No Shortcuts

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

March 10, 2019

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

No Shortcuts

            One of the advantages to living and working where I have spent much of my life is that I usually know the fastest ways to get around.

            For the most part, I know these streets and neighborhoods pretty well.

            I remember a couple of years ago I gave my father a ride somewhere here in town and at one point as I was cutting down side streets he turned to me and said, “You’re like a cab driver.”

            I don’t want to brag, but it’s kind of true!

            But, it wasn’t always so.

            Almost twelve years ago when I first started working at Grace Church in Madison I literally (and maybe figuratively too!) had no idea where I was going.

            It was a totally unfamiliar place and so, especially during the early days, whenever I needed to drive anywhere I would look up the address on Mapquest and print out the directions and place them on the passenger seat next to me.

            Sometimes if the route was particularly tricky I would summarize the directions on a post-it and stick it on the steering wheel.

            So there I would be driving around the suburbs, glancing down at the seat next to me or at my little post-it (which would sometimes fall off) – it’s amazing that I didn’t get into accident, though I made more wrong turns than I care to admit.

            At some point Sue suggested I get a GPS and, as usual, I was reluctant to have yet another gadget, some new piece of technology, in my life. But, I was also tired of getting lost so I went along with it.

            Having this little screen and its disembodied voice in the car with me took some getting used to and especially in those early days the technology was imperfect, sometimes taking me on roundabout routes or even in circles and also sometimes the GPS would be a second or two late, causing me to miss a turn – and I’d hear the robotic voice say with what sounded like just a hint of annoyance,
            RECALCULATING.

            But, over time the technology has improved so much and now I don’t even use a GPS device. I just open an app on my phone, and away we go – and now it even tells me which lane to be in – and, what’s my favorite feature, it even suggests shortcuts.

            SAVE FOUR MINUTES BY TAKING THE NEXT EXIT.

            Yes! Save four minutes! That feels like hitting the jackpot – what a joy to avoid some traffic and arrive at my destination a whole four minutes early!

            Seriously, shortcuts really are great when we are driving from point A to point B.

            But…when it comes to our spiritual life – when it comes to the Way of Jesus – shortcuts are in fact very dangerous temptations.

            As we do every year on the First Sunday in Lent, today we heard the story of Jesus’ forty days in the wilderness – forty days of temptation by the devil.

            We’re told three of the temptations that the devil offered to Jesus:

            “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become bread.”

            “Worship me and I will give you all the glory and the authority in the world.”

            “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from the pinnacle of the Temple and let the angels save you, revealing to everyone your true identity.”

            You know, it’s kind of surprising, but when you stop and really look at these temptations you notice that there’s nothing bad about the ultimate outcomes.

            Bread is good, especially for someone starving in the wilderness.

            The world really would be a much better place if Jesus were given all glory and authority.

            And, wouldn’t it really be something to see Jesus caught by angels, proving that he is the beloved Son of God?

            There’s nothing bad about any of these temptations except that they are shortcuts – and when it comes to our spiritual life – when it comes to the Way of Christ – shortcuts don’t ever really work – shortcuts are dangerous - they wouldn’t get Jesus to his ultimate destination - and they won’t get us to where God wants us to be, either.

            The shortcut would be Jesus magically turning stones into bread, but the way of life is all of us giving away our bread and fish – sharing what we have – and Jesus taking those gifts, blessing those gifts, and making more than enough for everybody – making more than we could have ever imagined.

            The shortcut would be doing the wrong thing in order to achieve worldly power but the way of life is Jesus showing that true kingship, true leadership, isn’t selling your soul, isn’t lording it over other people, but is instead giving away your life in loving service.

            The shortcut would be some dramatic display of divine power – like jumping off the temple and being saved by angels, but the way of life is Jesus nailed to a tree, showing us more clearly than we could have ever imagined how much God loves us – showing us most clearly that even when we do the worst thing imaginable – even when we kill the Blameless One - God still doesn’t give up on us and, in the end, love defeats even death itself.

            If Jesus had taken these shortcuts we would have never made it back to the garden, never made it to the empty tomb, never made it to where the Risen Christ reveals himself to Mary Magdalene, and to us.

            Unfortunately, the temptation to take shortcuts is still very real for us Christians today.

            And that’s especially true during this holy season of Lent.

            There’s the always popular shortcut of living pretty much like so many people out in the world – looking out for our selves and our own and turning away from those who are suffering.

There’s the shortcut of loving and being kind to the people we love and like, but being mean and unwelcoming to those who are different or who we don’t like or who we don’t know.

There’s the shortcut of showing up here for communion and community just from time to time or just when we feel like it or just when it’s convenient.

There’s the shortcut of giving away a little bit but never really giving so much of ourselves and our resources that it hurts – that it causes us to sacrifice something we really like or want.

Taking care of our selves and our families - and saving our time and our resources - are all good things, right?

And, the truth is nobody would blame us for taking these shortcuts – look at all the time and energy and money and even love we would save!

But, for us these shortcuts are dangerous temptations because they won’t get us to our ultimate destination – won’t get us to where God wants us to be.

So, this Lent, I challenge myself and I invite you to take the long way.

Let’s walk together the Way of the Cross – let’s walk together the Way of Life – let’s pray and let’s sacrifice and let’s give.

It wasn’t easy for Jesus and it won’t be easy for us, but together we’ll reach our beautiful destination – an Easter that’s not just pretty flowers and tasty chocolate and fancy hats – but an Easter that is truly new life.

No shortcuts.

Amen.

           

           

            

Ora Et Labora

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

March 3, 2019

Year C: The Last Sunday after the Epiphany

Exodus 34:29-35

Psalm 99

2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2

Luke 9:28-43a

Ora Et Labora

            Some of you know that our new bishop, The Rt. Rev. Carlye Hughes, has been spending a lot of time getting to know the people of her new diocese and allowing us to get acquainted with her and her vision for our church.

            There have been several popular “Breaking Bread with the Bishop” events with more to come, and she has also been meeting individually with each member of the clergy.

            She came down to Jersey City a few months ago, giving me a strong incentive to finally clean my office – though to look at it now you’d never know!

            It was a relaxed conversation that lasted for more than an hour.

            She asked me about my background and how things were going here.

            She asked what role I saw myself playing in the diocese.

            And then she asked about my self-care, which, unfortunately, is not always my strong suit.

            But, I was able to tell her about my long early morning daily walks in the good weather – and I was able to tell her about the retreat I made last May, fulfilling a longtime dream of visiting the Abbey of Gethsemani in Kentucky.

            I was feeling pretty self-satisfied about these examples of superb self-care, but then she said something like, “OK, that was last year. How about this year? Have you scheduled your next retreat?”

            I stammered a little bit…um…well…uh…no – because to be honest I had thought about last year’s retreat as checking off an important box in my life, not necessarily as something that should be an annual event.

            Anyway, after our meeting I did book a retreat for this year, this time not as far away as Kentucky, but at another monastery in Upstate New York – and I’m already looking forward to it very much.

            If you know anything about monks and monasteries you know that the twin pillars of their lives are what is called in Latin, “Ora et Labora.”

            Prayer and work.

            In the case of the monks I visited in Kentucky, they spend their days and their nights gathering frequently in their chapel for prayer – eight different services every weekday – the first at 3:15 in the morning and the last at 7:30 at night.

So, monks get to bed early.

And the monks spend the rest of their time working to keep up the monastery and especially producing the products they sell to pay the bills, which in the case of the monastery in Kentucky includes making chocolate fudge.

            So, on top of the natural beauty and holiness of that place, there’s also the smell of chocolate wafting through the air.

            Not bad at all!

            Ora et Labora.

            Prayer and work.

            We tend to think of prayer and work as two different things, but the idea for the monks – and for us - is that over time prayer and work get woven together so that eventually you can no longer tell where one begins and the other ends.

            Prayer and work and work and prayer.

            Among other things, Jesus was very much a man of prayer.

            The Gospels remember him praying while surrounded by his disciples and other people and they also record him going off by himself for a while, climbing up a mountain, to spend some time in prayer.

            But, as the author of our Lenten book says, the mountains of Israel aren’t all that tall – Jesus doesn’t go very far – and, maybe to his disappointment, he’s usually found pretty easily by the people who go looking for him.

            So, in today’s gospel lesson, Jesus and his closest disciples – Peter, James, and John, went up on the mountain to pray – and there they have a most powerful spiritual experience – a glimpse of Easter – a taste of Resurrection - as the face of Jesus is transformed and his clothes are dazzling white.

            And then, as if that weren’t enough, Moses and Elijah appear – two figures from Israel’s past - figures who were believed to have been taken up into heaven.

            No surprise, Peter doesn’t want this moment to end and so he suggests that they build dwellings for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah – but before Jesus can respond to that the cloud appears and they hear the voice from heaven:

            “This is my Son, my Chosen; Listen to him!”

            After all of this, after what we call the Transfiguration, there are no words – and notice there’s no further discussion about Peter’s suggestion of staying on the mountain.

            No, instead, Jesus and his friends come back down off of the mountain, back to the large crowd gathered and waiting - and Jesus gets right back to work.

            Prayer and work and work and prayer.

            There’s yet another desperate parent – a father – who begs Jesus to heal his son, his only child.

            Jesus’ disciples had tried to heal the boy but had failed and Jesus seems irritated by this – maybe he wishes he were still up on the mountain with Moses and Elijah – or maybe he knows that the disciples aren’t working and praying as hard as they should - but he heals the boy and the crowd is astounded at “the greatness of God.”

            Jesus is a man of prayer, but more than that, he is the supreme example of someone for whom prayer and work are woven together, woven so closely that we can’t tell where one begins and the other ends.

            Ora et labora.

            Prayer and work and work and prayer.

            And, today it’s not just monks who are called to this way of life – we are all called to prayer and work and work and prayer.

            Easier said than done, right?

            But, as we begin Lent on Wednesday, more important than giving up chocolate or skipping meat on Fridays, the most important thing we can do – the best self-care we can do - is to set aside even just a little bit of time for prayer.

            (And, yes, I’m preaching to myself at least as much as I’m preaching to you!)

            We don’t need the perfect time and place – we don’t need a mountain or even a hill and we certainly don’t need a monastery, as nice as those places are.

Instead, as Jesus says, we can just close the door to our room and spend a few minutes with God – as the author of our Lenten book says, keeping it simple, keeping it short, keeping it frequent, and keeping it real.

And, the more we do that, we’ll find that our prayer and our work will become woven together – prayer and our job – prayer and going to school – prayer and going to the supermarket – prayer and spending time with family and friends – prayer and the ministries we do here together.

Our prayer and our work will be woven together – and we will all be astounded at the greatness of God.

Prayer and work.

Ora et Labora.

Amen.

           

Answering to a Higher Authority

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

February 24, 2019

Year C: The Seventh Sunday after the Epiphany

Genesis 45:3-11, 15

Psalm 37:1-12, 41-42

1 Corinthians 15:35-38, 42-50

Luke 6:27-38

Answering to a Higher Authority

            I must be starting to get old, because when I look back on my childhood it seems so different from what kids experience today – it almost feels like a whole different world.

            As I’ve mentioned to you before, I grew up down in Country Village where, in the 1970s, there were lots of young families, lots of kids around my age.

            There were no personal computers yet and video games were just beginning, so, in the good weather all of us, even a kind of bookish kid like me, would spend a lot of time outside, playing in the middle of the street, interrupted only by the occasional cry of  “Car! Car!” that shooed us to the sidewalk for a minute.

            We played and we rode our bikes, all under the eyes of many of our mothers who watched us from the kitchen window, often while talking on the phone.

            Although a fight would break out every now and then and there were some cranky older neighbors who complained about the noise or objected to us crossing onto their property, for the most part it was a pretty happy and peaceful way to grow up.

            But, of course, we couldn’t be outside all the time, so the other main activity was watching TV – watching the handful of channels that were available back then – during the day watching repeats of old shows from the 50s, 60s, and 70s.

            So, there was a lot of I Love Lucy, The Munsters, The Addams Family, Lost in Space, The Brady Bunch, and on, and on.

            But there weren’t just the shows – there were also the commercials.

            Nowadays, some of us have devices or streaming services that allow us to fast-forward through commercials or skip them entirely, but back then there was no escape and through repetition they became at least as memorable as the shows themselves – which was, of course, the whole point.

            So, back then I probably had no idea what indigestion was, but I knew that the “plop, plop, fizz, fizz” of Alka-Seltzer would offer “oh what a relief.”

            I objected to some of the midweek suppers my mother put on the table because I knew full well, just like everybody else, that “Wednesday is Prince Spaghetti Day!”

            And, I also knew that not all hot dogs were created equal – and I knew this important fact thanks to a memorable commercial for Hebrew National.

            It was a simple set-up: we see Uncle Sam holding a hot dog in his hand and then an announcer points out that the government allows hot dog makers to use frozen beef and fillers and byproducts and other unappetizing things, but Hebrew National doesn’t do any of that because…

            “We answer to higher authority.”

            The camera pans upward, above Uncle Sam to the clouds, and left unsaid is that this “higher authority” is God.

            The point was that, unlike Oscar Meyer and the rest, Hebrew National follows the Jewish dietary laws - it keeps kosher.

            And, although the commercial is a little silly (though effective – I remember it clear as day forty years later), it does point to a truth.

            Since they first came to understand that they had a special relationship with God, that they had a covenant with God, the Jewish people have understood themselves as being under a Higher Authority, held to a different standard than the other people around them.

            Like all of us, they sometimes fall short, but for thousands of years they’ve understood they are to treat other people as they themselves would want to be treated – that they were to welcome the stranger into their land – that they were to treat animals humanely – that the command for Sabbath rest was not just for Jewish men and women but also for foreigners, for slaves, and even for the beasts of burden.

            Jesus was born into this culture and grew up with this understanding – that he and his people answered to a “Higher Authority” – and, through him, we his followers are also now answerable to God.

            But, Jesus builds on this Jewish understanding, asking – requiring – even more than any of the great prophets and teachers who came before him.

            We are not just to respect and be decent to our enemies – we are to love them.

            We are not just to be peaceful – we are to offer our other cheek to be struck.

            We are not just to be generous – we are to give to everyone who asks of us.

            We are not to judge – never to condemn.

            We are to forgive, no matter what.

            This is some of Jesus’ most difficult teaching – and it raises challenges and even some dangers, doesn’t it?

            I can imagine the crowd around Jesus scratching their heads wondering how in the world anyone could do this.

            Actually, I don’t have to imagine it because, as I pondered these words, I was scratching my own head, wondering how anybody could do this, wondering what in the world to say about these most challenging commands.

            And, as I’ve thought about it, I think maybe for that first crowd and for us today, these hard teachings most of all remind us just how fallen the world is – how broken we are – how far we are from the way things were meant to be – how the Kingdom of God has not yet fully arrived.

            The truth is we can’t yet fully live into these commands because, as we seem to be reminded every single day, in our fallen world there are some people who abuse others – there are some people who must be stopped from hurting other people – there are people who are treated like doormats or far worse, and that is surely not what God wants.

            The truth is we can’t yet fully live into these commands because in our broken humanity there are a few who have so much and many who have so little and if we give to every outstretched hand we will find ourselves destitute and with our own hands outstretched – and that is surely not what God wants.

            The Kingdom of God has not yet fully arrived.

            But, that does not let us off the hook.

            We are not allowed to simply shrug and say, “Oh well, this is the way it has to be, so let’s ignore or forget about what Jesus has to say.”

            A certain hot dog maker didn’t give into the temptation of saying “Well, since everybody else is using coloring and additives, I guess that’s the way it has to be, so let’s give up our standards and offer a cheaper product like everybody else.”

In the same way, we shouldn’t give into the temptation of saying that our broken world and fallen humanity will always be broken and fallen and that’s just how it’s going to be.

            No.

            We are children of God and we answer to a Higher Authority.

            And, you know, people today are way more interested in what’s in their food than we were back in the 70s.

            Change is possible.

            Now, I’m not saying that’s because of Hebrew National franks, but I do know that the more we are loving and generous and merciful – the more we are like God – then, with God’s help, the world becomes more like what it was always meant to be.

            The more we are loving and generous and merciful then there will be fewer enemies and more friends – there will be fewer people who have to beg with outstretched hands – there will be less judgment and more forgiveness – and there might even be more kids able to play outside in their own neighborhoods, without a care in the world.

            We still have a long way to go, and we’re going to fall short a lot of the time, but if we follow the way of Jesus, if we answer to the Higher Authority, then the Kingdom of God draws ever closer.

            Amen.

Down Off The Mountain

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

February 17, 2019

Year C: The Sixth Sunday after the Epiphany

Jeremiah 17:5-10

Psalm 1

1 Corinthians 15:12-20

Luke 6:17-26

Down Off The Mountain

            There have been several occasions lately when I have felt even more pride than usual about our beautiful, loving, and generous community here at the Church of St. Paul and Incarnation.

            One time was at last Sunday’s Absalom Jones service at our cathedral.

            I was so proud of the large role our congregation played in that very fine service honoring the first African-American ordained in the Episcopal Church.

            Sidney King is a leader of our chapter of the Union of Black Episcopalians, which sponsors the service.

            Patrice Maynard shared her beautiful dancing and Vanessa Foster was a Eucharistic Minister.

            And, along with musicians and singers from around the diocese, Gail Blache-Gill and Shari Gill our choir once again dazzled with their extraordinary musicianship.

            During the announcements I resisted the temptation of raising my hand and pointing out to everybody that Gail and our choir can be heard each Sunday at 10:00 right here on Duncan Avenue.

            (Probably wouldn’t have been good form to show off like that, right?)

            It really was a wonderful service and right there in the middle of it all was Bishop Carlye Hughes, who served as both celebrant and preacher.

            As I listened to her fine sermon, I thought how we are still in the early days of our time together, still getting to know one another, still learning one another’s stories, each other’s story.

            But, when I first began reflecting on today’s gospel lesson I immediately thought of Bishop Carlye’s predecessor, Mark Beckwith, and a story that I heard him tell many times.

            If you’ve been to Episcopal House in Newark – or know where it is – you know that just behind our diocesan headquarters building, just across the parking lot, is a Roman Catholic Church that no longer offers Mass, but for forty years it has housed – and continues to house – a soup kitchen that feeds something like 500 people every day.

            It’s a really extraordinary ministry that offers a lifeline to so many – and if you’re in the neighborhood you really can’t miss it.

            Anyway, Bishop Beckwith talked about being very aware of this ministry and the people it serves when he first arrived as bishop but then over time he sort of stopped seeing them – the soup kitchen and all the hungry people just became part of the backdrop of his days as he went about the work of being our bishop, coming and going to his office, several flights up from the street.

            I’m sure we can all relate to things that we look at every day and yet somehow manage to stop seeing.

            So that’s how it was until one day a priest from our diocese asked him about the soup kitchen and asked if he had ever gone over there.

            He hadn’t but he decided right then and there to change that – and so began the regular practice of going to the soup kitchen, not to serve but to simply sit and eat with the people – to learn their stories - to get to know them as brothers and sisters.

            No surprise, he discovered that he gained far more from these encounters than he gave, learning quite a bit about faith and just how very hard it is to be poor in our land.

            I thought of Bishop Beckwith’s story because in today’s lesson from the Gospel of Luke, Jesus and his disciples come down from the mountain to “a level place” – to a plain – to a flatland - where there are vast numbers of people from all over – people hungry for his Good News – people desperate for the healing power of Jesus.

            Jesus comes down off the mountain and he’s there among the people – among the people who needed him so badly – and it’s there that he begins to preach what we call the Beatitudes.

            Now, this version of the Beatitudes that we heard today may have sounded a little different to you because most people are more familiar with the version found in the Gospel of Matthew where Jesus gives his sermon on a mountain (that’s why it’s called the Sermon on the Mount).

            In Matthew’s version, it’s the same downside-up vision of God’s kingdom, but in Matthew Jesus gives a more “spiritual” version of the Beatitudes, saying, “Blessed are the poor… in spirit; Blessed are those who hunger and thirst… for righteousness.”

            But, Luke’s version (the one we heard today) is different and, honestly, I like it better.

Jesus isn’t up on a mountain. No, he’s right there on the ground among the people and his blessings are addressed directly to the people gathered around him – blessed are you hungry, weeping, despised people – and his warnings are addressed to the people around him, too – woe to you rich, full-bellied, laughing, and highly respected people.

            The way Jesus sees it, in God’s downside-up kingdom, the “losers” of the world win.

The way Jesus sees it, in God’s downside-up kingdom, the “winners” of the world lose.

Two thousand years later, it’s still an amazing, hard-to-accept, radical vision.

And, depending on who we are and what we have or don’t have, Jesus’ downside-up vision is either inspiring or terrifying.

God will not let go of us no matter how bad things get – and, contrary to what some popular TV preachers say, wealth and full bellies should not be seen as signs of God’s special favor.

But it’s complicated because, let’s face it, depending on circumstance and perspective, sometimes we’re poor and sometimes we’re rich – sometimes we’re hungry and sometimes we’re full – sometimes we’re rejected and sometimes we’re respected.

 So, you know, maybe where we are is more important than what we have or don’t have at any given time.

For a long time the Church – including this church – had a tendency to do what Bishop Beckwith had done – to withdraw behind its walls – to focus on our many internal issues – to take care of ourselves – to somehow no longer see the poor and the hungry downstairs and just outside our doors.

But, if we’re going to truly follow Jesus then we need to do like Bishop Beckwith and come down off the mountain to “a level place” and really see the people we look at all the time – really see the hungry people – really see the grieving people – really see the despised people – to serve them as best we can, but even more important than that, to simply be with them – to learn their stories - and, most of all, to love them.

Not easy – but we know it’s possible with God’s help.

I am so proud when we show off our incredible musical talent to the wider Church and community – but I’m proudest - and I think Jesus is happiest - when we come down off our mountain of blindness and fear and judgment and really see and live among the people around us.

And, we’re doing that more and more – Family Promise, lunch at the homeless drop-in center, our Good Friday Stations of the Cross procession through the streets of Jersey City – and also what’s by now one of our oldest ministries, our monthly community supper, Stone Soup.

This past Thursday evening as I sat enjoying yet another delicious meal and good conversation in Carr Hall, I looked around the room and saw all of these different people – all of these people talking and sharing their stories - people I love dearly and people I barely know – a few parishioners but mostly neighbors and people just hungry for a free meal – people who’ve come into our community through a love of the arts and people who will likely never really have anything at all to do with church – and for a moment, right here on Valentine’s Day, I felt pure love, and I thought, this is what the kingdom of God is like – this is that downside-up kingdom where, in fact, there are no winners and losers, just beloved sisters and brothers, breaking bread together.

And, to experience that kingdom – to be blessed in that kingdom – we need to come down off the mountain and really see the people around us.

Amen.