Looking for Jesus, Hungry for Jesus

The Liturgical Churches Union of Jersey City and Vicinity

Lenten Worship Service

March 16, 2016

John 6:22-27

Looking for Jesus, Hungry for Jesus

            One of my favorite things to do – one of my greatest privileges as an Episcopal priest – is the opportunity to administer Communion, to give the Bread of Life to everyone who presents themselves to me at St. Paul’s.

            Now, I know that we have at least somewhat different theologies and practices when it comes to the Lord’s Supper.

            But, over at St. Paul’s the way we do it is during the Sunday service people line up, come forward, and either kneel or stand at the altar rail.

            As I make my way down the line, I’m often touched, really moved, by the different ways people receive communion.

            Some raise their outstretched hands high while others keep them low.

            Some seem to want to make eye contact with me, eager for a human connection in this sacred moment, while others keep their eyes downcast, humble in the face of this most personal encounter with the Lord.

            I love seeing all the many hands, all the different colors, the old hands creased by a lifetime of hard work, bent by the pain of arthritis, and the young hands, smooth and barely lined, full of the promise and hope of youth, and the middle aged hands beginning to show some wear and tear.

            And then there are the children.

            At St. Paul’s we leave it up to the parents to decide when their baptized children are ready to receive communion.

            Some parents let their kids receive at a very young age, and usually they come bounding up to the rail, excited, overjoyed, even. Do they really understand what they are about to receive? No, but neither does anybody else!

            And then there are the children whose parents won’t let them receive yet. Often the kids will put out their hands expectantly, maybe even defiantly, only to have their mom or dad gently push them down and ask me to simply bless the child.

            But, you know, their disappointed faces show all too clearly that those kids know that they’re missing out on the good stuff.

            All of those people – all of us – old and young – gather at the Lord’s Table to take the Bread of Life into our bodies and souls.

            Whether there’s communion or not, we come to church – on Sundays or on a Wednesday night or any other time because we are looking for Jesus – and we have at least some idea where to find him.

            Looking for Jesus.

            Say it with me: “Looking for Jesus!”

            We’ve been having a blessed Lent, haven’t we?

            It has been a gift these past few weeks to travel around to our different churches, to see all these different holy places where people look for and find Jesus, a gift to hear the preaching of my clergy sister and brothers, and to soak in the sound our amazing choirs.

            I’m thankful to Rev. Legay for his kind introduction and Rev. Dorothy Patterson for the honor of preaching in her pulpit. With God’s help, I hope to be worthy of your trust.

            Looking for Jesus.

            This Lent we’ve been traveling around Jersey City and now we’ve come to Bayonne, because we’re…looking for Jesus.

             Say it with me: “Looking for Jesus!”

            And, thank God, we have some idea where to find him.

            And, in tonight’s lesson from the Gospel of John we heard about some other people who were looking for Jesus, too.

            We need to back up a little, though, to the day before the events we heard about in tonight’s reading.

            Because that day was a really big day.

            The Evangelist John tells us that a huge crowd had been following Jesus, seeing the signs he was performing for the sick, but it had gotten late, probably people were so focused on Jesus they lost track of the time!

            Anyway, because the hour had grown late, Jesus asks Philip, “Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?”

            Philip, he has no idea – all he knows is there’s definitely not enough food and certainly not enough money to feed all these people.

            Andrew helps out, managing to find a boy who’s got some food, but it’s only just five barley loaves and two fish, surely nowhere near enough.

            But, you know the rest, right?

            With Jesus, there’s more than enough for everybody.

            I imagine the people sitting on the grass that day, passing around the seemingly bottomless baskets of bread and fish, stretching out their hands, their hands worn from first century hard work, taking this mysterious food into their bodies.

            They didn’t understand at all what was happening but they knew that this was the good stuff – and knew that they wanted more!

            John tells us later that night the disciples got into a boat without Jesus and started out across the sea. A rough storm kicked up and suddenly they saw Jesus walking towards them – and they were terrified – terrified to see their Lord walking on the water.

            Jesus tells his terrified friends, “It is I; do not be afraid.”

            Which can also be translated, “I am; do not be afraid.”

            The disciples are beginning to realize that Jesus is more than a teacher, more than a prophet, more than a miracle-worker.

            In and through Jesus, God, the great “I Am,” has come among us.

            It was a really big day.

            Now, we pick up the next day with this evening’s lesson.

            The crowd from the day before who had eaten all of that bread and fish, all that good stuff, they discover Jesus and his disciples have departed and so they get into their boats and row to the other side, looking for Jesus.

            Say it with me: “Looking for Jesus!”

            They’re looking for Jesus, but like us, they don’t really understand who Jesus is – they don’t understand the meaning of the bread and fish they had received yesterday.

            They call Jesus “rabbi, “ which is true enough, but we know  - and the disciples are beginning to realize - that he’s so much more than that.

            Jesus tells them that they’re only looking for him because they ate up all the bread yesterday and now they want some more.

            Can’t you imagine him saying that with a little half-smile?

            And, you know, maybe they do want more bread and fish, maybe they were hungry to see what Jesus would whip up for breakfast, maybe they were eager for another miracle, another spectacle, another sign.

            But, the bottom line is that those people from long ago who rowed across the sea, with their imperfect understanding, they were looking for Jesus.

            Say it with me: “Looking for Jesus!”

            And, you know, we’re not so different from those people long ago who were well fed by Jesus, who got a taste of the good stuff, who didn’t understand everything – how can we?

            Like them, we know where to look for Jesus.

             We know to come back to our churches week after week where we are fed by the Word of God, where we are fed by the preaching (no comment, St. Paul’s!), where we are fed by the music, where we are fed by the sacraments, where we are fed by the fellowship, where we are fed by the gift and privilege of serving and loving one another.

            Like those people long ago rowing their boats across the sea, we’ve gotten a taste of the good stuff – a taste of the best stuff of all – and we want more, so we go looking for Jesus – we go looking for Jesus in our churches – we go looking for Jesus right here during this Lenten series.

            We’re looking for Jesus – and, thank God, we know where to find him.

            Amen? Amen!

            But…but, there are so many people out there who are hungry for Jesus. So many people out there who can’t find Jesus, or who haven’t found him, yet.

            There are so many people out there who don’t even know where to begin looking for Jesus.

            We know these people, don’t we?

            In fact, maybe we used to be them.

            We know those men and women overwhelmed by life, all those bills that somehow need to get paid, the challenge of raising children in hard, dangerous neighborhoods with substandard schools, the burden of being stained forever by past mistakes, the seemingly pointless search for a job, the fear of illness and death, the enslavement to drugs or alcohol.

            We know these people who are hungry for Jesus.

            Say it with me: “Hungry for Jesus!”

            So many people are hungry for Jesus but they don’t know where to begin looking for him because maybe they’ve been hurt by the church. Maybe they’ve been abused by the church one way or another – we know that happens more often than we’d care to admit.

            So many people are hungry for Jesus but they can’t find him because maybe they’re turned off by the loudest and most famous and, yes, I’ll say it, richest “Christian” leaders in our country who preach the law before love, who are quick to judge and condemn and slow to forgive, who throw their considerable power and prestige behind political candidates who promote hate and feed fear.

            So many people are hungry for Jesus but they don’t know where to begin looking for him maybe because of “Christian” leaders who puff themselves up, who live in mansions and fly around in private jets while supposedly humbly following Jesus of Nazareth - Jesus who had no place to rest his head, Jesus who called on the rich young man to give away his possessions to the poor and follow him.

            Say it with me: “Hungry for Jesus!”

            And, yes, so many people are hungry for Jesus but they can’t find him because of us.

            Our churches can so easily become safe little clubs where we get to hang out with people just like us, people we’ve known a long time and love and trust – safe little exclusive clubs where too often the stranger is looked at with suspicion or, maybe even worse, is pounced upon as he or she walks through the door for the first time: fresh blood who can do some of the church work we’re so tired of doing.           

            Our churches have so often retreated into ourselves – into our little church politics and our irrelevant disputes that look completely ridiculous to the outside world.

            We’ve stopped going out to the street and stopped being with the people, being with the people who are so hungry for Jesus – who are starving for Jesus.

            People are looking for Jesus.

            People are hungry for Jesus.

            My favorite definition of evangelism is one maybe you’ve heard. It’s from a 20th Century Sri Lankan Methodist pastor named D.T. Niles.

            He said, “Evangelism is just one beggar telling another beggar where to find bread.”

            “Evangelism is just one beggar telling another beggar where to find bread.”

            I love that.

            My brothers and sisters, we are the beggars who know where to find the bread.

            We are the beggars who know where to find the good stuff.

            We are the beggars who know where to find Jesus – we may not always understand him – how could we? – but, we know where to look for Jesus and we know where to find Jesus.

            Now, maybe more than ever, we’re called to be the beggars who tell the other beggars where to find the bread.

            Through our deeds and words, we’re called to tell the people in our own families.

            Through our deeds and words, we’re called to tell the people across the hall or across the street who are burdened and worn down by life.

            Through our deeds and words, we’re called to tell the people who’ve been hurt, disappointed, or just plain disgusted by the church.

            Through our deeds and words, we’re called to tell the kids on the corner, maybe just hanging out or maybe up to no good.

            We’re called to tell them all – tell them through our very lives – through our lives of love and generosity – we’re called to tell them that we’ve looked for Jesus and, yes, we’ve found him – we know where to find the bread – we know where to find the good stuff.

            We know, so come on over.

            And if we share this Good News – if we share this best news of all time – more and more of us will gather with our hands of different colors, our hands lined, creased and bent, our hands smooth, our hands lifted up, hungry and ready to find Jesus and be fed by Jesus, ready to take Jesus into our bodies and our souls.

            People are looking for Jesus.

            People are hungry for Jesus.

            So, my fellow beggars, it’s time, actually it’s long past time, for us to tell those beggars out there, to show them where to find the bread, where to find the good stuff, where to find Jesus.

            Amen.

           

The Sweet Fragrance of New Life

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

March 13, 2016

Year C: The Fifth Sunday in Lent

Isaiah 43:16-21

Psalm 126

Philippians 3:4b-14

John 12:1-8

The Sweet Fragrance of New Life

            I love living in Jersey City. I really do.

            But, let’s admit it: sometimes, it stinks.

            I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed this but sometimes, especially in the morning, there’s a nasty odor hanging in the air. I’ve been told that the smell comes from a tannery in Newark. I don’t know if that’s true. Maybe the smell comes from the polluted Newark Bay, or the incinerator that pumps waste into the sky night and day, or the hulking generating plant that sits smoking at the western edge of the city.

            I don’t know what it is, but it stinks.

            And, if we’re honest, we have to admit that life stinks a lot, too.

            Jersey City isn’t the only place we’ve polluted, of course. Far from it. By now much of God’s beautiful creation has been soiled and spoiled by us, God’s beautiful creation that we’ve for so long treated as an open sewer.

            And, unfortunately, we’re paying the price for our abuse of the planet as temperatures and tides rise, wiping out vulnerable creatures and communities all around that world, as lead poisons the city of Flint and some thirty public schools in Newark and no one would be surprised if our water is poisoned, too.

            That stinks.

            Here in our country, we’re in the midst of the most bizarre presidential campaign of our lives as people flock to highly unlikely non-establishment candidates: a wealthy reality TV celebrity and a Vermont Socialist who, each in their own way, have said out loud what everybody knows - the system is corrupt, rotten.             

            Of course, they offer very different messages and answers, but both get that people are hurting, people are afraid, people are falling behind, the divide between rich and poor is growing ever wider, and it sure looks like our children won’t have it as good as we’ve had it.

            That stinks.

            Thanks to our work with Jersey City Together some of us have become increasingly aware of the injustices in our own city: the tax abatements still being given for development along the waterfront – some of the most valuable real estate in the world – depriving our often substandard public schools of desperately needed money; the unjust tax structure that has people in wealthy areas paying less than their full share in property taxes; whole neighborhoods where just about the only legal commerce is the very busy liquor store that can be found on every other block.

            That stinks.

            And then there are the stinky aspects of our own lives.

            Over my nearly three years here as rector have become increasingly aware of how hard so many of our lives are: the broken relationships and wounded families; the struggle to pay the bills; the desperation of unemployment, underemployment, and even over-employment, as some of us work long hours at more than one job just to keep our heads above water.

            There are the physical and mental health challenges we face, making it difficult to just get through the day – and the fears of what’s yet to come.

            That stinks.

            It was today’s lesson from the Gospel of John, the story of the anointing of Jesus in Bethany, that got me thinking about… stinkiness.

            All four gospels tell the story of Jesus being anointed by a woman, though they give different details of the event.

            In the Gospel of John, which we heard today, Jesus stops in Bethany on his way to Jerusalem and visits the home of his friends, the sisters Mary and Martha and their brother Lazarus.

            Lazarus! Remember Lazarus: Jesus’ friend who had died – who was already dead four days when Jesus arrived at his tomb, greeted by the grief-stricken Mary and Martha.

            Martha had warned Jesus that her brother Lazarus had been dead for four days – he was really dead – the body was already stinking – but Jesus ordered the stone rolled away  - “Lazarus come out!” and out of the tomb came the stinking dead man – rising to new life.

            Now, in the story of the anointing at Bethany, John mentions Lazarus twice, making sure that we catch that he’s there, alive and at the table, no longer stinking but breaking bread with his sisters and his Lord.

            Jesus stops in Bethany on his way to Jerusalem  - where he knows what awaits him – a brief royal welcome with waving palms, shouts of “Hosanna!” followed quickly by betrayal, rejection, mockery, abandonment, torture, and death on the cross.

            The Son of God had come into the world only to be rejected by just about everyone – to say that stinks is an understatement, for sure.

            Jesus knows his fate and so, it seems, does one other person: Mary of Bethany.

            We’re told that Mary uses a huge amount of costly perfume – an extravagant amount - costing 300 denarii, about a year’s worth of wages for a worker – uses all of that to anoint Jesus’ feet.

            She then wiped his feet with her hair in an almost unbelievably tender, intimate, and generous act of love.

            And, “the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.”

            Throughout his ministry – and most especially when he raised Lazarus from the dead – Jesus transformed the stink of death – the stink of despair and fear and selfishness – the stink of death – into the fragrance of new life – the fragrance of hope, faith, and love.

            Mary of Bethany had the chance to give thanks to Jesus by imitating Jesus - by pouring out perfume on his feet – she poured out great love and generosity – and the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume – the fragrance of new life.

            The truth is that you and I have the chance to give thanks to Jesus by imitating Jesus.

            Look around at the people here with us today – our lives stink a lot.

            Look at the people you pass on the sidewalk or who are in the car ahead of you or who are sitting next to you on the bus or who live across the hall or across at the street – their lives stink a lot, too.

            Their lives – our lives – stink with broken relationships and wounded families; the struggle to pay the bills; the desperation of unemployment, underemployment, and overemployment - stink with physical and mental health challenges – stink with the fears of what’s yet to come.

            Look at the people all across this country frightened of immigrants and hateful toward people of color – look at the people terrified of slipping further down the economic and social ladder – look at the people desperate to go back to the way things, supposedly, used to be – their lives stink a lot, too.

            Look at the people hanging outside Royal Liquors over on Bergen right now, loitering near liquor stores all across this city, begging for change to buy the next drink, their lives stinking for sure with the unmistakable odor of addiction and despair.

            You and I are called to imitate Jesus and to imitate Mary of Bethany by pouring out the perfume of love and generosity.

            We are called to pour out the perfume of love and generosity – not little drops as if we’re afraid there won’t be enough perfume to go around – but really pour it out – really pour it out by loving and serving the people closest to us and loving and serving our neighbors and strangers, by even striving to love and somehow serve the person who broke into our church, even if all we can do is pray, really pray, for him or her.

            We are called to pour out the perfume of love and generosity so that our food bins in the back of the church are overflowing with food - food at least as good as what we eat and serve ourselves and those we love.

            We are called to pour out the perfume of love and generosity so that our diaper collection surpasses 1000, maybe even 2000 diapers!

            We are called to pour out the perfume of love and generosity so that we forgive those who’ve wronged us and, yes, at least try to love those who are different, who don’t look or act like we do, to love the people drunk on the street, nodding off on the corner, to love all the people we don’t like or trust one bit.

            If we try, with God’s help, to pour out the perfume of love and generosity then we can fill this house, we can fill this stinking old city, with the sweet fragrance of new life.

            May it be so.

            Amen.

           

How Often Do We Really See Each Other?

St. Paul’s Church in Bergen, Jersey City NJ
March 6, 2016

Year C: The Fourth Sunday in Lent

Joshua 5:9-12

Psalm 32

2 Corinthians 5:16-21

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

How Often Do We Really See Each Other?

            St. Paul writes to the church in Corinth, “From now on, we regard no one from a human point of view, even though we once knew Christ from a human point of view, we know him no longer in that way. If anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see everything has become new!"

            Beautiful words, right?

            I wonder how often we are true to what Paul writes. How often do we really regard each other, really see each other with wonder, really see each other as a new creation in Christ?

            Probably not too often.

            In fact, I’d back up a little and ask, in our world and our country filled with so much anger, fear, and suspicion, how often do we regard each other at all? Instead, don’t we just lump people into demographics, into categories: rich, poor; black, white; immigrant, native-born; friend, foe; Republican, Democrat.

            How often do we really see each other?

            Even worse than that, with our lives full of all sorts of distractions, obligations, and burdens, how often do we really regard the people closest to us?

            How often do we really see our spouses, our parents and children, our friends and colleagues, our fellow parishioners?

            Probably not too much, I bet.

            By now, you’ve noticed that we make some changes to our worship during the season of Lent.

            We all know that we definitely, absolutely, don’t say the “a” word (or the “h” word if you spell it that way).

            We begin in silence and start the service with the confession, highlighting the penitential nature of Lent.

            We’ve put away the silver and cover up most of the crosses and other shiny things.

            At 10:00 we say the contemporary Lord’s Prayer and a different post-communion prayer.

            There’s no blessing at the end of the service and we exit in silence.

            We make these changes because they’re appropriate to Lent and also to help get us to pay attention because, let’s face it, for those of us who come to church a lot there’s a real danger that after a while we don’t really hear the words anymore, there’s a risk that, despite our best intentions, we stop regarding the beauty and wonder all around us, there’s good chance that we stop paying attention, stop hearing and stop seeing.

            And, that’s not only true of the service but it’s also true of familiar Bible stories.

            For those of us who’ve grown up in the church, or who have gone to church and read our Bibles a lot, there’s a good chance that by now we’ve pretty much stopped paying attention.

            After all, many of us think we know these stories, right?

            Many of us “know” Jesus’ parables, especially the really famous ones like “the Good Samaritan” and the parable we heard today, what’s usually called, “the Prodigal Son.”

            I’m certainly guilty of often thinking I know these stories but the truth is that we can never really “know” these parables because they contain so many layers of meaning and they are, in a way, riddles that leave us wondering or maybe just scratching our heads. The parables are meant to snap us out of our complacency – to help us see.

            Today’s parable is part of a trio of parables in the Gospel of Luke.

            The first is the Parable of the Lost Sheep – you remember, a shepherd has 100 sheep, loses one, leaves the other 99 to find and bring back the one that got away.

            Maybe the shepherd should have been paying closer attention – after all, he only had one job, keeping the flock together – but, I guess we can forgive him for losing only one out of 100 sheep, right?

            The second parable is the Lost Coin – a woman has 10 coins, loses one, looks all over the place, finds it and throws a party. Again, not to judge but, if you only have 10 coins, you’d think you’d pay closer attention but I guess it’s understandable – and, anyway, it’s her problem, right?

            And then there’s today’s parable. Lots of us “know” it, right?

            In the Parable of the Prodigal Son there was a man who had two sons, who lost one – the son who went off and blew his inheritance, but then came back to his father, who, was so overjoyed that he threw a big party, much to the unhappiness of the older son who had been dutifully working for his father all along and resents all the attention lavished on his younger brother.

            The father certainly lost more than the shepherd and the woman – he lost his younger son, at least for a time.

            But, you know, the father may have lost even more than that – the father may have also lost the older son, the dutiful son, the son who had been working “like a slave” for his father all along.

            The father may have lost the older son forever.

            In the parable, it seems that the father had been watching for his younger son, the prodigal son, waiting so that as soon as he saw him on the horizon he ran out to greet him. Very poignant, right?

            Meanwhile, the father seems to have little regard for his older son who has been right in front of him all along, the older son whose needs and resentments were just beneath the surface, the older son who doesn’t seem to even get an invitation to the big party.

            The father somehow doesn’t seem to see his dutiful and hardworking son, who’s been right there all along.

            And, because of his inattention, his neglect, the father may have lost the older son forever. Notice how the parable ends – there’s no resolution, no happy ending between the father and the lost older son.

            We just leave them there in the field.

             We take for granted that this parable is about the prodigal son, and it is, in part, at least. But, it’s also about the older, dutiful son who is not regarded by his father – the older brother who gets no attention and who, maybe, is even ignored by us, too.

            After all, nobody calls it the Parable of the Dutiful Son.

            How often do we really see each other?

            We don’t really see people whose lives are a mess – oh, we see them all right – but, often we just see them as a problem – or problems – to be endured or to be “fixed,” or maybe to just be enabled, or papered over and wished away.

            Here, welcome back, here’s a ring and a fancy robe, let’s have a party!

            That’s bad enough.

            But, we especially don’t see the people who seem to have their lives together, the people who are no drama, who go about their business day after day without complaint, until…

            When I was in seminary preparing ordination I always imagined I would be a city priest. After all, I’m from the city. I know the city and its people. I know all the issues and I can “fix” them. Or, so I thought.

            But, it turned out that when I was ordained there were no fulltime openings in the city. The only position available was at Grace Church in Madison. A very desirable position, but I didn’t really want to go. All of my Jersey City insecurities flared up: I wasn’t good enough or smart enough. They’ll look down on me. We won’t be able to relate to each other. And, I actually thought, actually thought, it’ll be boring because out there people really have their act together. There won’t be much for me to do.

            Well, I was wrong about all of that.

            Grace became my second home. And, over time, at my best, I was actually able to see the people out there – people who, yes, were living in a beautiful suburb, who for the most part went about their business looking to the world like they had their act together, but, like all of us, faced fears and regrets, suffered losses and carried resentments – people who messed up sometimes and needed forgiveness or were called upon to forgive, which is so very hard.

            The problems and the challenges may not have been quite as obvious as in the city but they were just as real, just a little harder to see.

            How often do we really see each other?

            In today’s parable, the father doesn’t really see his sons, both the prodigal who was a problem child and the dutiful who appeared to have his act together.

            Lent, the scaled-down and simplified season, is a good time for us to pay attention, to, with God’s help, really see each other – really see the diverse and not so happy people of our country - really regard the person who appears to be nothing but problems – really see the person who seems to have her act together – really see those who are closest to us – really see each other with wonder, really see each other as a new creation in Christ!

            We need to pay attention because, otherwise, like the father in the parable, we run the risk of losing more than we ever imagined.

            Amen.

We Don't Have All the Time in the World

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

February 28, 2016

Year C: The Third Sunday in Lent

Exodus 3:1-15

Psalm 63:1-8

1 Corinthians 10:1-13

Luke 13:1-9

We Don’t Have All the Time in the World

            Many of you know that I went to school at St. Peter’s Prep, a Catholic high school in downtown Jersey City.

            My four years at Prep shaped me in lots of ways, going a long way to make me who and what I am today.

            And, it’s true that during those four years a bond formed among my classmates. There’s something powerful about going through that experience together, maybe not unlike what some of you experienced in your school or in the military or in some other way.

            Even when we don’t see each other for years there is a mysterious but strong bond among us.

            One of my classmates was a guy named Tim O’Donnell.

            Like a lot of my classmates he was from Bayonne.

            We weren’t close or anything, and I’m not sure we saw each other even once in all the years since we graduated, but I remember well as a really solid guy. As one of my friends remembered on Facebook, everybody liked him.

            It turns out that Tim was a teacher, a science teacher and a coach at County Prep.

            And, as many of you probably know, on Monday afternoon Tim, along with his five year-old daughter Bridget, was driving on the Turnpike Extension, approaching the toll plaza at Exit 14C, when they were suddenly rear-ended with such force that their car was hurled through the toll plaza, out the other side, and into oncoming traffic where they were hit by a van.

            Tim and his little daughter were killed, killed, I hope, before they even knew what was happening to them.

            What a disaster.

            What a disaster for Tim, who won’t grow old with his wife, won’t see his daughters grow up, won’t know his grandchildren, won’t teach and coach another generation of students.

            What a disaster obviously for little Bridget, her young life cut short, her promise and possibilities left unknown and unfulfilled.

            What a disaster for Tim’s wife and his other daughter who must somehow go on after what must seem an unbearable loss.

            What a disaster for Tim’s students and his athletes to have lost a mentor and role model.

            What a disaster for the man driving the van who had no time to react when Tim’s car came hurtling out of the toll plaza and into his path.

            And, yes, what a disaster for the man who rear-ended Tim’s car, the man who must now live the rest of his life knowing he caused such heartbreaking losses.

            What a disaster.

            The truth, of course, is that we live in a world scarred by disaster. That’s why each week here in church we pray for the victims of natural and man-made disasters.

            And, though lately our man-made disasters seem to be more large-scale than they used to be: shootings in schools and malls and movie theaters, entire Middle Eastern cities destroyed in civil war, the mass extinction of species and rising seas, millions of people misled by leaders or would-be leaders offering the easy and so very wrong answers of fear, hatred and division - although all of that and more is going on today, the truth is that the world has always been scarred by natural and man-made disasters.

            In today’s gospel lesson we heard about a man-made disaster.

            People tell Jesus about Galileans whose blood Pontius Pilate had used in sacrifices to Roman gods – a disaster surely especially horrifying to Jesus, a Galilean himself.

            And then Jesus reminds the crowd of what was, I guess, less of a man-made disaster than a random, unintentional disaster: eighteen people were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them.

            The world has always been scarred by disasters. And, I suspect people have always reacted in pretty much the same ways.

            As a priest, it’s been my privilege and burden to often be with people not long after disaster strikes – the doctor has given the prognosis, the accident has happened, the relationship has been broken.

            And, very often, the victims of disaster wonder why this has happened – why is this happening to me.

            Why is God punishing me?

            I wonder if Tim’s wife, who just survived a bout with cancer, is asking that aching question. Most of us would, right?

            Well, Jesus tries to put a stop to that kind of thinking when he asks, rhetorically, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans?

            And, were those eighteen killed by the tower, “were they worse offenders than all those living in Jerusalem?”

            No, of course not.

            And, the death of Jesus on the cross – the death of the blameless victim in a horrifically public and bloody way – should’ve put a stop to that kind of thinking once and for all.

            Natural and man-made disasters occur, striking down saints and sinners and all of us in-between.

            Here’s the point, a point we need to relearn over and over, the point that every single disaster should teach us: you and I, we still have time to repent, to turn our lives around in a godly direction, to welcome God’s presence in our lives, to forgive those who’ve wronged us, to ask for forgiveness for the times we’ve messed up, to tell those we love that we love them, to love those we say we love, and yes, at least try to love those who are hard to love.

            You and I, we have time. But, we only have right now.

            We don’t have all the time in the world.

            In my life and in my ministry, I’ve encountered so many people who somehow fool themselves into thinking that there’s always tomorrow, that there’s always time so there’s no sense of urgency, no need to turn our lives around today – no need to forgive and ask forgiveness today – no need to love today – so often we fool ourselves – and I very much include myself – into thinking that there’s always time.

            And, you and I, we do have time. But, we only have right now.

            We don’t have all the time in the world.

            Lent begins with ashes – a good reminder that we don’t have all the time in the world.

            Lent is only 40 days – and we’re almost halfway through – a good reminder that we don’t have all the time in the world.

            As I was reminded so sadly this past week, we live in a world scarred by disaster.

            Horrible accidents occur. Tyrants mislead and kill. Towers fall.

            Through it all, God is with us.

            God was with Tim and Bridget last week on the Turnpike, with God’s heart the first to break at the senseless loss.

            God was with those slaughtered Galileans long ago and God was with the people of Jerusalem when the Tower of Siloam fell on them.

            God is surely with us in the disasters of our lives.

            But, we don’t have all the time in the world.

            So, let’s not wait.

            Let’s not wait to repent – let’s not wait to turn our lives around – let’s not wait to welcome God’s presence in our lives - let’s not wait to forgive and ask forgiveness – let’s not wait to love one another.

            May it be so.

           

           

            

God Is Always Persistent

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

February 21, 2016

The Second Sunday in Lent

Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18

Psalm 27

Philippians 3:17-4:1

Luke 13:31-35

God Is Always Persistent

            Well, now we’re about a week and a half into Lent so I have a question: how are we doing with our Lenten disciplines?

            Have we gone astray or have we persisted?

            Have we persisted in what we hoped to give up?

            Have we persisted in resisting chocolate or skipping snacks between meals?

            Have we persisted in not smoking or spending less time in front of our computers or on our phones?

            Have we persisted in what we hoped to take on?

            Have we persisted in spending a little more time in prayer or being more generous to those in need?

            Have we persisted in resisting the temptation of indifference? Have we resisted the temptation to not care, to not love, to not welcome the stranger?

            Only we can answer those questions, of course, so I won’t ask for a show of hands.

            But, I’ll say that I’ve had mixed success. My hope was to spend more quiet time in prayer and reflection, but, well, you know how it goes…

            I’ve had mixed success but give me a break because persistence is hard, right?

            Persistence is hard because we get discouraged and distracted, worn down by the burdens and pressures and obligations of life.

            Persistence is hard because sometimes we get lazy or we don’t pay attention and the next thing we know we’re biting into a delicious Three Musketeers bar, when we had hoped to give up chocolate during Lent.

            The next thing we know we’re not being as caring, loving, welcoming, or prayerful as we had hoped we’d be during this holy season.

            The next thing we know we haven’t prayed in weeks.

            Persistence is hard - but it’s so important.

            I was reminded of the importance of persistence on Monday night when, as my Facebook friends know, I went to a book signing by William Shatner, who played my childhood hero, Captain Kirk, on Star Trek.

            Shatner has written a new book about his longtime friend and co-star Leonard Nimoy, who as you’ll probably remember played Spock and who died last year.

            I got there early because I really wanted to get him to sign my copy – which he did - and so I had plenty of time to sit and start reading the book.

            In the early chapters he tells the story of the two of them starting out as young actors back in the 1950s. Persistence was required. They had to go to audition after audition. They got turned down. They took any acting job they could even when it was not such a great project. They had to take other jobs like driving a cab to pay the bills until the big break came along.

            Persistence.

            I see so much of that kind of persistence among us here at St. Paul’s.

            So many of us have had  no choice but to persist – to keep working hard, often doing jobs that we don’t particularly like – persist to keep a roof over our own heads and food in our stomach – persist to raise our children and grandchildren, giving them a shot at a better life.

            So many of us have to persist – so many days getting up early and getting home late – sometimes working two jobs and yet still just a paycheck or two away from disaster.

            With so much necessary persistence in our day to day lives, it’s not so surprising that our spiritual persistence might be a little shaky – it’s not so surprising that days or even weeks may go by without prayer – that we don’t get to church as often as we should or want  – that we’re not as caring, loving, or welcoming to those who are the hardest to care for, to love, to welcome.

            Well, the good news is that while we may sometimes go astray, God is always persistent.

            In fact, God already knows we’ll astray, but God is always persistent anyway.

            In today’s Old Testament lesson we heard the story of the covenant – the agreement – the contract – between God and Abraham, or Abram, as he was then called.

            God promises the childless Abram that his descendants will be as numerous as the stars in the sky.

            And, then there’s a weird little ritual.

            God requires Abram to gather animals, which he then butchers, cutting them in two and placing the parts side by side.

            We’re told Abram fell asleep only to wake up to see a “smoking fire pot and flaming torch” passing between these animal pieces.

            Strange, right? But it turns out that this is an ancient practice for making contracts, though normally both parties would pass between the shredded animals, symbolizing that they themselves would be cut in two should they go astray and break the contract.

            In this case, God (represented by the fire pot and torch) literally cuts a deal with Abram and his descendants - but since God knows that they – we – will not always be persistent – that we won’t always be able or willing to keep our end of the bargain, we won’t always be faithful, since God knows we’ll sometimes go astray, God, our persistent God, goes it alone.

            God is always persistent. No matter what.

            And, we Christians see God’s persistence most clearly in Jesus.

            We’re just a week and a half into Lent, but already the Church is beginning to turn its attention to Jesus completing the sacrifice of his life on the cross.

            In today’s Gospel lesson, the Pharisees warn Jesus that Herod wants to kill him.

            It’s kind of odd that the Pharisees, who are usually depicted as Jesus’ enemies, would warn him of danger.

            It’s possible, maybe even likely, that the Pharisees were hoping that Jesus would chicken out, would go astray, would give up.

            The Pharisees were hoping that Jesus would give up his mission – give into the temptation of indifference, to just care for himself and those closest to him – to give up and just head back to Galilee, back to the carpentry shop, back to a quiet, ordinary, anonymous life.

            But, no, Jesus is persistent.

            As we heard in today’s gospel lesson, persistent Jesus knows he has his work to do and he must be on his way – on his way to Jerusalem, to the cross, and beyond.

            Persistence.

            God is always persistent. No matter what.

            So, we’re about a week and a half into Lent.

            We’re persistent in lots of ways but by now, we may have gone astray in our Lenten disciplines and eaten that chocolate or not been as caring, loving, or welcoming as we hoped.

            The good news is that during Lent and always, God is persistent.

            God persistently keeps God’s end of the deal.

            God never gives up on us, persistently reaching out to us, loving us, forgiving us, challenging us, and giving us the grace we need to persist.

            God is always persistent. No matter what.

            Amen.

The Temptation of Indifference

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

February 14, 2016

Year C: The First Sunday in Lent

Deuteronomy 26:1-11

Psalm 91:1-2, 9-16

Romans 10:8b-13

Luke 4:1-13

The Temptation of Indifference

            I know we have some political junkies in the congregation who are following this, let’s say “unique,” presidential election very closely.

            And, there are lots of others of us who may not be following it so closely but are, let’s say “surprised,” by who is leading on the Republican side and who is giving the Democratic front-runner a run for her money.

            There has been a lot of speculation in the media about why Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders are doing so surprisingly well.

            They are both, obviously, very different men and very different candidates, but it seems they have both tapped into something that has been maybe just below the surface for a long time: a sense among people of losing power – a sense of powerlessness.

            Many of us feel powerless.

            We feel that we are not in control of our lives – that we are subject to vast global forces that move jobs and money all around the world – that we are governed by leaders who don’t really care what we think and want and need but only care what their big financial backers think and want and need.

            We feel powerless when we don’t get a raise for years but everything keeps getting more expensive.

            We feel powerless when we’re forced to send our kids to substandard schools.

            We feel powerless when we look for a job and don’t even get a call back.

            We feel powerless when we look at the pile of bills on our kitchen table.

            We feel powerless when we can’t afford to get the healthcare we need.

            We feel powerless when we wonder how can we ever have enough money to send our kids to college, to offer them a shot at a better life than our own.

            We feel powerless when the rich grow ever and richer and we keep falling ever farther behind.

            Yes, we feel powerless a lot.

            But, this presidential election, for better or worse, is showing that maybe we’re not so powerless after all.

            And what’s true in the political world, what’s true in our everyday lives, is also true in our spiritual lives.

            With God’s help, we’re more powerful than we think.

            Today is the First Sunday in Lent – Lent, this forty-day season when we are called not to enjoyment, as Rev. Gary reminded us in his very wise Ash Wednesday sermon, but we’re called to really look into our hearts, to really look at our lives.

            During Lent, we’re called to repentance, called to turn our lives around, with God’s help.

            We began with ashes on Wednesday, reminding us that we came from the earth and that’s where our bodies will return.

            And then today on the First Sunday in Lent, we hear the story of Satan’s forty-day temptation of Jesus in the wilderness.

            Each time, Satan tempts Jesus to abuse his power.

            Each time, Jesus is tempted to abuse his power.

            He’s tempted to show off his power, to be like a magician, by turning a stone into a loaf of bread.

            Jesus is tempted to rule the earth not as God’s Son but as Satan’s deputy.

            And, finally, Jesus is tempted to abuse his relationship with the Father by throwing himself off the Temple, testing God to save him.

            Each time Jesus is tempted to abuse his power, but, as we know, he resists these three temptations and probably many others that we don’t know about.

            At first glance, because we think we’re powerless, we might assume that the temptations of Jesus have nothing to do with us. After all, Satan doesn’t tempt us to turn stone into bread, or to rule the earth, or to throw ourselves off the Temple.

            But, we’re wrong. We’re not powerless.

            With God’s help, we’re more powerful than we think.

            With God’s help, we all have the power to take an interest in other people.

            With God’s help, we all have the power to care for others, especially the people we don’t like very much or even fear.

            With God’s help, we all have the power to love one another, especially the people who are hardest to love.

            With God’s help, we’re more powerful than we think.

            So, how does Satan tempt us, us powerful people?

            I don’t think Satan wastes his time tempting us with little stuff – you know, eating the chocolate we supposedly gave up for Lent or telling a little lie or giving a second look to someone we find attractive.

            No, Satan tempts us with something really big.

            Satan tempts us to be indifferent – to not take an interest in the lives of other people.

            Satan tempts us to be indifferent – to not care for others, especially the people we don’t like or even fear.

            Satan tempts us to be indifferent – to not love one another, especially the people who are hardest to love.

            And, maybe most dangerous of all, Satan tempts us to deny that we have any power at all – tempts us to believe that there’s no point even trying, especially when we face big obstacles, especially when our good work is greeted by ingratitude, or when our beautiful church that offers welcome and love to so many is violated by someone breaking through our locks and stealing our hard-earned offerings.

            Oh, yes, Satan tempts us to abuse our power by being indifferent – tempts us to throw up our hands and give up, to circle the wagons, to be just like everybody else and take care of our own.

            Indifference. Pope Francis has actually said forget about the chocolate and instead give up indifference during Lent and beyond.

            Indifference. It’s a real temptation.

            I know I’m tempted and I bet most of you are, too.

            But, I also know that, with God’s help, we’re more powerful than we think.

            I don’t need Donald Trump or Bernie Sanders to show me how powerful we are because I see it all the time.

            I see the way so many people’s lives have been transformed by our interest, our care, and our love.

            Power.

            I see the way people at the nursing home react joyfully when we visit each month with our simple service of prayer and song.

            Power.

            I see the way people who haven’t had anything to do with church in years find a home here, maybe not buying the whole package, maybe not able to say the whole creed without crossing their fingers, but getting a real taste of God’s love right here and now.

            Power.

            I see the way that we’re working with other congregations across our city to make a real difference providing decent shelter for the homeless, demanding better schools, and insisting on safe streets.

            Power.

            I see it in the boys learning valuable kitchen skills that will serve them well for the rest of their lives – skills that are about to provide us with a beautiful meal during coffee hour.

            Power.

            And, I see it when people come here with nowhere else to turn, looking for food, looking for a couple of bucks, looking for someone to talk to, looking for someone to care.

            Power.

            In the wilderness long ago, Jesus was tempted to abuse his power. But, despite his empty stomach and dry tongue, powerful Jesus resisted Satan’s very real temptations.

            Now, today, here at St. Paul’s, Satan tempts us powerful people.

            Satan tempts us to be indifferent – to not care, to not love, to not welcome, to not recognize our own power.

            But, despite our own exhaustion and despite our disappointments and despite our sense of violation, with God’s help we are still more powerful than we think.

            And so, with God’s help, we can resist the temptation of indifference.

            Amen.