Incarnation: God Enters the Mess

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

December 27, 2015

The First Sunday after Christmas

Isaiah 61:10-62:3

Psalm 147

Galatians 3:23-25; 4:4-7

John 1:1-18

Incarnation: God Enters the Mess

            Merry Christmas!

            We have been having a beautiful Christmas here at St. Paul’s.

            Our Christmas Eve celebrations were just great.

            The kids, led by Gail and other generous and patient, oh so patient, adults offered us a really touching Christmas pageant – and little Kennedy James was a trooper as the Baby Jesus, not letting out even a peep as far as I could hear.

            And then our “Midnight Mass” was spectacular.

            We had the biggest crowd I can ever remember seeing here on Christmas Eve.

            The church was full of parishioners, neighbors, family and friends – all eager to celebrate the festival of Our Lord’s birth.

            The music was just gorgeous – and I’ve put in the standing order that as long as I’m rector I want a xylophone to be played on Christmas Eve.

            And then on Christmas Day we had a quieter, more intimate celebration. In the quiet of Christmas morning I could really sense – really see – the light of Christ – the light of Christ shining brightly – the light of Christ that has not been and can never be overcome by the darkness.

            One more thing: I’m so happy that for the second year in a row we were able to celebrate Christmas with our friends from our sister church, the Church of the Incarnation. It’s something that I hope will continue after their new priest arrives.

            I found – find – it very moving to see our kids and their kids putting on the pageant together – to see our worship leaders and our worship leaders carting the cross, reading the lessons, and serving the Body and Blood of Christ.

            Incarnation.

            Of course, Christmas is all about incarnation – all about the incarnation – all about the mind-blowing event of God becoming one of us, becoming flesh, in Jesus of Nazareth.

            Incarnation.

            As the Evangelist John writes in the Prologue to his Gospel that I read today, “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.”

            Incarnation.

            For those who’ve been in the church for a long time, it’s easy for us to forget, to lose sight, of just how mind-blowing the Incarnation is – that the God of the universe chose to enter the mess – chose to enter our mess – in and through Jesus of Nazareth, born to a couple of nobodies, in poverty, in an out of the way place, noticed by almost no one.

            Incarnation.

            The God of the universe chose to enter the mess – enter our mess – and that changes everything.

            On Christmas Day there was a piece in the New York Times called “The Christmas Revolution.” In it the author writes,

            “Because the Christmas story has been told so often for so long, it’s easy even for Christians to forget how revolutionary Jesus’ birth was. The idea that God would become human and dwell among us, in circumstances both humble and humiliating, shattered previous assumptions. It was through this story of divine enfleshment that much of our humanistic tradition was born.”

            God chose to enter the mess – to enter our mess. So this means that human beings must really matter – that we must really matter to God.

            And, if we all, especially the poor and the lowly, really matter to God, then we should – we must - matter to each other.

            Incarnation: God enters the mess.

            As Christians, you and I are meant to enter the mess of life – the mess of our lives.

            As followers of Jesus, you and I are meant to enter the mess of life – to reach out to those who are suffering because of illness or loneliness or unemployment or poverty or grief or just sad because life can be hard and full of disappointments.

            As followers of Jesus, you and I are meant to enter the mess of life – to share what we have with the poor – to drop off items for the food pantry to feed people we don’t even know – to donate gloves to warm the hands of the poor and homeless – to make room at the Stone Soup table for absolutely everyone, fellow parishioners, neighbors, friends, and especially the poorest and least loved of all.

            As followers of Jesus, you and I are meant to enter the mess of life – to pray at the sites of homicides, to demand better protection for our neighborhoods, to insist on better schools for our children, and to work to provide decent shelter for all.

            As followers of Jesus, you and I are meant to enter the mess of life by welcoming everyone who walks through our church doors and by going out into our city and letting people know that they can come here and bring their mess, bring their mess with all the rest of us who bring our mess every Sunday.

            We need to let people know that they are welcome to bring their messes and place them before the God who chose to enter the mess, to enter our mess, in Bethlehem long ago.

            So, it’s still Christmas!

            Merry Christmas!

            We celebrate the divine enfleshment.

            We celebrate God choosing to enter the mess – to enter our mess, revealing that human beings must really matter – that we must really matter to God – and that we should – must - matter to each other.

            The God of the universe chose to enter the mess – enter our mess – and that changes everything.

            Incarnation.

            Amen.

"P.S. Please Do Not Forget the Poor"

St. Paul’s Church in Bergen and Church of the Incarnation, Jersey City NJ

December 25, 2015

Christmas Day

Isaiah 52:7-10

Psalm 98

Hebrews 1:1-4

John 1:1-14

“P.S. Please Do Not Forget the Poor”

            Merry Christmas, everybody!

            We certainly had a spectacular Christmas Eve here at St. Paul’s.

            The children of St. Paul’s and Incarnation, under the leadership of Gail and with the assistance of other adults did a beautiful job with the Christmas Pageant, telling the story of our Lord’s birth in such a touching way.

            And then last night at 10 we had an over-the-top gorgeous “Midnight Mass” with outstanding music lifting the spirits of everyone who was here in our sacred space – which, by the way, I don’t think has ever looked better.

            And now it’s Christmas morning!

            I loved our celebrations last night, but, you know, there’s something just a little extra special about being here this morning with our reduced numbers in a simpler celebration.

            Somehow, at least for me, the relative simplicity and quiet of this morning makes it easier to see the light of Christ shining in the darkness.

            And, let’s be honest, we all sorely need the light of Christ – the light of Christ shining in the darkness.

            The Light of Christ that can never be overcome by the darkness.

            We sorely need the light of Christ because it has gotten so very dark in our world, our country, our city, and in some of our lives.

            Out in the world, brutal violence and terrorism continues to flare up, forcing refugees to flee from Africa and the Middle East, leaving just about everything behind, desperately searching for refuge, for home, in places that are not always so welcoming to newcomers.

            In our own country, we have endured terrorist attacks by both homegrown and foreign fanatics and there will surely be more where that came from.

            In our country, the gap between the rich and the poor continues to widen, with the rich growing ever wealthier and the poor losing hope and the middle class being squeezed out of existence.

            We have homeless members here at St. Paul’s while so many other parishioners are just barely hanging on.

            And, we are in the midst of a presidential election campaign that has already sunk to previously unimaginable lows – and we have eleven more months to go…

            Finally, large parts of our city have been scarred by despair and violence – with little or no economic activity besides booze and drugs - and we’ve suffered more homicides this year than the last.

            Yes, it has gotten very dark in our world, our country, our city and in some of our lives.

            Yet, the light of Christ shines in the darkness, and the darkness does not – will not – cannot - overcome it.

            And, sure enough, when we allow ourselves some quiet – when we really look, we see the light of Christ shining so bright even in the midst of such darkness.

            I saw the light of Christ shining in our beautiful kids and the adults who helped them put on the pageant last night.

            I saw the light of Christ shining in our glove collection here at St. Paul’s – 242 pairs of gloves for those in need. And I saw the light of Christ as I watched those gloves and many other items being distributed to our very poor brothers and sisters at the homeless memorial service last week.

            I see the light of Christ shining in the way our beautiful congregations make room at the table for absolutely everybody, people people of faith and people who don't believe any of it - including especially the very poor and even the homeless – sharing and receiving the light of Christ with each other.

            And, I even see the light of Christ shining from the past.

            A couple of days ago I received an early Christmas gift. It was a story in the paper that really touched me.

            Fifteen years ago a man renovated the fireplace in his New York apartment. As part of the renovation, the man’s brother opened up the fireplace and inside he found a letter – a letter to Santa.

            It read, “I want a drum and a hook and ladder.”

            The letter was dated 1905 and signed by a boy named Alfred McGann.

            Cute. Amazing that a letter could survive that long in a fireplace. A nice piece of history, right?

            But then they found something else, an envelope addressed to Santa in “Raindeerland.”

            And inside the envelope was a letter to Santa from two years later – from  1907 - written by Mary McGann, Alfred’s sister.

            She wrote, “Dear Santa Claus: I am very glad that you are coming around tonight. My little brother would like you to bring him a wagon which I know you cannot afford. I will ask you to bring him whatever you think best. Please bring me something nice what you think best.”

            Mary signed her letter and then added, “P.S. Please do not forget the poor.”

            The man did some digging to find out information about Mary and Alfred. He discovered that their father, Patrick had died in 1904. So, the children were being raised by their mother, Esther, who was a dressmaker.

            Which means they themselves were poor. Probably very poor.

            And, yet, apparently Mary was aware of others less fortunate than she and her mother and brother so she felt that need to add her little reminder to Santa:

            “P.S. Please do not forget the poor.”

            Yes, today it has gotten very dark in our world, our country, and our city.

            And, yet, the light of Christ shines in the darkness, and the darkness does not – will not ever – cannot ever - overcome it.

            We see that light shining so brightly at St. Paul’s and Incarnation.

            And we see that light in a long-ago letter to Santa from a girl named Mary.

            Merry Christmas.

            “P.S. Please do not forget the poor.”

            Amen.

Home Finds Us

St. Paul’s Church in Bergen and Church of the Incarnation, Jersey City NJ

December 24, 2015

Christmas Eve

Isaiah 62:6-12

Psalm 97

Titus 3:4-7

Luke 2:1-20

Home Finds Us

            “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.”

            Merry Christmas to you all!

            Maybe you heard about this modern-day Christmas story:

            Back in November a mother left her newborn son (with his umbilical cord still attached) in the crèche of a Roman Catholic church in Queens.

            Fortunately, a church maintenance worker found the baby who was fine and has been placed in a foster home.

            The pastor of the church nicknamed the baby “John the Baptist,” but, as sometimes happens, it turns out that the lay people are better theologians than the clergy. They’ve been calling the baby left in their Nativity scene “Emmanuel” – God with us – which sounds just right to me.

            This story of an obviously distraught and desperate mother searching for a safe place for her baby – searching for a home for her newborn child – has really moved me this past month and maybe it’s touched your hearts, too.

            How could it not, right?

            Of course, that poor mother searching for a home for her baby wasn’t – isn’t – alone.

            No, not at all.

            So many people are searching for home – searching for home where they can love and be loved – searching for home where they can be safe – searching for home where they can be accepted just as they are – searching for home where they can truly find rest.

            Out in the world, we are all aware of the huge wave of refugees fleeing the Middle East and Africa. Here at St. Paul’s we’ve been praying for them week after week – praying for these people forced to flee home because of war, oppression, or economic necessity – praying for these people forced to search for a new home – forced to search for a new home in places where people speak different languages and live different cultures and practice different religions and, as we know only too well, are not always willing to welcome newcomers with open arms.

            So many people are searching for home.

            And, around here at St. Paul’s, we’ve become increasingly aware of our homeless brothers and sisters and those of us who are just one month’s rent away from homelessness.

            We’ve become aware of our homeless brothers and sisters as some of them have become part of our church community, worshiping with us, breaking bread with us, hopefully receiving here some sense of God’s special love for the poor and hungry.

            So many people are searching for home.

            And, among our own St. Paul’s congregation, so many of us are far from home this Christmas – far from the islands, far from Africa, far from wherever it is that we grew up and first celebrated Christmas with our families and neighbors.

            Because of distance or death, so many of us are far from our happiest Christmases – far from those we love and loved – far from our parents, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, and children.

            So many people are searching for home – searching for home where they can love and be loved – searching for home where they can be safe – searching for home where they can be accepted just as they are – searching for home where they can truly find rest.

            And, it would seem that Christmas is all about us searching for home.

            After all, in the gospel lesson I just read, Mary and Joseph, not unlike the distraught woman in Queens, were searching for a temporary home – looking for a safe place to deliver their child into the world.

            They found a place, of course. It wasn’t much - just barely enough.

            Luke tells us, famously, that Mary had to place her newborn son into a manger, which sounds kind of nice until we remember that a manger is just a fancy word for a feeding trough meant for, and used by, animals.

            And, we know later in the story Herod will get wind of the birth of the new king and go on a murderous rampage, slaughtering the innocent children of Bethlehem and forcing Mary and Joseph with their child Jesus to flee to Egypt.

            It would seem that Christmas is all about us searching for home.

            But, actually – and here’s the really good news - it’s just the reverse.

            At Christmas, home finds us.

            At Christmas, home finds us.

            I opened my sermon with a beautiful and true prayer from St. Augustine: “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.”

            We were made for God and so our true home is not the house or apartment we live in – our true home isn’t the West Indies or Africa or Jersey City or wherever we grew up – our true home isn’t even St. Paul’s or Incarnation or any other church.

            Our true home is God.

            Our true home is God. 

            It’s with God that we love and are loved – it’s with God that we are safe - it’s with God that we can be accepted just as we are – it’s with God that we can truly find rest.

            So, the Good News of Christmas is that we can stop searching for home.

            In the feeding trough in Bethlehem, home finds us.

            In Jesus’ life of love and sacrifice, home finds us.

            And, in Jesus’ giving of himself on the cross and rising on the third day, home finds us.

            God is our home.

            And, starting at Christmas, home finds us.

            Now, that doesn’t mean that the world out there is any less of a mess. Sorry. It is.

            The world remains a hard place where a desperate woman might leave her newborn son in a church – a hard place where refugees are forced to flee their lands into the unknown and the often unwelcoming – a hard place where here in Jersey City so many people lack shelter or are this close to losing the little they have – a hard place where many of us live far from those we love – a hard place filled with anger and fear and disrespect.

            So, yes, we have plenty of work to do to follow the example of Jesus and live lives of love and sacrifice.

            But… we can do that work confidently, courageously, and joyfully because we know that God is our home.

            And, at Christmas, at last, home finds us.

            Merry Christmas!

            “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.”

            Home.

            Amen.

           

           

                       

           

            

Delivering the Good News

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

Church of the Incarnation, Jersey City NJ

December 20, 2015

Year C: The Fourth Sunday of Advent

Micah 5:2-5a

The Song of Mary

Hebrews 10:5-10

Luke 1:39-55

Delivering the Good News

            There are few things better in life than being able to deliver good news:

            “You’ve got the job.”

            “The test came back negative.”

            “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

            “The sermon is pretty short.”

            And, what’s often the best news of all: ”I’m pregnant!”

            Well, if you’ve been here these past couple of Sundays you know that we’ve been hearing from one of the central figures of Advent, John the Baptist.

            John prepares the way for Jesus, calling the people to be baptized, to repent, to change their ways.

            John the Baptist prepares the way for Jesus, calling on us to give away our extra coat to the person who has none, to treat others fairly, and to be satisfied with what we have.

            But, now, today on the Fourth Sunday of Advent, the fourth and final Sunday of this season of repentance and preparation, we finally turn our attention to that other central Advent figure, the Virgin Mary.

            We catch up with Mary after the angel Gabriel has delivered the most amazing news to her: she has been chosen to deliver the Son of God into the world.

            Mary, a young girl from a small town, courageously and faithfully said yes to God, saying, “Let it be with me according to your word.”

            Now, we’re told that the young pregnant Mary set out and went with haste to visit her kinswoman, the old pregnant Elizabeth, pregnant with, as we know but they don’t know yet, John the Baptist.

            Of course, John doesn’t get to speak this time. Instead, the unborn John simply leaps for joy at the sound of Mary’s voice.

            Even before there’s no more room at the inn, even before the shepherds, even before the angels sing “Glory to God in the highest,” even before Mary delivers her baby and places him a feeding trough meant for animals, even before Christmas, Mary has begun to deliver the Good News.

            Mary begins to deliver the Good News by visiting her relative Elizabeth. Mary begins to deliver the Good News simply with her presence, simply with the sound of her voice, maybe simply with her pregnant glow.

            The unborn John the Baptist picks up on the good news right away and so does his mother, Elizabeth.

            Mary has begun to deliver the Good News.

            And, what is that Good News?

            Well, we hear it in Mary’s song, the Maginificat.

            God has done great things for Mary and God has done great things for us.

            Good News.

            God is merciful.

            Good News.

            God has a special love for the lowly, the hungry, and the poor.

            Good News.

            God keeps God’s promises.

            Good News, indeed.

            Mary delivered the Good News that day in the house of Elizabeth and Zeachariah.

            And, Mary most profoundly delivered the Good News in Bethlehem – the most holy delivery that we will celebrate in just a few days.

            You know, Mary only appears in a few gospel scenes after those early days – looking for the boy Jesus who has stayed behind in the Temple, attending the wedding at Cana, and, of course, the horrible experience of watching her son die on the cross.

            Despite her presence in so much art and in so many imaginations, we don’t know much about her, really, but it seems that she continued to deliver the Good News for the rest of her life, telling and re-telling the story of the angel’s announcement, of her visit to Elizabeth and the unborn John the Baptist, and pondering, pondering, all these things in her heart.

            Mary delivered the Good News – the best news of all time: God has done and is doing great things for us - God is merciful – God has as special love for the lowly, the hungry, and the poor – God keeps God’s promises.

            Mary delivered the Good News.

            And, right here and now, it’s our turn.

            As we reach the end of our Advent preparation and Christmas is so close, just like Mary, it’s our job to deliver the Good News.

            We deliver the good news through our presence – by simply being there for people in need – simply being there for each other.

            I was glad that at least a few of us were able to attend the interfaith homeless memorial the other day – to remember the lowliest of the low who have died almost entirely unnoticed and forgotten – and to signal through our presence – and our donations of 242 pairs of gloves – that we strive to love like God loves – that we strive to love those closest to God’s heart: the lowly, the poor, and the hungry.

            We deliver the good news through our presence just by being here each Sunday. We deliver the good news just by being here in our beautiful diversity, sitting and standing and kneeling and praying and singing with all kinds of people, people whose lives are going great and people who are a mess and lots in-between, people who, let’s be honest, we might not really want to hang out with, but God has brought us – beautiful us - together to be present for each other.

            And, we deliver the good news by telling and re-telling the story of God in our lives – telling the story of how Mary’s son has transformed our lives.

            That’s not something we do enough.

            A couple of weeks ago at the IMA Thanksgiving service two people, a pastor and lay woman, told the story of the power of God in their lives – the power of Christ that turned him from someone on the road to jail for petty crime into a minister of the Gospel – the power of Christ that transformed her from a crack addict who had seemingly lost everything into a Christian missionary.

            Good News.

            We deliver the Good News by telling and re-telling our stories, by telling and re-telling THE story.

            The IMA service got me thinking about my own – not anywhere near so dramatic - story.

            I’ve mentioned to a few of you that a couple of weeks ago I was able to spend the day with Fr. David Hamilton, the priest who was rector here when Sue and I first walked through the doors of St. Paul’s about 16 years ago now.

            Being with him – he’s doing well, by the way, and sends his love – reminded me of how much God has done in my life since that first Sunday – reminded me of how much God did through Dave and through so many of you as I made the improbable journey from Catholic high school history teacher to Episcopal seminarian to priest.

            Being with my old friend and mentor reminded me of the amazing privilege and joy of serving as rector back here in Jersey City, working with you to build on the foundation that has been entrusted to us, allowing God to work through us to build the Kingdom right here and now.

            Good News, indeed.

            Yes, there are few things better in life than delivering good news.

            Long ago, young pregnant Mary delivered the Good News to her kinswoman Elizabeth and her unborn son.

            Soon we will celebrate Mary quite literally delivering the Good News in Bethlehem – we’ll celebrate that most holy delivery – we’ll celebrate it all: no room at the inn, the feeding trough, the amazed shepherds, and the angels singing “Glory to God in the highest,” the Word of God dwelling among us, the light shining in the darkness.

            But, even more important than celebrating Christmas is the fact that, like Mary, our job is to deliver the Good News – to deliver the Good News through our presence – by just being there and being here - and to deliver the Good News by telling and retelling our story, by telling and re-telling THE story.

            Yes, there are few things better in life than being able to deliver good news.

            And, as Mary knew, we’ve got the best news of all.

            So, let’s deliver it!

            Thanks be to God.

            Amen.

           

           

           

           

           

            

Rejoice! The Lord is Near!

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

December 13, 2015

Year C: The Third Sunday of Advent

Zephaniah 3:14-20

Canticle 9: The First Song of Isaiah (12:2-6)

Philippians 4:4-7

Luke 3:7-18

Rejoice! The Lord is Near!

            “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.”

            Amen.

            You may remember that a week ago Friday, we had a concert here at St. Paul’s. It featured a young soprano, accompanied on the organ and piano, singing classical and folk pieces with Advent and Christmas themes.

            It was one of the most beautiful events we’ve had here at St. Paul’s. She sang like an angel in our beautiful church.

            It was also probably the worst attended event we’ve had here since I’ve been rector. I think there were only eight people present – and one of those was the soprano’s husband!

            At first, I was disappointed and embarrassed that so few people came, but, fortunately, the soprano seemed unfazed and said that she’s a big believer in singing with the same care and passion no matter audience size, something that I can relate to for church.

            And, honestly, once she began, I was transported – I think we all were – and I no longer cared, and maybe even forgot for a few minutes, that the church was nearly empty.

            Today we have reached the third Sunday of Advent – the third Sunday in this four Sunday-long season of preparation – the third Sunday of preparation for the birth of Jesus in great humility two thousand years ago – the third Sunday in preparation for the return of Christ in glory.

            Many of you know that, in the past, Advent was a more penitential season – more like Lent – than it is now.

            In more recent times the Church has chosen to soften that part of Advent. One sign of that change has been the shift here at St. Paul’s and in many Episcopal churches from purple to blue as the color of Advent.

            Blue is traditionally the color of hope and also traditionally the color associated with that most important Advent figure, the Virgin Mary.

            But, whether purple or blue, there has long been a tradition on the third Sunday of Advent to switch to rose as a kind of easing up on the penitential side of Advent, signaling that, while we still have a way to go, soon enough it will be Christmas.

            In fact, traditionally, today is called “Gaudete Sunday,” from a Latin word meaning “rejoice.”

            As St. Paul’s writes to the church in Philippi, “Rejoice! The Lord is near!”

            Say it with me: “Rejoice! The Lord is near!”

            But…you don’t need me to tell you that there hasn’t been much rejoicing going on in the world or in our country or in our city lately.

            We’ve been at war for fourteen years now, though, if we’re fortunate enough, we may sometimes forget that. Since the September 11 attacks, we’ve sent our finest men and women to fight, and often suffer horrific injuries and sometimes die in the mountains of Afghanistan and the streets of Baghdad and other seemingly God-forsaken places.

            We’ve flown our fighter jets to the other side of the world – we’ve piloted our drones from control centers many thousands of miles away – to rain down warfare, sometimes killing the guilty and the dangerous, sometimes inadvertently hitting innocent bystanders or even hospitals.

            Today, US military bases ring the entire planet.

            This has all been going on for a long time now and yet somehow we’re still at least a little surprised when the war arrives on our own shores, surprised when an armed to the teeth husband and wife drop off their six month-old baby and head over to his office holiday party and open fire.

            And, as you don’t need me to remind you, that incident has brought out the worst in some of us – the fear of the “other,” the fear of those who dress, or speak, or worship differently – and actions that result from fear that violate our own basic principles and, ironically, only strengthen those who seek us harm.

            No, there hasn’t been a whole lot of rejoicing going on in the world or in our country.

            And then there’s our city.

            We’re all aware of – and I’ve spoken a lot about – the violence that plagues our city, especially in the southern and western parts.

            This time last week we were just getting some of the details about the murder of Troy Brandon who was stabbed to death just a few blocks away at Monticello and Storms – so close that some of our neighbors on this block could hear the screams - killed as he came the aid of an assault victim.

            And, this past week we had shots fired outside Dickinson High School, which some of our kids attend and right across the street from our friends at Garden State Episcopal.

            I could go on.

            No, there hasn’t been a lot of rejoicing going on in Jersey City.

            On Thursday morning, some of the clergy of our city, including Rev. Laurie and me, met with the police chief and some other top brass of the department.

            It was a very cordial, positive, and productive meeting that left me feeling hopeful.

            But, the chief said something in passing that has stuck with me. Talking about the young men dealing drugs on our street corners, he said words to the effect of, “as fast as we arrest them and get them off the streets, others come and take their place.”

            So, after 14 years of war and heightened security, a husband and wife team hated us so much that they were willing and able to orphan their baby and slaughter innocent people enjoying a holiday party – and we all know there’s more where that came from.

            And, after years and years of arresting kids dealing drugs on the corner they’re still getting replaced by the next generation.

            This isn’t going to work.

            This isn’t going to work.

            So, what might work instead?

            Well, I think back to that concert.

            There were only a few of us but it was beautiful and we were full of joy.

            And, church can be like that – is, at its best, like that.

            In a world of billions of people, in a city of 250,000 people, there are only a relatively few of us here. But, it’s beautiful. We’re beautiful. And we’re full of joy.

            We hear the words of St. Paul:

            “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.”

            Here in church, week after week, we rejoice because the Lord is near.

            Say it with me: Rejoice! The Lord is near!

            So, what just might work, is if we spread our rejoicing near and far.

            What just might work is sharing our joy with the people who come into our buildings, the people who come to church here for the first time, the people who come for an AA meeting or for Stone Soup or for one of our cultural events.

            Rejoice! The Lord is near!

            What just might work is sharing our joy with the people we see on the street, especially those we think of as “other” – a smile, a hello, a wave – let me tell you, if there’s one thing I’ve learned these past couple of years, it’s that you can meet the most amazing people on the street.

            Rejoice! The Lord is near!

            What just might work is sharing our joy with those kids on the corner. Honestly, I don’t know how to do that yet – I’d say begin by praying for them - but I’m challenging myself and challenging you to think about how we can share with them our joy – how we can share with them that life doesn’t have to mean standing out on the corner dodging the cops, making a few bucks selling drugs, poisoning our community, while other, invisible people grow rich off of their work.           

            Rejoice! The Lord is near!

            What just might work is, as one of my clergy colleagues suggested, greeting immigrants from Syria and elsewhere not with fear and barriers and prejudice but with balloons and banners and a marching band and mountains of donations – something like what happened in Canada the other day when Prime Minister Trudeau personally welcomed the first Syrian refugees to their new home.

            Rejoice! The Lord is near!

            What just might work is for us Christians to hold hands and form a ring of protection around Jersey City mosques so our Muslim brothers and sisters can really feel our love and our joy and pray in peace.

            Rejoice! The Lord is near!

            Now, listen, I’m sorry to give us more to do. I really am. I know we’re all busy. But, as a people, what we’re doing isn’t working.

            I’ve become convinced that the only way – the only way – is the way of Christ – the only way is to take the love and joy that we feel in here out there.

            I know there are just a few of us, but, who knows, if we, with God’s help, really do share our love and joy, maybe by the next Gaudete Sunday, our city, our country, our world, might be just a little more joyful.

            I’m going to give St. Paul the last word:

            “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.”

            Amen.

            

The Word of God Comes in the Wilderness

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

December 6, 2015

Year C: The Second Sunday of Advent

Baruch 5:1-9

Canticle 16: The Song of Zechariah

Philippians 1:3-11

Luke 3:1-6

The Word of God Comes in the Wilderness

            It’s the Second Sunday of Advent – the second Sunday of this four-Sunday-long season of holy preparation. We prepare for the birth of Jesus in great humility two thousand years ago – and we prepare for the return of Christ in great glory.

            And, on this second Advent Sunday we are reintroduced to one of the central Advent figures, John the Baptist.

            It’s only the Gospel of Luke that gives us some background on John – that John’s mother Elizabeth and Jesus’ mother Mary were kin – that John’s father Zechariah was a priest – a man of faith who was struck silent when he doubted God’s power, doubted that his old wife could be pregnant with new life.

            Zechariah was struck silent until his son John was born. Then he burst into the song that we said today in place of the psalm:

            “Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel; he has come to his people to set them free.”

            Zechariah sings to his young son, John: “You, my child, shall be called the Prophet of the Most High, for you will go before the Lord to prepare his way.”

            Luke also tells us something else that’s easy to miss. He writes:

            “The word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness.”

            In the wilderness.

            The word of God came in the wilderness.

            For the people of Israel, the word of God coming in the wilderness would have been no surprise. Their most profound encounter with God happened long ago in the desert wilderness, on the long trek from Egyptian slavery to freedom in the promised land.

            The word of God came in the wilderness, giving the Law to Moses, making an eternal covenant with God’s people, promising to never let go, no matter what.

            The word of God came in the wilderness to Moses and his people - and the word of God came in the wilderness to John the Baptist.

            And the word of God John received was repentance – repentance which we often think of as simply confessing our sins and asking forgiveness but really means so much more than that.

            The word of God that John received in the wilderness was repentance – which means not just saying sorry but, with God’s help, turning our lives around to live the lives of love, peace, and generosity that God has always intended for us.

            The word of God comes in the wilderness.

            I guess that shouldn’t surprise us.

            Out in the wilderness, it’s quiet, so quiet that we might actually be able to hear the voice of God.

            Out in the wilderness, it’s dangerous, so dangerous that we might actually remember that we depend on God alone.

            Now, you know I’m a city guy, so pretty much the closest I get to the wilderness is maybe a walk through Lincoln Park.

            But, then again, you know, here in Jersey City, we have a different kind of wilderness – the quiet wilderness of many city blocks where the only activity seems to be the stream of people entering and leaving liquor stores and young men loitering on pretty much every corner and people waiting warily at the bus stop – the dangerous wilderness where people are forced to live behind bars in their own homes – the dangerous wilderness where life is so cheap and blood is shed so easily.

            Yet, the word of God comes in the wilderness.

            As you know, the past six weeks or so have been rough in Jersey City with outbursts of violence especially in the southern end of the city, along Ocean and Old Bergen Avenues, at cross streets like Van Nostrand, Winfield, and Neptune.

            For about the past year and a half, some clergy, including Rev. Laurie and me, have been going to pray at the site of each homicide in Jersey City. We go one week after the event to avoid much attention – to simply pray – to pray for the dead, for the perpetrators, for families and friends, for, as we say in our prayers here each week, peace on the streets of Jersey City.

            Sometimes there are elaborate shrines with signs and autographed t-shirts, votive candles, liquor bottles, and more. That’s hard.

            And, sometimes, there’s nothing – no trace that a human being was extinguished in this spot just a week earlier. That’s harder.

            Yet, the word of God comes in the wilderness.

            As many of you know, after the recent burst of violence, the clergy of our community organizing effort, Jersey City Together, requested a meeting with the Chief of Police. No reply, though we were able to meet with the captain of the South District, who told us about the efforts to stop the violence.

            But we wanted to meet with the chief. And when that didn’t happen, we acted, gathering at Old Bergen and Neptune, the site of what had been the most recent homicide – the most recent homicide at least until last night when a man was stabbed and killed just a few blocks away on Monticello.

            Over at Old Bergen and Neptune, we spoke out against the violence. We demanded action by the police and elected officials.  And, we prayed – we prayed using the service that the clergy use at all of these places, but this time in public, with lay people from our congregations, and people who were just passing by and stopped to see what was going on.

            As we started the service I noticed a young man standing close to me with another right behind me on a bike.

            They both looked like those guys you see on the corner, wearing hoodies and showing tattooed hands, but now I was able to get a closer look and see their young, almost innocent, faces.

            I didn’t know how they’d react, but I held out my bulletin and invited them to participate in the service.

            I couldn’t hear the kid behind me but, to my surprise, the one next to me joined in, saying the psalm, making the confession, asking God’s forgiveness for his part, our part, in turning God’s beautiful garden into the hell of Old Bergen and Neptune.

            After the service was over, the kid on the bike pedaled away, but the other young man stayed next to me, so I told him my name and he told me his, and we shook hands.

            Then he pointed out a woman who he said was the wife of the dead man, a woman whose face and eyes were still stunned by grief.

            The word of God comes in the wilderness.

            And, what was the word of God in the wilderness of Old Bergen and Neptune?

            It was God’s age-old promise to never let go of us, no matter what, no matter how much we mess up, no matter how much we turn God’s beautiful garden into hell, no matter how much precious blood is shed.

            It was God’s age-old call to repentance, to not just confess our sins but, with God’s help, to turn my life – our lives – around and live the lives of love, peace, and generosity that God has always intended for us.

            It was the way of the Lord: God’s age-old – and oh so very, very difficult, so counter-cultural and counter-intuitive - call to love every single person, including all those young men in hoodies hanging out on the corners, including those shot and those who do the shooting, including those we fear and, yes, even those from across the street or around the world who mean to do us harm.

            Long ago, the word of God came to John the Baptist in the wilderness.

            Today, the word of God comes to us in our wilderness:

            I love you.

            Repent.

            Love one another.

            The word of God comes in the wilderness.

            Listen.

The Armor of Light

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

November 29, 2015

Year C: The First Sunday of Advent

Jeremiah 33:14-16

Psalm 25:1-9

1 Thessalonians 3:9-13

Luke 21:25-36

The Armor of Light

            From the words of today’s collect: “Almighty God, give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light…”

            I want to begin by saying that we had such a beautiful Thanksgiving here at St. Paul’s.

            Thanksgiving at St. Paul’s began last Saturday when we hosted the Jersey City Homeless Advocacy Group’s Pre-Thanksgiving Day of Giving. It was so moving to see all these generous Jersey City people work hard to offer a delicious meal to those in need. And, St. Paul’s made some wonderful new friends that day.

            And then on Tuesday we gathered at Christ United Methodist Church for our third annual interfaith Thanksgiving service. Since, now more than ever, it’s essential that people of goodwill from different faiths and even no faith at all gather to give thanks and to celebrate community, I was very glad that there was a good turnout from St. Paul’s parishioners.

            And I was so proud that our choir along with our friends from Incarnation formed the core of the choir on Tuesday night. You all sounded really good. And, thanks so much to Gail for her usual brilliant leadership.

            Then on Thanksgiving Day itself we welcomed volunteers from God’s Love We Deliver who used Carr Hall to organize themselves before distributing meals to homebound people.

            At 10:00, twenty of us gathered for a simple and beautiful Eucharist service in the chapel.

            And then starting at 2:00, Trish and her amazing band of volunteers began serving a spectacular Thanksgiving feast to the community.

            During the week I was so moved to see many people – parishioners, neighbors, friends, strangers who heard about it through Facebook or by seeing a flyer, some of the boys from our cooking class – so many people pitched in to make this event better than ever.

            After all of this, I feel so much gratitude that I’ll just echo St. Paul’s words to the Thessalonians that we heard today:

            “How can we thank God enough for you in return for all the joy that we feel before our God because of you?”

            Amen. Amen, indeed.

            But now the world and the church have moved on.

            We’ve moved on but in different directions.

            While pausing at least for a few hours of Thanksgiving, the truth is that the world has long since moved on to what it calls “Christmas.”

            Most stores have had Christmas decorations up for quite a while. Once again people were lined up outside stores on Thanksgiving Day or early on “Black Friday,” though that seems to be fading a little.

            Last week when I visited someone in the hospital I found that the powers that be had already put up Christmas trees and other decorations and were already piping in Christmas music.

            I know that is all very well-intentioned but I couldn’t help thinking that if you weren’t already depressed about being in the hospital, all the fake festivity would do the trick!

            Because there is a kind of fakeness – actually, almost desperation - to much of what the world calls Christmas.

            Last week Pope Francis said that Christmas this year would be a “charade” because “the whole world is at war.” He said, “It’s all a charade. The world has not understood the way of peace.”

            Hard words to hear and say. But true.

            We don’t really need reminding that the world is a mess and that we haven’t understood – or haven’t chosen – the way of peace.

            On Friday, while we’ve been worrying about possible terrorists arriving here from Syria, one of our all too familiar homegrown terrorists, a deranged white man armed to the teeth, presumably someone who would describe himself as pro-life, attacked a Planned Parenthood clinic in Colorado, killing two civilians and a police officer before he was subdued and arrested.

            Here in Jersey City, especially in the southern part of our city, the violence continues with shots fired and blood spilled on our streets, with gang territory marked from corner to corner, with residents living fearfully behind bars in their own homes.

            And, there’s the lack of peace in our own lives.

            In the midst of Thanksgiving, Juliana Eddy has been mourning the death of her sister, Hildred.  As more than a few of us know, it’s so hard to be far from home at times like this.

            There’s the lack of peace in our own lives.

            There are concerns about our own health or the health of those we love. There are frayed and broken relationships. There’s regret and fear.

            During our stewardship campaign several of you have talked to me about economic anxiety, about lost jobs and debt, about downsizing going on all around you, all around us – about waiting for the axe to fall.

            Yes, the world and the church have moved on from Thanksgiving.

            We’ve moved on, but in different directions.

            The world has long since moved on to what it calls “Christmas.”

            While, here in church we’ve moved on to Advent, this beautiful blue season when we prepare for the birth in great poverty of Jesus two thousand years ago; this beautiful blue season when we prepare for Christ’s return in glory.

            During this season we’ll be reminded of John the Baptist boldly challenging people to repent – to repent and allow God to turn around their lives in a new and life-giving direction.

            During this season we’ll be reminded of Mary, a young girl who courageously said yes to the angel, yes to God, and carried Jesus into the world.

            During this season we’ll be reminded of Joseph, who, at great risk to himself and his place in society, faithfully stood by his pregnant fiancée.

            Yes, the world is a mess and often our lives are a mess.

            But, during Advent we’ll be reminded that we’ve already been given all that we need – that we’ve already been given the grace to cast away the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.

            We put on the armor of light when we’re bold like John the Baptist and call one another and, especially, our leaders to change our ways – when we call out leaders who seem to ignore the bloodshed on our streets – when we call out would-be leaders who lie and mock and divide.

            We put on the armor of light when we’re courageous like young Mary and say yes to God, yes to carrying Jesus into the world through our prayers and our sacrifices and our actions.

            We put on the armor of light when we’re faithful like Joseph, sticking with one another when times get tough, sacrificing for one another even when, especially when, it can really cost us a lot.

            During Advent we’ll be reminded that we’ve already been given all that we need – that we’ve already been given the grace to cast away the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.

            And, by the end of these four Sundays, we’ll be ready, not for a charade, but for the real thing – the real Christmas. By the end of Advent, we’ll be ready to joyfully celebrate the birth of Jesus and carry Christ into the world.

            By the end of Advent, we’ll discover that God has given us the armor of light – the armor of light that is more than enough protection for the troubles of the world - more than enough protection for the worries of our own lives.

            And, you know, by the end of Advent we just might discover that actually Thanksgiving isn’t even close to being over!

            Almighty God, this Advent, give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light.

            Amen.