The Days are Growing Brighter

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

February 5, 2017

Year A: The Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany

Isaiah 58:1-12

Psalm 112

1 Corinthians 2:1-16

Matthew 5:13-20

The Days are Growing Brighter

            So, last Sunday evening at around 5:00 I came into church to set up for the Last Chance Mass.

            This is a normal part of my Sunday routine but last week I realized that something had changed: there was enough natural light in here that I didn’t have to turn on the lights, at least not right away.

            Yes, it’s still cold and we have a long way to go, but the days are growing noticeably brighter – once again, the light is beginning to overcome the shadows.

            And, not a moment too soon, right?

            For some of us, the brighter days bring us physical relief.

            I know a couple of parishioners who suffer from what’s called “Seasonal Affective Disorder,” a depression that’s caused by the reduction of sunlight during the winter.

            And, even if we’re not plunged all the way into depression, this time of year can still have real effects on our bodies and our minds, leaving us feeling the blues.

            For many of us, there’s not much light when we get up in the morning and there’s not much light when we get home in the evening.

            At the same time, for many of us lately the world has seemed spiritually dark, too.

            Many of us start each day with dread or fear.

            What will be the latest news out of Washington?

            What new horror will have occurred in some seemingly God-forsaken corner of the world?

            And, many of us start each day with dread or fear about matters closer to home, closer to our hearts – worries about our health or the health of someone we love – concern about how we’re going to pay the stack of bills on the kitchen table – hopelessness about our neighborhoods, with their ruined streets stained with the blood of our young people, poorly served by decades of leaders, places where, unfortunately, gangs have all too often replaced family and church.

            You know, I talk to a lot of people and what I’ve realized is that many of us have been suffering from what I’ll call “Spiritual Affective Disorder” – a spiritual depression, a despair caused by the shadowy time in which we find ourselves living.

            But, at the same time, maybe because so many of us are down and stressed out, I’ve noticed that we’re beginning to take care better care of one another.

            I’ve noticed that, in ways large and small, we are beginning to stand up for one another, increasingly willing to defend the weak and oppressed.

            I’ve noticed that we’re beginning to do what our bishop always calls us to do – risk something big for something good.

            No, we’re not there yet – we still have a long way to go - but I’ve noticed that, once again, as always, the light is beginning to overcome the shadows!

            The days are growing brighter.

            And that light that we see is the Light of Christ shining in and through us.

            As I’ve been preparing for today’s annual parish meeting I’ve been looking back at the year just past but I’ve also been reflecting on what is now my long association with St. Paul’s, first as a parishioner and now as your rector.

            If you were here a few weeks ago, you may remember that I told the story of how Sue and I ended up in this church, walking through those same doors back there, and finding a place that would transform our lives in ways we couldn’t begin to imagine.

            But, you know, good news is meant to be shared, so after a while we began to tell some of our friends and family about the light that we had discovered here.

            Although many of these people were very familiar with Jersey City, I’d tell them about St. Paul’s, and they’d assume it was one of the other St. Paul’s in town.            

            I’d patiently tell them, “No, it’s on Duncan, by St. Dom’s” and often they’d look at me blankly – or, sometimes they would think I was talking about First Baptist Church around the corner on the Boulevard.

            They’d say, “Oh, right, the church that looks like a castle!”

            And, I’d say, no, not that one. The church around the corner on Duncan.

            The truth is our beautiful church is kind of tucked away here, easy to miss. In fact, Sue went to St. Dom’s for four years and never knew this church was here!

            This situation wasn’t anybody’s fault – lots of people worked really hard to keep this place going especially during some hard years there for a while – but thinking about how so few people knew we were here, I’m reminded of Jesus’ description of the lamp covered by the bushel basket.

            I hope – and I think – that, with God’s help, over the past few years together we have taken the basket off of our lamp and let the Light of Christ – let our light - shine not only here in our beautiful old building but out into our neighborhood, and out into our city.

            Over the past few years, with God’s help, we have shined the Light of Christ when we have worked with people all across our city in Jersey City Together to “loose the bonds of injustice” – to fight for decent schools, safe streets, and affordable housing.

            Over the past few years, with God’s help, we have shared our bread with the hungry when we’ve invited anybody and everybody to our community suppers, and the Thanksgiving feast, and as we’ve done a little better with our food pantry donations, and now as we bring a hot delicious lunch to guests at the homeless drop-in center.

            But, you know, not all bread is baked, so we’ve also fed people by offering them so much art and beauty in this place – the reverence of our worship, of course, but also concerts and exhibits and plays and readings.

            And, just yesterday a bunch of us from St. Paul’s along with friends from Grace were over at Incarnation helping to create the Lighthouse, which will provide light – and safe harbor – for people who were forced to flee their homelands and have been granted asylum here in the U.S.

            It was beautiful to see.

            My beloved friends, the days are growing brighter.

            And that light that we see is the Light of Christ shining in and through us.

            If you listened to today’s reading from the Prophet Isaiah, you may have noticed that he essentially says that if we feed the hungry, if we let our light shine, then, you know what, our light will grow even brighter and stronger!

            It’s true: the more we give, the stronger we become.

            And, that’s exactly what’s happened here at St. Paul’s.

            We’ve let our light shine and our light has grown even brighter and stronger, as longtime parishioners have taken on new ministries and responsibilities and as new people have been drawn to the light, bringing different experiences, skills, and hopes, enriching our community.

            We’ve grown stronger by giving more to support to our church – almost everybody has made a financial pledge for this year – and it’s not too late for the rest of you to get onboard.

            We’ve grown stronger by taking care of many physical plant issues, both things we’ve known about for a long time like the crumbling front stairs, and also the occasional unpleasant surprise, like an infestation of raccoons in the tower!

            The days are growing brighter.

            And that light that we see is the Light of Christ shining in and through us.

            Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think I may have mentioned to you once or twice that one of my absolute favorite things to do as a priest is to baptize people.

            And if you’ve been here for a baptism (and, I’m overjoyed to say, we had 17 of them last year!) you know that each time when I present the newly baptized with a candle, I say Jesus’ words from today’s Gospel lesson:

            “You are the light of the world. Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”

            Many of us, and a lot of people all around us, for lots of different reasons, are sad and frightened, suffering from “Spiritual Affective Disorder.”

            We still have a long way to go, but the days really are growing brighter – the days are growing brighter as winter gives way to spring - and the days are growing brighter as we allow the Light of Christ to shine in and through us.

            My prayer for the year ahead is that we’ll remember that we are the light of the world – and that we are meant to uncover the beautiful Light of Christ and shine it out there, out into the world.

            Amen.

           

           

           

            

God's Ways are Not Our Ways; God Sees Things Differently

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

January 27, 2017

Year A: The Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany

Micah 6:1-8

Psalm 15

1 Corinthians 1:18-31

Matthew 5:1-12

God’s Ways are Not Our Ways; God Sees Things Differently

            In her powerful sermon at our recent Martin Luther King service, the Rev. Sandye Wilson said a number of memorable things, but there’s one particular image that I keep returning to.

            Talking about the famous Bible story of David and Goliath, when the young David was seemingly outmatched and about to be crushed by the giant Goliath, Sandye said, “Everybody’s eyes were on Goliath, but God was watching David.”

            “Everybody’s eyes were on Goliath but, God was watching David.”

            Truth, right?

            Sandye’s insight on this familiar story is a reminder of something important – something important that we really should have learned by now but it seems we need to be reminded of, over and over:           

            God’s ways are not our ways.

            God sees things differently.

            One of the great themes of Scripture is that, over and over, God seems to delight in seeing things in people that others can’t - or choose not - to see.

            In fact, God seems to take pleasure in choosing the unlikeliest people for the most important jobs.

            Speaking of David, God chose him, the youngest son, to be king of Israel. David was such an unlikely choice that his own father, Jesse, didn’t even consider him as a possibility, instead leaving him out in the field tending the sheep.

            God’s ways are not our ways. God sees things differently.

            For that matter, God chose the people of Israel, never very powerful politically or militarily, nearly always being threatened or overrun by some more powerful country, God chose Israel as God’s people, beginning a revelation and a spiritual revolution that would spread throughout the world.

            God’s ways are not our ways. God sees things differently.

            And, God chose to come among us not as a mighty warrior, not as a king bent on building a great empire, but in and through Jesus of Nazareth, a small-town teacher and healer, born to a couple of nobodies, who managed to attract just a few not very impressive followers and died the shameful death of a criminal on a cross.

            You know, in the ancient world, they had no trouble believing in a god-man. It was the idea that this seemingly unimportant person, this failure, could be divine that they thought was ridiculous.

            God’s ways are not our ways. God sees things differently.

            Maybe St. Paul understood this truth better than anybody because his story, his experience, was so incredibly unlikely. Paul had been transformed from being a big-time persecutor of the followers of Jesus into an bold and tireless apostle who gave away his life, traveling far and wide to the gentiles, the non-Jews, telling everybody he met the Good News of Christ.

            And so Paul can write with confidence about God’s ways to the divided and troublesome church in Corinth, “…God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, things that are not, to reduce to nothing things that are…”

            God’s ways are not our ways. God sees things differently.

            Jesus expresses God’s different way of seeing things in his vision of the kingdom, what we call the Beatitudes, his downside-up vision of a world where you know who’s truly blessed?

            It’s the poor in spirit, and the mourners, and the meek, and those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.

            It’s the merciful, and the pure in heart, and the peacemakers, and the persecuted.

            In Jesus’ downside-up vision of the kingdom, somehow, amazingly, it’s the “losers” of the world who will be – who already are - truly blessed.

            God’s ways are not our ways. God sees things differently.

            Jesus’ vision must have seemed outlandish to the first people who heard it. After all, they lived in a blood-soaked, angry, and frightened land, ruled by the brutal Romans who cared only about power and wealth, led by an indifferent emperor in a faraway city.

            And, I suppose, Jesus’ downside-up vision of the kingdom sounds pretty outlandish to a lot of people today. After all, we live in a land that seems to have become so angry, so mean, so divided, and so very frightened.

            I suppose Jesus’ downside-up vision of the kingdom sounds pretty outlandish to a lot of people today as we celebrate force and fame, as we plan to build walls instead of bridges, as we mock and reject the “losers” of the world.

            But, God’s ways are not our ways. God sees things differently.

            And, you and I, we’re called to see things God’s way.

            In the beautiful words of the Prophet Micah, we’re called - actually we’re required - to “do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with God.”

            So, now more than ever, with God’s help, let’s try to see things God’s way.

            Let’s stop worshiping fame and power. Let’s stop being tossed to and fro by the latest news out of Washington. Let’s stop giving in to anger. Let’s stop being so frightened.

            Instead, let’s do justice – let’s do justice for the tenants throughout our city who are cruelly being driven out of their apartments by greedy landlords so that they can illegally jack up the rent.

            Let’s do justice for our children who go to schools where often there isn’t enough paper for the copier or for the toilet.

            Let’s do justice for our neighbors who live on blocks where it’s not safe to go out at night, who are forced to live behind bars in their own homes.

            With God’s help, let’s try to see things God’s way.

            So, let’s love kindness – let’s love kindness by not judging people who look different or think or pray differently than we do.

            Let’s love kindness by respecting everyone’s dignity, no matter where they come from or who they love or even, yes, who they voted for.

            Let’s love kindness by being kind to ourselves, by taking care of our souls, by at least sometimes turning off the ugliness and deceit that spews nonstop out of our TVs and computers and phones.

            With God’s help, let’s try to see things God’s way.

            Let’s walk humbly with our God, remembering that only God is God and that we are only dust, here for a short time, a short time when we are meant to love, serve, and forgive.

            I’m sure that God is keeping an eye on the Goliaths of our world, but I also have no doubt that God is watching us intently, - little, seemingly insignificant, us.

            God’s eyes are on us because God knows that, just like David, we’re more powerful than we think.

            God is giving us the strength to make Jesus’ downside-up vision a reality, the strength to make our ways God’s ways, the strength to see things the way God sees them.

            The rest is up to us.

            Amen.

           

           

           

           

            

Whom Then Shall We Fear?

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

January 22, 2017

Year A: The Third Sunday after the Epiphany

Isaiah 9:1-4

Psalm 27:1, 5-13

1 Corinthians 1:10-18

Matthew 4:12-23

Whom Then Shall We Fear?

            Well, that was quite a week, huh?

            And now, here we are.

            The dramatic transition from one administration to another got me thinking about how every once in a while some historians will rank US presidents. Who have been our best presidents? Who’s been the worst? And, who’s somewhere in the middle?

            It’s a fun and interesting exercise, though also usually pretty predictable.

            Most historians rank Lincoln as our greatest president, with Franklin Roosevelt and George Washington usually with him in the top tier.

            The bottom is usually predictable, too, but I won’t go into that - since I don’t want to upset… all of the James Buchanan fans out there.

            It’s fun and interesting to rank the presidents, but, the truth is that even our greatest presidents have been flawed human beings, right?

            George Washington, the “Father of Our Country,” was one of the biggest slave-owners of his day.

            Abraham Lincoln, the “Great Emancipator,” was bigoted like just about every white person of his time, and frequently told racist jokes.

            And Franklin Roosevelt, who led the battle against the great evil of Fascism, chose to do little or nothing to rescue or welcome the Jews who were being annihilated by Hitler.

            Yes, all of our presidents have been flawed human beings, though, it has to be said, some have been more flawed than others!

            Well, in today’s Old Testament lesson, the Prophet Isaiah offers a beautiful and profound message of hope, declaring,

            “There will be no gloom for those in anguish.”

            And, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness – on them light has shined.”

            It seems that Isaiah is writing about either the birth or the rise to power of a new king of Judah, and most scholars think he’s writing about King Hezekiah who ruled back around the year 700 B.C.

            And, it’s true that Hezekiah is remembered as an exceptionally righteous and faithful king, but, no surprise, he also was a flawed human being who made mistakes, who got Judah into a disastrous war with the much more powerful Assyrian Empire.

            Later, some will remember him up as a great leader, while others will blame him for setting the stage for more war, defeat, and exile.

            But, many centuries later the early Christians will read Isaiah’s words, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness – on them light has shined,” - the early Christians read those words and they won’t think about Hezekiah or some other human king.

            No, when they hear Isaiah’s words, when they reflect on light in the darkness, they think: Jesus.

            We followers of Jesus have seen a great light – it’s the Great Light we can see each time we come here and listen to God’s Word, each time we extend a hand in peace or forgiveness – each time we wash a brother or sister in the Baptism water, and each time take the Body and Blood of Christ into our bodies and into our souls.

            We’ve seen a great light – it’s the Great Light we can see each time we give to somebody who can never pay us back, the Great Light we can see each time we love someone who the world considers unlovable, the Great Light we see each time we unite to resist and fight cruelty and injustice, sometimes while wearing pink hats.

            Yes, we have seen a great light.

            So, together with the psalmist, we can say:

            “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom then shall I fear?”

            Whom then shall we fear?

            One of the things I’ve been thinking about a lot lately is how most of the people of the Bible lived during terrible times, times of bloody warfare, brutal occupation, relentless persecution, terrifying exile.

            That gloom is often in the background, but in today’s Gospel lesson, we’re reminded that Jesus entered a world where a holy man like John the Baptist could be arrested and later brutally executed – which reminds us that Jesus and most of his first followers will also die violently.

            Yes, most of the people of the Old and New Testaments lived during terrible times, times when fear and death were all around, and yet, even in the midst of all that pain and sorrow, they were so often still able to see the light – able to put their trust in God.

            Now, being human, of course, our ancestors in faith didn’t see and trust perfectly.

            The Bible is full of stories of Israel straying from God, right?

            Jesus’ first disciples were an often faithless and unreliable lot, right?

            And, as we heard in today’s second lesson, in places like the diverse Greek port city of Corinth, there were already divisions in the early church, with the followers of Jesus split into factions, identifying with various apostles and teachers, some following Paul, some following Apollos, some following Cephas, who was Peter.

            And yet, despite all of those flaws and all of those mistakes, through the centuries the people of faith held on, the people of God saw the Great Light shining.

            “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom then shall I fear?”

            Whom then shall we fear?

            So, here we are.

            In our lives, and maybe even just this past week, we’ve experienced fear, anguish and gloom, haven’t we?

            We’ve walked in darkness, haven’t we?

            We’ve lived in – and maybe are living in - a land of shadows, right?

            Yet, even in, especially in, a time of anxiety and outright fear, that same Great Light is shining, right here, right now.

            You know, Paul’s description of the divided churches in Corinth reminds me of Jersey City, another diverse port city, another city where the church is divided into so many different factions, following so many different teachers and leaders.

            Whenever I walk around the city, I’m struck by just how many churches there are, so much competition! There are so many churches, everything from grand old monuments that look like they were built in medieval Europe to modest storefronts with shuttered gates.

            These divisions are truly sad and wasteful, but, have you noticed what’s been happening for the past couple of years?

            Have you noticed what’s been happening here in Jersey City, especially lately?

            First of all, even before the election, throughout our city, clergy and lay people, Jews, Christians, and Muslims and others, have been setting aside our differences and have begun to see more clearly our common humanity, our truest identity as beloved children of God, and through Jersey City Together and in other ways, we’ve begun to work as one for the common good.

            And, secondly, throughout our city, we Christians, so long divided into our little competing and mistrustful factions and churches, have finally remembered that we’re not saved by our church or by our denomination. 

            We’ve finally remembered that our truest identity isn’t Episcopal or Catholic or Lutheran or Baptist or whatever, but we are first of all Christians, disciples of Jesus, followers of the One who shines God’s light most brightly.

            One example: you may not have noticed it, but at our rockin’ Martin Luther King service on Sunday night, there were a lot of clergy and lay people from other churches and denominations here – some were maybe a little unfamiliar with - and puzzled by - our way of doing things, but nevertheless they were here, praying and singing with us, and many even receiving communion with us.

            That night, we were, as St. Paul writes, “united in the same mind and the same purpose.”

            It was beautiful. It was the way things are meant to be.

            We were – and, more and more often, are - one.

            So, here we are.

            Just like our ancestors in faith, just like John the Baptist and just like Jesus himself, we may find ourselves walking in the shadows, living during gloomy, dangerous, frightening, and difficult times.

            But, you and I, we’ve seen the light – and the light wasn’t flawed Hezekiah or flawed Lincoln and the light wasn’t flawed Obama and it isn’t flawed Trump.

            No, you and I, we’ve seen the light, we’ve seen the Great Light of Christ shining, right here and now.

            And, so, together, we Christians are called to put our trust in God, to hold on, to unite, to pray, to serve, to work, to fight for justice, and, most of all, to love – to let God’s Great Light shine through us.

            “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom then shall I fear?”

            Whom then shall we fear?

            Nobody.

            Amen.

"Come and See" - The Amazing Power of Invitation

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

January 15, 2017

Year A: The Second Sunday after the Epiphany

Isaiah 49:1-7

Psalm 40:1-12

1 Corinthians 1:1-9

John 1:29-42

“Come and See” – the Amazing Power of Invitation

            Many of you know that long before I became your Rector, my wife Sue and I were parishioners here at St. Paul’s.

            And, whenever I think about the unexpected turn of events that have brought us to this point, I’m reminded of the amazing power of invitation.

            It was about seventeen years ago, and Sue and I had been married for a few years and were living in our little house over on Highland Avenue, just a few blocks from here.

            She was working corporate and I was teaching history at St. Peter’s Prep.

            At Prep, I got plenty of religion and church baked right into my job, but after a while I recognized that this was something important that was missing from Sue’s and my life together. So, I pitched the idea that we should go to church, and, I thought, the beginning of the church year, the First Sunday of Advent, would be a perfect day to start.

            Not really into it, but being a good sport, Sue agreed, and that Saturday night we went to Mass at one of our local Catholic churches, which will remain nameless.

            It was a pretty dismal experience for both of us.

            Knowing what I know now, 2017 me would tell 1999 me that it was just one service and everybody has an off day and I shouldn’t judge a whole church by one seemingly lifeless and irrelevant experience.

            But, that’s what we did. We decided this was a mistake, not for us, and we would never return.

            The following week, I told this story in the faculty room, probably making it sound worse than it really was to get some laughs from my colleagues.

            One of my colleagues laughing along with everyone else was a math teacher named Patty Nickerson, and once things calmed down a bit she said very quietly, “You should come to my church someday.”

            And that church was a little Episcopal church on Duncan Avenue.

            Somehow, I convinced Sue to give church another shot. I remember saying that, if nothing else, we’d get to see the inside of this interesting-looking church.

            So, on the Second Sunday of Advent, Sue and I walked over from our house and walked through those doors. And, our lives were transformed in ways we certainly could not have possibly imagined.

            As I’ve told you before – and like many of you the first time you came here – we were stunned by the diversity of the congregation, bowled over by the peace, overwhelmed by all of these different kinds of people who seemed genuinely happy to see each other, overjoyed to just be together.

            It felt like a dream come true, not my dream, but Martin’s dream of us living as beloved brothers and sisters, which, of course, is really Jesus’ dream of the kingdom of God.

            You old-timers who remember Patty Nickerson remember that she’s a quiet person, no street corner evangelist waving a Bible and shouting at people to repent and be saved, yet that day in the faculty room, I believe she allowed Jesus to speak through her to me.

            “You should come to my church some day.”

            As Jesus says to Andrew and the other disciple in today’s gospel lesson, “Come and see.”

            Come and see: the amazing power of invitation.

            That first Sunday at St. Paul’s we met someone who would transform our lives and become not just our priest, but a very close friend.

            He approached us during the peace, stretched out his hand, and said, “I’m Dave. Welcome to St. Paul’s.”

            Now, just like a lot of you, we didn’t dive into life at St. Paul’s right away.

            In fact, in those early weeks we skipped coffee hour. It seemed too scary and awkward to socialize with people we didn’t know.

            We were still just testing the waters.

            So, for those first Sundays we would leave through the front door, sometimes catching Fr. Hamilton’s eye, who stood where I stand today after the service. He looked sort of disappointed but in fact he was waiting for the right moment.

            When that right moment came, Fr. Hamilton did something unexpected, at least to us: he invited himself over to our house!

            We both probably looked stunned, so, in his very casual way, he said something like, “I’ll come over, we’ll talk about the church, get to know each other, but don’t go to any trouble.”

            Well, we were in a panic! The priest is coming over! So, we spent hours cleaning the house from top to bottom. Sue baked a cake.

            And, then the big night came and he came over and we told our stories and talked and laughed just like the good friends that we were fast becoming.

            After that, we started going to coffee hour, became pledging members, and one thing led to another and here we are together today.

            Jesus is always extending an invitation to us – and sometimes Jesus just invites himself over.

            As Jesus says to Andrew and the other disciple in today’s gospel lesson, “Come and see.”

            Come and see: the amazing power of invitation.

            Many of you could tell stories not so different from ours. I’ve heard you tell them, how a neighbor or a friend invited you to come check out St. Paul’s, to come to church or to a musical event or the community supper, whatever.

            Thanks to the amazing power of invitation, many of you have been enriched by discovering Jesus here.

            Your lives have been transformed by the power of God working in and through us, in and through this beautiful old place.

            As Dave Hamilton used to say, “I don’t have to believe it. I’ve seen it.”

            But, you know, I’ve learned a lot standing outside St. Paul’s for coming up on almost four years now.

            I’ve learned that people don’t believe in, or even know about, Martin’s dream, Jesus’s dream, of a beloved community.

            I’ve learned that, despite all our signs and our open door and all of our social media, despite all of that, people don’t know that they’re invited.

            I’ve learned that a surprisingly large number of people think they’re not invited because of who or what they are.

            I’ve learned that more people than you’d think worry that they’re not dressed the right way, or they don’t know the right words to say or the right way to behave in church.

            I’ve learned that a lot of people think they’ve been away for so long that they’re no longer welcome, that it’s just been too long and they’re no longer invited.

            I’ve learned that a lot of people have been hurt by the church, in some cases it’s been physical hurt but in even more cases it’s been emotional and even theological hurt, the threat that if you don’t believe the right things all the time that somehow you’re beyond God’s love and care.

            Well, we are all called to be like Patty Nickerson and allow Christ to speak through us, each in our own way, quietly invite people over:

            “You should come to my church some day.”

            We are called to be like Dave Hamilton and allow Christ to speak through us, by extending our hand in welcome:

            “I’m Dave. Welcome to St. Paul’s.”

            “I’m Tom. Welcome to St. Paul’s.”

            And, yes, in some cases, we may be called to just invite ourselves over, to let people know that we care about them and want to get to know them, that they are welcome to be part of the dream come true.

            You know, life is hard, and, unfortunately, there’s a good chance that for many of us life is about to get even harder.

            So, maybe more than ever, we are called to say, we need to let Christ say through us,

            “Come and see.”

            The amazing power of invitation.

            Amen.

            

Beloved

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

January 8, 2017

Year A: The First Sunday after the Epiphany – the Baptism of Our Lord

Isaiah 42:1-9

Psalm 29

Acts 10:34-43

Matthew 3:13-17

Beloved

            Well, Happy New Year, everybody!

            I know that a lot of us were happy to see the end of the old year, a year that for our country and the world was stained by what felt like more than the usual amount of anger, hatred, cruelty, and violence – a year that for many of us personally was marred by worries about finances and health – a year that was shadowed by deep misgivings about the future.

            But, last week, with a mix of relief, fear, and hope, we turned the calendar page, over a million (obviously crazy) people gathered in Times Square for the ball-drop, and at least some of us came up with some New Year’s resolutions.

            It’s been fun seeing some people posting their resolutions on social media, listing their determination to be kinder, to quit smoking or to cut back on drinking, to take better care of their mental and physical well-being.

            With a mix of annoyance and amusement, some regular gym-goers have reported bigger crowds than usual, as people try to fulfill their resolutions, or just try to shed those extra holiday pounds.

            And, some of those regular gym-goers have cynically said they can’t wait until next month when the crowds will inevitably thin, as people settle back into their usual patterns, our usual lifestyle.

            Since most of us don’t really follow through on them, it is easy to be cynical about New Year’s resolutions, but there’s certainly nothing wrong with taking an inventory of what we need to work on physically, mentally, and even spiritually.

            There is, however, a big spiritual danger with these resolutions, and it’s a danger that was pointed out last week by a prominent Lutheran pastor named Nadia Bolz-Weber, who wrote:

            “Gentle reminder: nothing you resolve to change about yourself will make you more worthy of being loved.”

            This is so important: “…nothing you resolve to change about yourself will make you more worthy of being loved.”

            You know, it’s risky to say anything is impossible for God, but, we’re all friends here so I’ll say it, it is impossible for God to love us any more than God already loves us.

            God’s love for us is perfect and complete.

            God’s love for us is perfect and complete whether we’re mean or kind, cheap or generous, hateful or loving, whether we smoke or if drink too much, whether we flunk out of school or have a perfect report card, whether we go to church every Sunday or choose to sleep in more often than not, whether we’re dead broke or doing just fine, whether we carry around some extra pounds or go to the gym religiously, pardon the expression.

            Nothing we do or don’t do can make us more worthy of being loved because God’s love for us is already perfect and complete.

            We are beloved.

            It’s the start of a new year and it’s also the start of a new church season.

            On Friday we celebrated the Feast of the Epiphany, epiphany, a word meaning “manifestation.”

            We remembered the story in the Gospel of Matthew of the wise men from the East traveling to pay homage to the newborn king of Israel by presenting him with gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh – not such great gifts for a baby, I guess, but appropriate for a king.

            It’s an epiphany – by telling this story Matthew makes the point that Jesus is a gift not just for the people of Israel, but a gift for non-Jews, for the gentiles, for the whole world, for us.

            If you remember the story, after presenting their gifts, the Magi head back home to avoid Herod. And then, Joseph is told in a dream that the furious, frightened and rampaging Herod is looking to kill the newborn king, so he should take his wife and the child to safety in Egypt  - which he did and where the family stayed for a time until the coast was clear and they could return to Israel, and live in Galilee, in the town of Nazareth.

            And, that’s it. That’s all Matthew tells us about the childhood of Jesus. And, he’s completely silent on the young adulthood of Jesus, those many years of becoming a person, the years of Jesus figuring out who and what he was, years that are lost to us.

            Instead, Matthew jumps ahead and picks up the story with what we heard today, with Jesus coming from Galilee to be baptized by John in the Jordan.

            And, we’re told that, just as Jesus came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and then there were words from heaven:

            “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

            It’s another epiphany, a manifestation maybe for the other people at the Jordan that day but almost certainly an epiphany for Jesus who now knows for sure that he is the Beloved.

            Jesus is beloved.

            But, here’s the thing, and it’s easy to miss because we are, after all talking about Jesus: notice that Jesus hasn’t begun his public ministry, yet.

            Since we’re talking about Jesus, I assume that, during those long lost years of childhood and young adulthood in Nazareth, Jesus was loving and was faithful, maybe so loving and faithful that he stood out from the other boys and men in town, but maybe not. We don’t know.

            But, before Jesus begins his real work, before he takes up his ministry, before he has done any of the amazing things that we remember, before he gives away his life, before all of that, God tells him that he is beloved.

            Jesus is the Beloved. Jesus is beloved.

            And now, learning in the water of baptism that he is beloved, Jesus has the strength and courage to get started, to begin his work of resisting temptation, of teaching and healing, of loving the hard to love, of challenging those in authority, of giving away his life in service to others.

            And, the same is true for us.

            As Archbishop Desmond Tutu has written, “God loves me as I am to help me become all that I have it in me to become, and when I realize the deep love God has for me, I will strive for love’s sake to do what pleases my Lover.”

            It’s a new year and a new season and some of us have made resolutions – and maybe some of us are still keeping those resolutions!

            But, no matter if we never step foot in a gym or if we start smoking again, no matter what we do or don’t do, in the water of Baptism we know, just like Jesus, we know that God’s love for us is perfect and complete.

            We are beloved.

            And, if we’re open to that love, then we really can become all that we have it in us to become.

            If we’re open to God’s love, then we really can continue the work of Jesus, really can please God by resisting temptation, by teaching and healing, by loving the hard to love, by challenging those in authority, by giving away our lives in service to others.

            Yes, it’s a new year – and, just like last year, and just like always, we are beloved.

            Amen.

             

No Finish Line for the Light of Christ

St. Paul’s Church in Bergen, Jersey City

December 25, 2016

Christmas Day

Isaiah 52:7-10

Psalm 98

Hebrews 1:1-12

John 1:1-14

No Finish Line for the Light of Christ

            Merry Christmas!

            We made it!

            Merry Christmas!

            I say we made it because this morning usually feels to me like we’ve reached the finish line after running a marathon – and it definitely feels like that to me this year - and I bet a lot of you feel the same way.

            A lot of hard work went into preparing for our beautiful services last night. 

            Gail spent many hours rehearsing with the choirs and everybody in our Christmas pageant.

            Susan had many more bulletins to prepare and Vanessa went into overdrive to make sure that this place looked its best.

            The altar guild has had to work overtime polishing and refilling and ironing and all the rest that goes into making our worship beautiful.

            Last Sunday a bunch of parishioners spent a couple of hours greening the church, making this space even more attractive than usual.

            It’s a lot of work.

            And, so many people have spent so much time shopping and wrapping and cooking and all the other stuff that goes into making a nice holiday for family and friends.

            In fact, I’ve learned to not schedule special programs and events during Advent because lots of people are pretty much overwhelmed, overwhelmed with holiday preparations on top of all of our other everyday responsibilities and worries and sorrows.

            On top of that, for some of us this is a particularly hard time, a time when we’re aware of who and what we’ve lost: loved ones who have died, broken relationships, our health, our employment and financial security, our sense of meaning and purpose.

            And, as we’ve been preparing for Christmas, the world has also been reflecting on the year that is almost finished, a year that many will be happy to see go, a year when we learned just how bitterly divided we are, when we heard and saw things in our national life that most of us never could have predicted or even imagined, when we discovered that we don’t understand each other, don’t know each other, don’t like each other and definitely don’t love each other.

            So, this morning it definitely feels to me at least like we’ve reached the finish line.

            We made it!

            Merry Christmas!

            As we do every Christmas morning, this morning we heard the Christmas story according to the Gospel of John.

            John doesn’t tell us anything about no room at the inn or angels appearing to shepherds or about the newborn baby placed in a manger.

            No, John takes us back to…

            “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”

            Just like the story of Mary and Joseph and shepherds and sheep and “wise ones” that we saw retold in the pageant last night, John’s cosmic Christmas story never loses its power and beauty, no matter how many times we hear it.

            But, this year in particular what I’ve been thinking about is how Mary and Joseph and Jesus and the shepherds all of the other New Testament people lived during a terrible, terrible time – lived in a blood-soaked land ruled by a brutal empire.

            I’ve been thinking about how all four of the gospels were written during terrible times, when the Jewish people were under attack and seemed to lose just about everything, including the Temple itself, the center of their universe.

            And, you know, the opening of John’s Gospel that we heard this morning, what’s called the Prologue, was probably one of the last parts of the gospel to be written, most likely in the early Second Century.

            By that time, the Jewish people and the earliest Christians had endured so much suffering, so much loss, so much bitter division, and so much fear, and yet after all of that, the Evangelist can write the good news, the best news of all, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”

            The light shines in the darkness and the darkness does not – cannot -overcome it.

            There is no finish line for the Light of Christ.

            The world did its worst to Jesus, but on the first Easter God raised him from the dead.

            The world did its worst to the people of Israel and to the early Christians and yet they remembered and retold and passed on their stories, trusting in God and being the light in a very dark world.

            The light shines in the darkness and the darkness does not – cannot -overcome it.

            So, after everything we’ve been through it may feel like we’re at the end of a marathon, out of steam, barely crawling to the finish line.

            It may feel that way, but, of course, it’s not the finish line.

            There is a new year ahead, which, no doubt, will be filled with challenges and opportunities, losses and blessings, sorrows and joys.

            Our marathon, our journey together, continues.

            So, it’s very good news that there’s no finish line for the Light of Christ.

            There’s no finish line for God’s love.

            So, my prayer is that, first, we’ll all get some rest, but then as we begin the Twelve Days of Christmas, we will open our hearts even wider to God’s love.

            My prayer is that as we begin a new year, we will allow the Light of Christ to shine in and through us, allow the Light to shine in and through us as we welcome absolutely everybody, as we feed the hungry, as we stand up for those who are being picked on, as we refuse to hate, as we give away more of ourselves in loving service to those in need.

            It’s Christmas.

            We made it!

            God is with us.

            The light shines in the darkness and the darkness does not – cannot -overcome it.

            There’s no finish line for the Light of Christ.

            There’s no finish line for God’s love.

            And, that is something to celebrate.

            Merry Christmas to you all!           

           

           

           

           

                       

           

            

"We Belong to Each Other"

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

December 24, 2016

Christmas Eve

Isaiah 9:2-7

Psalm 97

Titus 3:4-7

Luke 2:1-20

“We Belong to Each Other”

            Merry Christmas!

            It is so good to be here, so good to see the church looking so beautiful, so good to hear all of this fantastic music, so good to hear the Christmas story, a story of God with us in and through a newborn child, a story that, no matter how many times we hear it, still captures our imaginations and moves our hearts.

            It is so good to be together.

            Over the past few weeks, as I’ve prepared for Christmas, I’ve been reflecting on how Jesus was born into community.

            At the very start, as we heard tonight, this community was tiny.

            At first, Jesus’ community was just two people, Mary and Joseph, two seemingly ordinary people, a Jewish man and woman living in a blood-soaked land ruled by a mighty and brutal empire, two people swept up into the events of their day, driven from their home, at least for a time, because of the whims of a faraway emperor.

            At first, Jesus’ community was just two people, Mary and Joseph, two seemingly ordinary people, unable to provide proper shelter for their newborn child, forced to place the precious baby in a manger, the pretty word we say for a feeding trough used by animals.

            At first, Jesus’ community was just two people, Mary and Joseph, who were faithful enough and brave enough to trust God’s dream, and welcome Jesus into the world.

            At first Jesus’ community was small, but it didn’t stay small for long.

            As we were reminded in tonight’s gospel reading, shepherds visited the newborn Jesus, surrounding him from the start with hardworking and seemingly ordinary people who were open to God’s surprises.

            And then, Jesus grew up as part of a community in Nazareth, a small town where life was hard and, by necessity, people had to look out for each other.

            It was a place where the rhythm of life was shaped by the seasons and the religious calendar, shaped by hearing God’s Word in the synagogue, shaped by the desire to keep God’s Law with great faithfulness.

            Jesus was born into community – and grew up in community.

            And then, later, he left home and took up his ministry, preaching peace, healing the sick, offering love to the unloved, and proclaiming that the kingdom of God had come near.

            You know, for some reason, many of us tend to think of Jesus as a loner, striking out on his own, spending a lot of time off by himself, deep in prayer with his Father.

            But, while the gospels do tell us that Jesus was a man of prayer, the reality is that Jesus spent the years of his ministry building and leading community.

            Jesus spent the years of his ministry surrounded by people, welcoming all kinds of people, attracting a ragtag group of followers who wanted to spend time with Jesus because he had Good News, because he was Good News, a bunch of fishermen and tax collectors and women and even the occasional Pharisee who all enjoyed eating and drinking with Jesus, listening to his stories - a community that just loved being with Jesus, even when they didn’t understand him so much.

            Jesus built community, lived in community, a community that was open to all.

            Unfortunately, at what seemed like the end of the story, the community pretty much failed Jesus, betraying, abandoning, and denying him.

            But, at the first Easter, the Jesus community reassembled – and has been reassembling and growing ever since, telling and retelling his stories, gathering around the table, reunited with the Risen Jesus in the bread and the wine.

            Jesus our brother was born into community, grew up in community, built community, lived in community, and lives on in community, right here and right now.

            And, of course! Of course, because this is what we’re made for. It’s how we’re built.

            We are meant to live in community, in community with each other, in community with Jesus.

            It is so good to be together.

            But, you know, today many of us seem to have forgotten this, retreating into our own little worlds, where only we can hear the music streaming from our headphones, where only we can see the words and images on our screens, where we don’t really talk or listen to each other, where we spend our time only with people who live and look and think like us.

            We’ve retreated into our own little worlds and so, no surprise, we don’t really know each other anymore.

            And, predictably, since we don’t know each other anymore, we’ve become frightened of each other, assumed the worst about each other, grown to resent and, yes, sometimes, even hate each other.

            Out in our country and in the world, the shadows have grown dark, and fear, fury, and violence are on the loose.

            We’ve lost our way.

            All of this reminds me of a quote from Mother Teresa of Calcutta who famously said, “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”

            “We have forgotten that we belong to each other.”

            So, after a year of bitterness, anger, and division, and now as we face an uncertain future, maybe this Christmas can be a reminder that we belong to God, and we belong to each other.

            Maybe this Christmas can be the start of a return to community.

            Maybe this Christmas can be the start, maybe just a small start, but the start of a return to community, community where we look out for each other, where we enjoy each other’s company, where we hear each other’s music, where we actually listen and talk to people who see things differently, even if that means we agree to disagree.

            Maybe this Christmas really can be the start of a return to community, community where we rediscover what we know in our hearts: that we are meant for each other – a return to community where we rediscover God, who’s been there, been here, all along.

            Maybe this Christmas really can be the start of a return to community – community, where, like Mary and Joseph long ago, we love Jesus by caring for the weakest and most defenseless, by giving to people who can’t pay us back.

            Let’s return to community, because as Christmas reminds us:

            Jesus is born in community.

            We belong to each other.

            And, it is so good to be together.

            Merry Christmas to you all!

            Amen.