses and other medical workers who are risking their lives for others, using all of their incredible skill and ingenuity, and also offering comfort to people when the end approaches, holding their hands through protective gloves, giving the last gift they can give, the gift of just being there, sharing peace, even in the ICU.

            I think of so many of you who have been reaching out to those who you know are on their own and particularly vulnerable, offering to pick up groceries and make “contact-less” deliveries, calling into our “Church By Phone” services to pray, yes, but also to comfort each other just by saying a few words, just by being happy to hear a familiar or even unfamiliar name, just by saying hi.

            And, I think of what’s happening right now.

            Sue and I can’t see you but we can feel your presence and your prayers. And, after the service is over we’ll scroll through all of your comments, “Amen,” “And, also with you,” and of course, “Alleluia!”

            On that first Easter night, the frightened and doubting disciples were able to see the Risen Jesus – and even if we’re a little late to the party like our brother Thomas, the truth is we are able to see the Risen Jesus all the time, if only we set aside our fears and doubts and really look.

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Amen.

           

           

           

            

Like the First Easter

The Church of St. Paul and Incarnation, Jersey City NJ

April 12, 2020

Year A: Easter Day

Acts 10:34-43

Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24

Colossians 3:1-4

John 20:1-18

Like the First Easter

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            After what was the lentiest Lent ever, after gathering around the table with Jesus for what everybody thought was the last time, after the bread and the wine and the washed feet, after the horror of the Cross and the heartbreaking quiet of the sealed tomb, at last, at last we are back in the garden with Mary Magdalene.

            We’re back in the garden with Mary Magdalene, who is horrified to discover the empty tomb – is this nightmare about to get even worse?

            Mary Magdalene begs the gardener for help, barely able to hope that she might recover the body of her dead friend and Lord.

            But then, in a moment that still shines, still makes our hearts burst no matter how well we know the story, Mary hears her name, hears that familiar voice, and she sees, and she knows…

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Normally at this point in my Easter sermon, I talk about how beautiful the church looks, how great you all look, how wonderful the music sounds.

            I thank all of the people who worked so hard to clean and polish, everybody who decorated and rehearsed, all to make our Easter celebration so special.

            I do want to thank the two Susans – our parish administrator Susan Den Herder who quickly assembled and mailed out the bulletin that many of you have been using the past few days – and my wife Susan Suarez who has been doing double duty as our worship leader and technical support, making it possible for all of you to join us for worship since quarantine began.

            We’ve done our best to keep the church going, but still, I don’t need to tell you that this Easter is unlike any we have ever experienced.

            The pandemic and the stay at home order has stripped our Easter of all the familiar touches that most of us love so much – the flowers, the music, the outfits, the hats (!), the chance to see people we may not have seen for a while – we have been forced to sacrifice all of that, leaving us with just the basics.

            As I’ve been preparing for this day, I’ve realized that, with so many of our Easter traditions gone, this Easter is the one that is most like the first Easter.

Like Mary Magdalene, we arrived here this morning still shadowed by the all too real sadness of the world, dragged down by all that sounds like it must be the last word.

            But, like Mary Magdalene, we are here – here maybe out of a sense of duty or habit – or maybe we’re here because even in the face of suffering and death we refuse to give up hope – so we return to the garden and, sure enough, we discover that, yes… 

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Our Easter today is most like the first Easter because, for Mary Magdalene and soon the other disciples, there was no elaborate ritual, no fancy outfits, and no triumphant fanfares.

And, just like Mary Magdalene and the others, we don’t have a clear vision of the future and maybe we don’t know exactly what it means for us and our sick world that Jesus, still bearing his wounds, is risen from the dead.

But, just like Mary Magdalene and the others, we are just beginning to understand that God is teaching us the greatest lesson of all: light has shined into the deepest shadows, love has conquered hate, and life has defeated death, once and for all.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

It is, of course, no accident that the first Easter began in a garden.

After all, it’s in a garden where the story of God and us began – the garden was God’s vision of what life together with us was to be like – God gives us all the raw material and all the skill we need, giving us the ability to plant and shape the world in ways delightful for God and us.

And, it’s in a garden where everything went wrong, and God and we seemed to part ways, but God never stopped looking for us, never stopped hoping for reconciliation.

And, that reunion happens when Mary Magdalene hears her name in a garden on that first Easter.

Now, I’m no gardener but I’m fortunate to live here on the church grounds where a few generous and talented people tend the flowers and plants, offering an oasis for our community, one that is especially welcome these days when all of our parks are closed.

For the past few weeks, we’ve all been so focused on disease – on avoiding disease – on figuring out how to get by in this new way of living - that we may have missed that spring is springing up all around us, our gardens are blooming, our planet is bursting forth with new life.

Here in our garden we’ve had a bumper crop of daffodils and the tulips are just beginning to unfurl.

But, I’ve had my eye on one of the two dogwood trees alongside the church.

It didn’t have a good year last year and our friend and neighbor Nana Chawana pruned it, fed it, tended to it as best she could, but she was not optimistic about its chances for survival.

I kept thinking we should just chop it down already and be done with it but we’ve had a lot of other buildings and grounds stuff to deal with and, honestly, I just didn’t have the heart to say goodbye to this tree that has given so much beauty, so much pleasure for so long.

Well, in just the past few days, that old, bent and scarred dogwood has begun to bud, just about ready to surprise everybody with new life.

I don’t know what the future will bring for that tree or for any of us.

All I know is that, despite all our confusion, despite all our fears, in the garden there is the surprise and joy of new life – just like on the first Easter!

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

Lessons of an In-Between Time

The Church of St. Paul and Incarnation, Jersey City NJ

April 11, 2020

Holy Saturday

Job 14:1-14

Psalm 130

1 Peter 4:1-8

Mathew 27:57-66

Lessons of an In-Between Time

            This morning we arrive at this strange time, the time between Good Friday and Easter, a time between death and new life.

            The Church in the East has given a lot of thought to what was going on when the body of Jesus lay lifeless in the tomb, imagining Jesus descending to the dead, soon to lead yet another parade, unshackling the gates of hell, liberating the people who had been waiting there for so long.

            In art, often it’s Adam and Eve who are at the head of the parade, symbolizing humanity redeemed at last.

            But, I love the idea suggested by the writer Gary Wills, that maybe Judas was the first one freed from hell, reminding us that no sin is beyond God’s forgiveness.

            Here in the western church, we haven’t given as much thought to this strange in-between time.

            We offer only this simple and spare service, acknowledging that for a strange and terrible time Jesus really was dead, sitting for a little while with that strange and unsettling thought.

            Usually it feels like we are just barely able to squeeze in this service because waiting in the wings are the choirs and the altar guild and the cleaners and polishers and flower arrangers, everybody eager to get us ready for Easter.

            But, things are different this year – so very different – there’s no one here except Sue and me and not much needs to be done to get ready for Easter.

            And, in a strange way, as disappointing as it all is, as much as we’ll miss the flowers and the music and the crowds, the outfits and the hats, this in-between time feels exactly right for the in-between time in which we are all living.

            We are all living between Good Friday and Easter, between death and new life.

            Just like on that first Holy Saturday, it can look to us like nothing much is happening.

            And, yet, we know that out of our sight, people are hard at work, striving to heal and to comfort, to clean and to stock, to protect and to serve.

            And, God is right in the thick of it, descending into even the most hellish places, comforting and strengthening, unshackling from fear, and, as always, leading us upward and onward to new life.

            So, for now, we wait at the tomb, waiting for God to reveal God’s greatest lesson of all.