Jesus Invites Himself Over

Liturgical Churches Union of Jersey City and Vicinity

St. Michael’s Methodist Church, Jersey City NJ

March 31, 2015

Tuesday in Holy Week

Luke 19:1-10

Jesus Invites Himself Over

            “When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, ‘Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.’”

            First, I want to thank my friend Rev. Thomas and the people of St. Michael’s Methodist Church for inviting me – inviting us – to stay here in God’s house with you, for a time. I’m especially grateful to Rev. Thomas for sharing his pulpit with me. It is a real privilege and, with God’s help, I’ll do my best to honor your trust.

            And thanks also to our president and my friend and colleague, The Rev. Nathaniel Legay for inviting me to preach at a Liturgical Churches Union service once again.

            And I know we are all grateful to him for revitalizing and expanding the rich tradition of these Lenten services – services that I know have spiritually fed so many of us during this holy season.

            My church, St. Paul’s Episcopal, and I are new to the Liturgical Churches Union so I realize that many of you may not know much about me or our church.

            For starters, my wife and I and our four cats – yes, four cats…I know…I know… - live in the St. Paul’s rectory which is right next door to our church on Duncan Avenue.

            It’s not just next door but it has the same kind of shingles as the church and has a sign on the front door that says, “St. Paul’s Rectory” so everybody knows that this house is attached to the church – that this is the house where the priest or the minister lives.

            To be honest, this has pluses and minuses.

            The house is very nice and much bigger than my wife and I – and our four cats, yes four cats – need. (Though you might be surprised about how much space four cats can take up!)

            Living next door to church is incredibly convenient for me.  Aside from people who work at home, I literally have the easiest commute ever.

            But, I have to admit there are downsides.

            Sometimes it feels like I’m always at work.

            And, of course, since the rectory is very clearly part of the church, we do get a fair number of people coming to the door.

            I should mention that our doorbell is very old and sounds really more like a buzzer than a bell or a chime.

            So, it’s not so unusual for my wife and I and our four cats – yes, four cats – to be sitting in the living room in the evening maybe watching TV or reading or maybe even dozing off when suddenly:

            BBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!

            When the doorbell buzzes my wife and I jump, and the four cats - yes four cats - take off scattering to all corners of the house.

            My wife and I are sort of private people and, I’ll be honest, that when the bell rings I often grumble – I kind of resent – that my privacy is being disturbed.

            Sometimes it’s somebody who’s looking for the AA meeting or some other event that’s in our Parish Hall and they somehow think that the sign that says “St. Paul’s Rectory” must mean that this is the hall.

            More often, it’s someone – usually bleary-eyed and with the smell of alcohol on his or her breath – someone who greets me with a tale of woe.

            “My car broke down and I just need $30 bucks to get it fixed…”

            “Father, I need money for a train ticket to go to my sister’s place in Trenton…”

            “I need money for a prescription.”

            “I’m hungry.”

            “Can you help me?”

            “Please help me.”

            Today’s scripture passage – the story of Zacchaeus the tax collector – got me thinking about all these people coming to my door, in a way inviting themselves into my life, in a way, inviting themselves into my home.

            Mark, Matthew, and Luke all tell us that Jesus approached Jerusalem through Jericho, but only Luke gives us this story of Zacchaeus.

            The name “Zacchaeus” means “righteous” or “upright” but as a “Chief tax collector” he wasn’t righteous or upright – he was part of a corrupt economic system that sucked the meager resources of the poor to support the power and oppression of the Roman Empire.

            And, just in case we don’t get it, Luke tells us that he was rich.

            Well, of course he was!

            But, this chief tax collector – this rich man who was probably the least popular person in Jericho – this crook - he wants to see Jesus.

            Luke tells us, “but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature.”

            The Jericho crowd must have been shocked – and Zacchaeus must have been really, really shocked - when Jesus looks up at the rich, despised, and, probably, short man in the sycamore tree and says,
            “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.”

            Jesus invites himself over.

            Jesus… rings Zacchaeus’ doorbell.

            And, how does Zacchaeus respond?

            He doesn’t grumble about his privacy.

            He doesn’t make excuses that he hasn’t had chance to straighten up – that his place is a mess.

            He doesn’t say this really isn’t a good time.

            He doesn’t say he’s afraid to open his house because there are so many people in Jericho who hate him.

            No, Luke tells us that Zacchaeus “hurried down and was happy to welcome” Jesus.

            As usual, it’s the crowd of busybodies that grumbles that Jesus is hanging out with the wrong people. They say that Jesus “has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.”

            But, look what happens when Zacchaeus welcomes Jesus into his home.

            He finally lives up to the meaning of his name – maybe for the first time in his life he really is “righteous” and “upright.”

            Zacchaeus says to Jesus, “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.”

            And, much like the father rejoicing at the return of the Prodigal Son, Jesus rejoices at the transformation of Zacchaeus.

            “Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham.”

            Jesus invited himself over to Zacchaeus’ house.

            Zacchaeus welcomed him.

            And, that invitation - and that welcome - changes everything.

            So, what does the story of Zacchaeus have to do with us here this evening?

            Well, it seems to me that Jesus is inviting himself over all the time.

            That might be quite literally like when someone rings my doorbell looking for help because their car has broken down or they need money for a train ticket to Trenton, or whatever.

            Those stories may not – and, let’s be honest, probably aren’t true – but what is true is that the person standing at the door is in need – is in distress.

            What is true is that this person with the bleary eyes and the stink of alcohol on his breath is indeed Jesus inviting himself over to my house.

            And how I – how we – respond to that invitation can change everything.

            Now, I realize only too well that for many of us, opening the door to a stranger is simply too risky in our city filled with so much violence and danger.

            Not all of us have four cats – yes, four cats – to protect us from people who might want to harm us.

            But, Jesus also invites himself over in ways that aren’t quite so literal as ringing our doorbell.

            Jesus invites himself over when a stranger or a newcomer joins us for worship.

            Do we greet that person as if he or she was Jesus himself?

            Or are we suspicious, wondering why they’re here, what do they want from us?

            Do we look at them and think they won’t fit in here – they don’t belong with us – they’d do better at some other church?

            Or, maybe even worse, do we look at them and immediately think of all the ways they might help the church by serving on committees or whatever – and through their financial offerings?

            Jesus invites himself over.

            And how we respond changes everything.

            Jesus invites himself over through all of the people who are in need all around us – even right here in this room this evening - the person who doesn’t have enough to eat or a place to stay – the person who is lonely and feeling hopeless – the person who has failed at pretty much everything they’ve ever tried – the person who is burdened by secrets and regrets – the person who is frightened by illness or death.

            Jesus invites himself over.

            And how we respond changes everything.

            And during Holy Week, Jesus invites himself over, inviting us to take up our cross and walk with him to Calvary.

            During Holy Week, Jesus especially invites himself over, inviting us to see his friends betray him, abandon him, and deny him. Jesus invites himself over, inviting us look at the faces of the people as they mock him and beat him, as they place the crown of thorns on his head, as they drive nails into him, as they kill him as if he were a common criminal.

            Especially during Holy Week, Jesus invites himself over.

            How do we respond?

            Do we turn away and just wait for the sweet fragrance of Easter or do we let the beaten, broken, and bloody Jesus into our lives?

            Jesus invites himself over all the time.

            And how we respond can change everything.

            One last story – from last New Year’s Eve.

            I know that many of your churches have New Year’s Eve services but over at St. Paul’s we’ve been having services on New Year’s Day at 10:00am.

            So, this last New Year’s Eve my wife and I were home in the rectory with our four cats – yes, four cats – dozing off on the couch when at about 10:00 when suddenly:

            BBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!

            Yes, the doorbell rang.

            My wife and I both jumped and the four cats scattered to all corners of the house.

            I’ll be honest. I thought, oh great, it’s probably someone already half-bombed out of their mind looking for some more money to keep the party going.

            I almost didn’t answer the door but my conscience got to me.

            I opened the door and there was a man I didn’t know standing there in the cold under the harsh fluorescent light of our porch.

            He said he had come to the church looking for the New Year’s Eve service but saw that the church was dark.

            I explained that we’d be having our service in the morning and that he was welcome to join us.

            And then he said that I should know that when he tried to open the front door of the church he found that it wasn’t completely locked.

            We had in fact been having trouble with that lock so I went over to the church with him and sure enough it wasn’t completely locked and with a good yank anybody could’ve gotten in and discovered our church all set up for the big service in the morning – and, to say the least, could have truly ruined the start of our new year.

            Jesus invited himself over to St. Paul’s that night.

            And, long ago, Jesus invited himself over to Zacchaeus’ house. Zacchaeus welcomed him - and that changed everything.

            Jesus invites himself over all the time.

            And how we respond changes everything.

            Amen. 

"And the Curtain of the Temple was Torn in Two..."

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

March 29, 2015

Year B: The Sunday of the Passion – Palm Sunday

Mark 11:1-11

Isaiah 50:4-9a

Psalm 31:9-16

Philippians 2:5-11

Mark 14:1-15:47

“And the Curtain of the Temple was Torn in Two…”

            Today is probably the most disorienting day of the church year.

            The service itself is a bit more complicated than usual, so if you’ve found yourself confused, a little lost, that’s OK. In fact, that confusion and sense of lost-ness is actually appropriate on this day.

            We began with so much hope and promise.

            The new king – this unusual, unexpected king – rode into his capital city, rode into Jerusalem, on the back of a colt as people spread their cloaks and their palm branches on the ground before him and shouted “Hosanna” – meaning “save us” or “savior”.

            The people – can you imagine their faces – their looks of expectation as finally the Roman occupiers would be driven out and the powerful kingdom of David was going to be restored.

            But, of course, as happens so often in life, things did not go quite according to plan – at least not the plan of those people shouting “Hosanna!” and, for that matter, not according to the plan of Jesus’ own disciples.

            Instead, we have an all-too-familiar human story of unfaithfulness, of betrayal, of horrifying brutality, of mockery, of abandonment, blood, and death.

            In recent days people all around the world have spent a lot of time wondering about motives – why would a young pilot deliberately fly a plane into a mountain, killing every terrified person on board?

            And, for two thousand years we’ve been wondering about the motives of the people around Jesus.

            Why did Judas betray his teacher – betray him with a kiss?

            Why were the Chief Priests and other religious leaders out to get rid of Jesus?

            Why doesn’t Pilate just release Jesus?

            Why does Peter deny his Lord? Why does everyone – or almost everyone - abandon Jesus in his greatest moment of need?

            Over the centuries, lots of answers have been offered, but mostly it comes down to the messiness of being human.

            We betray. We are insecure. We want power over others. We are cowardly.

            That’s why here in church on this Sunday we all participate in the reading of the Passion – we are these people – and they are us.

            “Crucify him!” they cry.

            And in all sorts of ways, both large and small we’re still crucifying Jesus – each time we turn away from people in need, each time we deny our faith, each time we manipulate others to get what we want.

            And, what about the motives of Jesus?

            Why doesn’t he who had saved others come down off the cross and save himself?

            And, what about God’s motives?

            Why doesn’t God rescue God’s beloved Son, the one with whom God was well-pleased?

            The answer comes at the end – or what seemed like the end – Mark tells us, “Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom.”

            Jesus completes his work, tearing down the curtain separating God from us.

            In Greek Mark uses a stronger word than “torn” – more like it was “ripped apart.” The temple curtain that separated the Holy of Holies from the people was ripped apart from top to bottom, meaning that the curtain could never be – would never be – repaired.

            The curtain separating God from us is destroyed forever.

            The innocent man hanging dead on the cross reveals to us what God is really like.

            The innocent man hanging dead on the cross reveals to us who God really is.

            God is love - self-giving, self-emptying, self-sacrificial love.

            The curtain separating God from us can never be sewn back together again -but that doesn’t stop us from trying.

            We try to sew up that curtain separating God from us each time we live like everybody else, each time we betray, each time we seek power over others, each time we are cowardly.

            We try to sew up that curtain separating God from us each time we turn away from people in need, each time we deny our faith, each time we manipulate others to get what we want.

            But, if we’re open to it, God can and will use us to tear up those stitches, to rip apart our attempts to separate ourselves from God.

            In many parts of our city, stained by violence and broken by fear, it sure feels like people have gone a long way to sew back together the curtain separating God from us.

            That’s why I hope that as many of us as possible will walk the way of the Cross in Jersey City on Good Friday, praying and singing and blessing at places of violence, stitch by stitch tearing apart the curtain, ripping up our human attempts to separate ourselves from God, revealing to Jersey City the God who is love - self-giving, self-emptying, self-sacrificial love.

            Today is probably the most disorienting day of the church year.

            We begin with so much hope and promise but, of course, as so often happens for us, things did not go quite according to plan.

            Yet, despite human unfaithfulness, betrayal, horrifying brutality, mockery, abandonment, blood, and death, Jesus completes his mission of revealing what God is really like, revealing who God really is.

            The curtain separating God from us is torn apart forever, but that doesn’t stop us from trying to stitch it back together.

            So, God calls us to follow the example of the innocent, dead man on the cross, the one who will rise again on Easter Day. God calls us to love and to sacrifice, to tear out the stitches of the curtain that can separate us from God.

            May it be so.

            Amen.

Worshiping the Father in Spirit and Truth

Liturgical Churches Union of Jersey City and Vicinity

Clair Memorial United Methodist Church

March 18, 2015

John 4:1-26

Worshiping the Father in Spirit and Truth

            Jesus said, “But the hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father seeks such as these to worship him.”

            First, let me begin by saying what an honor and joy it is to be here with you all this evening.

            I am especially grateful to Rev. Albert Barchue for allowing me to preach in this pulpit, here at Clair Memorial, this building, this church, which is such a powerful living symbol for all of us in Jersey City – a powerful living symbol of faithful endurance and resurrection in the midst of fiery destruction and loss.

            I am also grateful to our president, my friend, Rev. Nathaniel Legay, for inviting me and the people of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church to be part of the Liturgical Churches Union - and inviting me to preach tonight.

            I trust I wasn’t only invited because of my reputation for relatively short sermons!

            And special thank you to the parishioners from St. Paul’s and Incarnation – especially members of our choirs – who braved the cold to be here tonight.

            A story.

            My father is in his early 70s and still very active – he still teaches fulltime at Marist High School in Bayonne. And he also continues to be a student - a lifelong learner - often attending seminars and other programs in New York City.

            Anyway, a couple of weeks ago he had gone to one of these seminars and was beginning to make his way home to Jersey City. It was about 9:00 at night. He was walking down the stairs into the subway when suddenly he fell down onto the ground.

            It was a shocking moment. He didn’t know what had happened to him. Had he missed a step? Had he broken his leg? His hip? He was frightened and confused.

            Almost immediately two strangers – two young women - stopped to care for my dad. They called 911 to get him an ambulance and they stayed with him, protecting him from the crowds of people going up and down the stairs. They stayed with him until the ambulance came and took him to the hospital.

            My father needed to have surgery on his knee but is doing well and I expect in the near future will be back to his life and back in the classroom.

            As my family and I have thought about and retold this story we always give thanks that, instead of just stepping around my father, those two young women took the time to care for my father.

            And we and pretty much everybody else who’s heard the story has used the same term to describe them: Good Samaritans.

            They were indeed “Good Samaritans.”

            And, of course, that term comes from the best-known Samaritan in the New Testament – the unnamed good Samaritan in Jesus’ parable about mercy that’s found in the Gospel of Luke.

            After a couple of thousand years of retelling and reflecting on the Parable of the Good Samaritan it’s hard for us to think of any other kind of Samaritan, right?

            But, Jews of the First Century had a very different view of Samaritans.

            The Samaritans were descended from the lost tribes of the old northern kingdom of Israel many of whom had intermarried with Babylonian invaders, creating a mixed society that was similar in a lot of ways – they worshiped the same God and read the same Scripture – but they were different, too.

            The Samaritans rejected the Jerusalem Temple preferring to worship on Mount Gerizim.

            And, as is so often the case, it seems that the Samaritans and the Jews focused on the few differences that separated them rather than their common devotion to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

            In this evening’s passage from the Gospel of John we meet the second-best known Samaritan in the New Testament, the unnamed woman at the well.

            We don’t really know if the woman is a “good Samaritan” or not.

            There’s some question about those five husbands – and the one she had now who is not her husband.

            And, why is she going to get water at noon – at the hottest time of day? Was she trying to avoid the other women who, maybe, gave her a hard time about those five husbands and the one she had now who is not her husband.

            So, we don’t know if she’s a “good Samaritan” or not.

            Then, along comes Jesus.

            As usual, Jesus doesn’t seem particularly interested in or concerned about the boundaries that separate people.

            Generally, it seems that Jews like Jesus didn’t talk with Samaritans, let alone strange Samaritan women, not to mention a Samaritan woman who’s had five husbands and is now with one who is not her husband.

            But, Jesus does what Jesus always does. Jesus breaks through the boundaries – breaks through the boundaries between Jews and Samaritans, between men and women, and strikes up a conversation with this Samaritan woman.

            “Give me a drink.”

            As is often true in the Gospel of John, Jesus and other people talk past each other – they ‘re talking on different levels.

            Jesus talks about the living water that he offers and the woman thinks that’s awfully big talk for a guy with no bucket.

            But, throughout this kind of confused conversation, the woman remains open to Jesus. She doesn’t know exactly what this “living water” is but she wants it.

            And Jesus reveals more about her – later she tells the people of the city that he told her “everything” she had ever done.

            And Jesus reveals more about himself than he has with anyone else yet in the Gospel of John. He tells her that he is the messiah.

            And Jesus also reveals to this maybe not very good Samaritan woman a vision of the kingdom of God. God’s kingdom is bigger than Mount Zion and Mount Gerizim. Jesus tells her:

            “But the hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father seeks such as these to worship him.”

            “But the hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father seeks such as these to worship him.”

            So, I guess the question for us is, are we true worshipers worshiping the Father in spirit and truth?

            For me, the answer is, sometimes.

            We are worshipers in spirit and truth when, like Jesus, we break down the barriers that divide us into Jews and Samaritans, Catholics and Protestants, blacks and whites.

            And, we don’t have to look far – not far at all – to see examples of true worshipers breaking down the barriers.

            I’ve always been moved by the story of the fire that ravaged this church on Tuesday, April 10, 2001 – the Tuesday of Holy Week that year.

            As many of you will remember, the next day the board of Temple Beth-El invited the people of Clair Memorial to hold their Easter services at the temple and then continue to worship at the temple until the church was repaired.

            The kingdom of God is bigger that Mount Zion and Mount Gerizim.

            The kingdom of God is bigger than Clair Memorial and Temple Beth-El.

            Barriers between Jews and Christians were broken down and the true worshipers worshiped the Father in Sprit and in truth.

            Another example of true worshipers breaking down the barriers, one that’s also close at hand.

            I’m very aware that until very recently the organization sponsoring tonight’s Lenten Prayer Service was called the “Black Liturgical Churches Union.”

            Something changed this year.

            I’ll let you guess what it was.

            Following the example of Jesus, Pastor Legay didn’t hesitate to knock down the barrier that could have existed between us, warmly inviting me to part of this group and asking if St. Paul’s would be willing to host one of the Wednesday services, which we did for the first time ever a couple of weeks ago.

            Now, I know what some of you might be thinking. Maybe this was a misunderstanding. My last name is Murphy so I could have been black. But, I want to assure you that before inviting me to be part of the Liturgical Churches Union group Pastor Legay had met me in person on numerous occasions and was very well aware that I’m white!

            Still, he extended his hand in friendship and brotherhood and I’m grateful.

            The kingdom of God is bigger than Mount Zion and Mount Gerizim.

            The kingdom of God is bigger than black and white.

            Barriers between blacks and whites were broken down and the true worshipers are worshiping the Father in Sprit and in truth.

            One last example of true worshipers breaking down the barriers.

            On Good Friday, for the second year in a row, Christians from many different churches and denominations will make the Stations of the Cross on the streets of Jersey City. We’ll remember Jesus’ journey to the cross and we’ll also remember the victims of violence right here in our own community. Each of the fourteen stations will be at a place where violence has taken place right here in Jersey City.

            On Good Friday, we’ll worship the Father in spirit and in truth as we make our way along our often blood-soaked streets.

            For about two hours, we’ll offer a powerful witness as Protestants and Catholics join hands, praying for the victims of violence and for peace at last in our city.

            I hope you’ll join us.

            (And we start at 9:30 in the morning - early enough so that you can still make the IMA service at Mt. Olive Baptist Church!)

            It’s still Lent – and Lent is the perfect time to deny ourselves our prejudices, to break through ourselves the barriers we set up to separate us from different kinds of people.

            Lent is the perfect time to follow the example of Jesus and walk right into Samaria – walk right into an alien land – walk right into the land filled with good people and not so good people – walk right into the land with people we don’t know and maybe even don’t like or don’t trust - and knock down the barriers that divide us.

            Lent is the perfect time to follow the example of Jesus and strike up a conversation with the outcast, the person who the world doesn’t see as a “good” – or maybe the one who the world just doesn’t see - the one who’s forced to gather her water in the midday heat to avoid the gossips, to steer clear of the so-called good people, maybe hoping to avoid people… just like us.

            Lent is the perfect time to really, at long last, be true worshipers, not just worshiping God on Mount Zion or Mount Gerizim – not just worshiping God at Clair Memorial or Temple Beth-El or at St. Paul’s – not just worshiping God with people who look and think like us – but Lent is the perfect time to unite and worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father seeks such as these to worship him.

            May it be so.

            Amen. 

For God So Loves the World

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

March 15, 2015

Year B: The Fourth Sunday in Lent

Numbers 21:4-9

Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22

Ephesians 2:1-10

John 3:14-21

For God So Loves the World

            A couple of hundred years ago an idea became popular among many of the most well-educated people in Europe and America, including among many of the founders of this country.

            The idea is called Deism.

            Deists believed that God created the universe but has nothing more to do with it.

            They often compared God to a clockmaker, who builds the clock, winds it up, gets the clock going, but then that’s it.

            It’s easy to see the appeal of Deism because it solves some difficult problems and questions that we face as people of faith.

            Deists don’t have to wonder why bad things happen to good people or why some people seem to receive miraculous healings and others don’t. Deists don’t have to wonder why some bad people seem to get away to murder.

            Deists don’t have to wonder, where’s God?

            Deists don’t ever get mad at God or even, for that matter, question if God even exists.

            For Deists, God is back in the distant past, back at the beginning, but God has no interest or influence in the here and now.

            Now, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that Deism is just about the opposite of what Jews, Christians and Muslims believe about God.

            Our Jewish older brothers and sisters in faith had a sense of God’s care for them, that, even when things looked bleakest, even when they were in captivity, even when they were out in the wilderness, even when they were being bitten by poisonous snakes, God was with them, leading them to life and freedom.

            And, of course, we Christians have never believed in an indifferent of aloof God, a God who just watches from a far, a God who created long ago but now has moved on to other things.

            Just the opposite.

            We have always believed in a God who loves us – and cares about our everyday lives.

            We believe in a God who gets involved in the mess of life.

            And we hear the clearest statement of what Christians believe about God in today’s reading from the Gospel of John, which includes probably the best-known verse in the New Testament, John 3:16.

            The context is a conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus, a Pharisee who has come to see Jesus at night, trying (without much success) to understand his teaching.

            The part we heard to today is the tail-end of that conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus, but, actually, it’s not really Jesus speaking anymore.

            Instead, what we hear is the voice of John’s church – John’s community of Christians at the end of the First Century.

            It’s their statement of belief.

            What did these early Christians believe?

            They believed that in and through Jesus God got personally involved in the mess of human life.

            “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have eternal life.”

            In and through Jesus, God got involved in the mess of human life where really bad things happen to good people, where some people seem to receive miraculous healings and others don’t, where some bad people seem to get away to murder.

            Because he was right here in the mess of human life, Jesus suffered a great deal, ultimately giving away his life on the cross.

            But, on Easter God didn’t leave Jesus in the mess, didn’t leave Jesus in the tomb.

            Instead, God reveals that, ultimately, love defeats hate and love conquers death.

            God is not aloof or indifferent or far away.

            God still loves the world.

            And, we respond to that love and reveal our belief in Jesus not through saying the right words or even by coming to church – though, don’t get me wrong, that’s important!

            No, we respond to God’s love and reveal our belief in Jesus by sharing God’s love for the world with the world.

            We respond to God’s love and reveal our belief in Jesus by getting involved in the pain and mess of human life – not just our own pain and mess – but in the pain and mess of our families and friends and our neighbors and most especially in the pain and mess of people we don’t like very much and people we don’t even know.

            That’s one of the reasons why I push the food pantry so much.

            I’m pretty sure that most, if not all of the people, who go to the pantry over at Incarnation on the third Saturday of the month, live lives of real pain and big mess.

            Some of them may not be particularly nice people or even, in the eyes of the world, deserving people. We don’t know and, you know what, it doesn’t matter.

            Instead, what matters is that God loves the world – loves them and loves us.

            And we respond to God’s love and reveal our belief in Jesus by getting involved in the pain and mess of their lives by, quite literally, feeding them.

            And, as embarrassing and as tiring as it is for people to accept charity, I believe that they can sometimes, somehow, feel and receive God’s love through that pasta, through those canned goods.

            So, we have at least one opportunity every month to respond to God’s love and reveal our belief in Jesus and share God’s love with our community.

            And then next month there’s another opportunity – a once a year chance - to respond to God’s love, reveal our belief in Jesus and share God’s love with our community.

            Good Friday gives us a chance to get involved in the pain of human life when we make our Stations of the Cross procession, stopping at 14 places where acts of violence have occurred in our community.

            On Good Friday we will enter the pain and messiness of human life where really bad things happen to good people, where some people seem to receive miraculous healings and others don’t, where some bad people seem to get away with murder.

            On Good Friday we’re going to walk right into that mess and pain, revealing our belief in Jesus, and announcing that God is not a clockmaker; God is not aloof or indifferent or far away.

            And, it’s by taking up our cross and following Jesus into the mess and the pain that we get to experience the true joy of Easter when love defeats hate and life conquers death.

            “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son…”

            And God still loves the world and can reveal that love in and through us.

            Amen. 

"The Ten Challenges"

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

March 8, 2015

Year B: The Third Sunday of Lent

Exodus 20:1-17

Psalm 19

1 Corinthians 1:18-25

John 2:13-22

“The Ten Challenges”

            First, congratulations on remembering to set your clocks ahead one hour, though in the age of cell phones this is becoming less of a big deal.

            But, you come to church an hour earlier only to get two doses of the Ten Commandments – first as part of the Penitential Order at the start of the service and second in our Old Testament lesson from Exodus.

            You don’t hear much about the Ten Commandments these days except when politicians want to hang them in public places.

            One time I saw an interview that Colbert did with a congressman from Georgia who was advocating that the Ten Commandments be displayed in public schools and courtrooms.

            Near the start of the interview, the interviewer asked the congressman, “What are the Ten Commandments?”

            With a deer in the headlights look, the congressman replied, “You mean all of them? Um… Don’t murder. Don’t lie. Don’t steal. Um…I can’t name them all.”

            Absolutely classic.

            Now, I’m hoping and guessing we could do a little better than that congressman from Georgia – especially maybe during Lent when we’ve been hearing the Ten Commandments at the start of our services and, hopefully, reflecting on the ways we’ve fallen short and trying, with God’s help, to change our ways.

            But, I’m guessing that most of the time we don’t think about the Ten Commandments very much at all.

            And, I think I know why.

            The Ten Commandments are very, very, very hard.

            It’s hard to keep God at the center of our lives.

            It’s hard to avoid making idols since we live in a world that pretty much insists that we should idolize celebrities and fame – a society that drives us to idolize money, professional success, and even family, health, and personal security – all good things, for sure – but not meant to be worshiped.

            It’s hard not to lash out in anger, misusing the name of God.

            With so many distractions and demands in our fast-paced world, it’s hard to carve out time for prayer, reflection and rest. Instead, many of us just keep working or keep watching TV, or surfing the web or texting or whatever.

            It’s hard to offer the right amount of devotion and care for our elders.

            I’m hoping it’s easy for us not to murder, but it’s hard to avoid killing someone’s spirit with an unkind remark or a nasty piece of gossip.

            It’s hard, sometimes, to remain faithful to those we say we love.

            It’s hard, sometimes, to be truthful - and it is definitely hard not to covet what others have.

            The Ten Commandments are very, very, very hard.

            And, since we call them “commandments” they’re also scary, leaving us to wonder and fear what happens to us when we break one or more of these commands, as we all have.

            So, it’s easier just to push them out of our minds.

            It’s easier to talk about putting them up in schools without actually dealing with what they contain.

            A few years ago a friend of mine gave me a very interesting book called, The Ten Challenges.

            It’s a re-thinking of – and reflection on – the Ten Commandments written by Leonard Felder, who has written quite a few books on various psychological issues.

            Right at the start, Felder points out, correctly, that the Bible does not call the Ten Commandments “commandments.”

            Instead, the Bible calls them “The Ten Words.”

            He suggests that rather than calling them “commandments” we would do better to call them – and to think of them – as challenges.

            They are Ten Challenges given to us by God who loves us and wants to be known and loved by us.

            They are Ten Challenges given to us by God who loves us and wants us to live full and rich lives – to live lives of love and joy and faithfulness and service.

            They are Ten Challenges given to us by God who loves us and, fortunately, is quick to forgive when we fall short.

            But, none of this changes the fact that the Ten Commandments – the Ten Challenges - are still very, very, very hard.

            And, we can’t face the challenges of life – can’t face God’s challenges - on our own.

            Which is why the Church is so important.

            Unfortunately, like the people at the Jerusalem Temple long ago, we can get wrapped up on the things that are important  - but are not most important.

            Happens to me all the time!

            For the Jewish people the Temple was the center of the universe – the place where, in a sense, God lived.

            It was the place where Jews came to make ritual sacrifices of animals – sacrifices that were made by the priests who operated what was essentially a huge barbecue pit.

            In this system, the people selling unblemished animals for sacrifice were providing a necessary service.

            And the moneychangers were also providing a necessary service, since Roman coins bearing the image of the emperor couldn’t be brought into the Temple.

            So, the Temple was a holy place but also a busy, noisy, bloody, and smelly place.

            And then along comes a Jesus, overturning the whole place, angrily reminding everyone that this is God’s house, that this is a house of prayer.

            Like at the Temple long ago, here in church we can easily lose focus on what’s most important, getting too caught up in things that aren’t necessarily bad, but are not essential.

            Fortunately, every once in a while we get an opportunity to be reminded of what’s most important for the church.

            One of those opportunities will be the visit of our bishop who will be here at St. Paul’s two weeks from today.

            In preparation of his visit, Bishop Beckwith has asked us here at St. Paul’s to reflect on our own unique Christian mission in the church, in our families, or in the world.

            I hope we will all take time to do just that – to reflect on our mission, on why St. Paul’s is here, why we are here, why we come here week after week.

            I’ll tell you what I think. For me, a big part of our mission is to support one another as we face the very, very hard challenges of life.

            And a big part of church’s mission is to support and encourage each other as we respond to God’s commandments – God’s challenges – and to lift each other up when we fall short – to remind each other of God’s quick forgiveness and full mercy.

            So, I guess, unlike that congressman from Georgia, we can probably name more than three of God’s commandments.

            But, more than just naming God’s commandments, our task is to take up God’s challenges for us in our everyday lives – and to come here to pray, to support each other, and to receive the love and forgiveness of God.

            Amen.