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.

Not From Here

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

November 22, 2015

Year B, Proper 29: The Last Sunday after Pentecost

2 Samuel 23:1-7

Psalm 93

Revelation 1:4b-8

John 18:33-37

Not From Here

            Today we reach the last Sunday after Pentecost, the final Sunday of the church year, the Feast of Christ the King.

            Next Sunday we begin a new year. We begin the season of Advent, those four Sundays when we prepare for the birth, two thousand years ago, of Jesus, born in great poverty.

            Next Sunday we begin the season of Advent, those four Sundays when we look ahead to the end, to the time when Christ will come again in glory.

            But, first, today, it’s the Feast of Christ the King.

            And, in the gospel lesson I just read, Jesus is near the end of his earthly life. Jesus has been betrayed, and has been arrested by the Jewish authorities and brought before the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate.

            Pilate, trying to figure out this enigmatic rabbi from Galilee, asks Jesus straight out: “Are you the king of the Jews?”

            Jesus doesn’t make it easy for Pilate. He replies, “My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.”

            Jesus’ kingdom is not from here.

            Not from here.

            That’s for sure, right?

            Jesus came into this world and lived a life of love.

            Jesus came into this world and taught us to walk in love, to not judge, to forgive those who wrong us  - to forgive, not just not once, but an infinite number of times.

            Jesus taught us to love and pray for our enemies.

            Jesus taught us to give away our possessions to the poor.

            Jesus taught us to be who we say we are.

            Jesus taught us that in his kingdom it’s the poor, and the hungry, and the mournful, and the hated who are blessed - while those who now are rich and are laughing and are flattered by many, well, they’ve been blessed already.

            Yes, Jesus came into the world and lived a life of love and taught us all of this.

            Jesus’ way was so different from the way of the world back then. Jesus’ way is so different from the way of the world today.

            So different that anybody who knew anything about Jesus – or anybody who knows anything about him today – doesn’t need to be told that Jesus’ kingdom is not from here.

            Not from here.

            Now, here’s the thing: if Christ really is our king then we Christians aren’t from here, either.

            And throughout Christian history there have been at least a few who followed Jesus so faithfully, so courageously, that it’s clear that they weren’t from here, either.

            Right from the beginning, there’s Mary, just a young girl receiving the most incredible news from the angel. Anybody else would have said, “You’ve got the wrong girl, ask somebody else.”

            And, there’s Joseph standing by the pregnant Mary, risking mockery and shame.

            Not from here.

            And there’s our patron Paul who was transformed from someone who persecuted followers of Jesus into someone who spent his life traveling from one strange place to another sharing the Good News with people who usually had never even heard of Jesus, often facing ridicule and failure, and ultimately execution in Rome.

            Not from here.

            There’s Francis of Assisi, living at a time when the Church had grown rich and corrupt but taking Jesus at his word so every time he saw someone dressed worse than himself would take off his clothes and give them away. There’s Francis, preaching the Gospel through action and word to everybody, even to the animals.

            Not from here.

            And, closer to our own time, about 80 years ago, when the Nazis began systematically discriminating against and eventually rounding up and killing millions of Jews along with homosexuals and Communists and disabled people and anybody else they hated or feared, most people either agreed with the policy, even cheered it on, or if they had misgivings they kept that to themselves to keep themselves and their families safe. Or, probably most often, they figured, “I’m not a Jew or a homosexual or disabled, so it’s not my problem.”

            Many of these people hunted by the Nazis, including the family of Anne Frank, tried to secure asylum here in the United States but, to our shame, most, including Anne and her family, were turned away out of prejudice and fear.

            (If they had been welcomed here, Anne might still be alive at age 86.)

            But, if you’ve read Anne Frank’s diary, you know that when she and her family went into hiding in Amsterdam, there was a handful of courageous people who, at great risk to themselves, kept the Frank family fed and safe for two years until they were finally betrayed, arrested, and taken to the concentration camp.

            Not from here.

            Even closer to our own time, there’s Dorothy Day living and working among the poor of New York’s East Village. There’s Archbishop Oscar Romero standing up to the brutal right-wing military dictatorship of El Salvador. There’s Archbishop Desmond Tutu standing up to the white government of South Africa and then leading the Truth and Reconciliation Commission to help heal that land so deeply scarred by racism. There’s Sister Helen Prejean still at work advocating against the death penalty in our own country.

            Not from here.

            Anybody who knew anything about Jesus – or knows anything about him today – doesn’t need to be told that Jesus’ kingdom is not from here.

            Not from here.

            Jesus’ kingdom is not from here.

            That was true two thousand years ago and it’s still true in our own time of terror, fear, and prejudice.

            It’s still true here in our own city where four young men have been shot and killed in the last 10 days, killed along Ocean Avenue and MLK Drive and in the IHOP parking lot.

            It’s still true right here in Jersey City where homeless people sleep in parks and on church steps, where homeless families are “housed” in a rundown motel on Route 1 & 9.

            Jesus’ kingdom is not from here but, you know, through our baptism and through receiving the Body and Blood of Christ, we are, first and foremost, citizens of Christ’s kingdom – so, we’re not from here, either.

            And our duty as citizens of Christ’s kingdom is to work with God – to allow God to work with us, in us, and through us – to build Christ’s kingdom “on earth, as it is in heaven.”

            If Christ really is our king, then we are meant to live lives of love, to love the people close to us but also to love the people who are different, the people we don’t like, and even the people who hurt us – who we are meant to forgive infinitely.

            Not from here.

            If Christ really is our king, then we don’t judge but we love the people hanging outside Royal Liquors right now passing the day getting increasingly drunk, we don’t judge but love the people sleeping in the park or on the church steps, we don’t judge but love those families “housed” in the motel, we don’t judge but love those hanging with other gang members on corners up and down Ocean and MLK.

            Not from here.

            If Christ is our king then we give generously - so generously that our food donation is as large each month as it was this month, thanks to some of my suburban friends. As I’ve said before, if we all brought just one item each week, we would have a mountain of food back there every month.

            Not from here.

            And, if Christ is our king then we don’t build walls that divide us but we tear them down. Yes, we acknowledge our fears and take precautions but we still welcome the stranger – we welcome the stranger as if he or she was Christ himself.

            Not from here.

            If Christ really is our king, then we’re really not from here.

            Today is the last Sunday of the church year.

            Next Sunday is the First Sunday of Advent, the first Sunday of a new church year.

            So, let’s make a new year’s resolution – let’s resolve to be courageous citizens of Christ’s kingdom, a kingdom that is not from here.

            Let’s resolve to work with God – to allow God to work with us, in us, and through us – to build Christ’s kingdom “on earth, as it is in heaven.”

            Not from here. Thanks be to God.

            Amen.

Out of the Ruins, New Life!

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

November 15, 2015

Year B, Proper 28: The Twenty-Fifth Sunday after Pentecost

1 Samuel 1:4-20

The Canticle of Hannah

Hebrews 10:11-25

Mark 13:1-8

Out of the Ruins, New Life!

            In my weekly email to the parish I wrote how Thanksgiving came early for me this year.

            As many of you know or will soon find out I’ve been writing thank you notes to everyone who has made a pledge of financial support to St. Paul’s for 2016.

            It’s something I’ve thought about in the past but I always made excuses that I just didn’t have enough time.

            But, after our vestry retreat a few weeks ago I resolved that this year I would do it.

            And, although it has been time consuming, it has been such a gift to me each time I’ve sat down to write my thank you notes, each time I’ve reflected on not just your financial generosity – which is very important and amazing, of course – but also the many ways that you give to our church.

            I’m glad to say that I’ve had to write a lot of thank you notes because our stewardship campaign has been such a success, with most of you pledging – some for the first time – and many increasing your pledges from last year – we’re almost where we hoped to be so I hope you last holdouts will go “all in.”

            We truly depend on your pledges – and on you paying your pledges – in order to do the many ministries that make this such a vibrant and exciting church.

            But, you know, this church did not always raise money by asking parishioners to pledge their support.

            No, back in the 19^th Century, this church paid its bills by charging what were called “pew rents,” which means exactly what it sounds like.

            Each year parishioners would rent their pew and that pew would be reserved for them whenever they were in church – it’s why, I believe, our pews are numbered. It’s a practice that is pretty much extinct in the church but lives on in some synagogues, which raise funds that way.

            Back in the 19^th Century not everybody at St. Paul’s thought that pew rents were a good idea. In fact, some people felt so strongly about pew rents that they broke away from St. Paul’s and formed a new church, St. John’s “Free” Episcopal Church.

            Eventually they built a magnificent stone church over on Summit Avenue that about 100 years ago was known as the “Millionaires’ Church” and was the biggest Episcopal church in the whole state.

            Over time, though, the membership of St. John’s shrank and in the 90s the church was closed and, as many of you know, eventually the once magnificent building fell into disrepair and became the crumbling ruin that can be seen today.

            Today’s gospel passage got me thinking about the ruin that is all that’s left of the once-magnificent St. John’s Church.

            We pick up right where we left off last week right after Jesus and the disciples have observed the poor widow drop her two small copper coins into the Temple Treasury.

            Jesus and the disciples leave the Temple, which was the religious and civic center of Jewish life – the place where, in a sense, God was believed to dwell – the magnificent structure that was considered one of the marvels of the ancient world.

            They leave the Temple and one of the disciples, sounding a lot like a country boy on his first trip to the big city, says, “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!”

            Jesus, apparently unimpressed, responds with what must have been a shocking prediction: “Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.”

            And, that’s exactly what happened. In the year 70, 40 or so years after Jesus’ earthly lifetime, the Romans destroyed the Temple – the place where, in a sense, God was believed to dwell - burning it down, looting its treasures, leaving just a ruin.

            Today all that remains is a large retaining wall, the Western Wall or the Wailing Wall, where Jews pray to this very day.

            It’s probably hard for us to imagine how shocking, horrifying, terrifying, this must have been to the Jews of the first century, including the Jews who were followers of Jesus, the people who were some of the first readers and hearers of Mark’s gospel.

            What was once a magnificent structure was now a ruin.

            No surprise, lots of people believed - and apparently some Christian leaders proclaimed - that the destruction of the Temple meant that the end was at hand and Jesus was about to return.

            After the Temple was destroyed, the people of Israel endured a time of, to use the words of Hannah in today’s first lesson, “great anxiety and vexation.”

            Ruined.

            So often, it feels like everything is ruined, doesn’t it?

            Sometimes, it feels like humanity itself is a ruin.

            I know all of us were horrified but, sadly, not shocked, by the terrorist attacks in Paris on Friday night. Innocent people killed or injured while going about their business, eating in a restaurant or attending a rock concert – lives lost and ruined in a flash of violence.

            Sometimes, our own life can feel like a ruin.

            Suddenly we have a new and frightening pain or a lump, or we get a phone call heralding bad news, or words are said that can’t be taken back, or a relationship gets broken, or we find a pink slip waiting for us at work.

            But, in today’s gospel Jesus warns and promises that this great darkness, this time of great anxiety, is not the end, but the beginning of the birthpangs – not the end, but the beginning of the pains of new birth – the pain of new life being born.

            And, Jesus was right.

            Jesus was right because God specializes in creating new life out of ruins.

            Here’s the thing: the Temple may have been destroyed but Judaism wasn’t. God gave the people of Israel new life, freed from sacrifices in the Temple - new life, loving and serving God, studying and reflecting on the Scriptures, anywhere and everywhere.

            And growing up beside Judaism, not always comfortably or peacefully, was Christianity - Christianity that took the Good News of Israel’s God to the ends of the earth, the Good News of the Son of God to places far, far away from Jerusalem.

            And, about Paris.

            You know, it wasn’t that long ago that much of Europe lay in ruins after the horrors of World War II, a war fought bitterly between those old enemies, France and Germany.

            And yet, out of the ruins of that horrific war a new, previously unthinkable, friendship was born between those old enemies. In fact, I was struck by the fact that when the attacks occurred France and Germany were battling it out again, but this time on a soccer field.

            And, after the attacks, the chancellor of Germany said this to the French people: “We, your German friends, we are so close with you. We are crying with you.”

            God specializes in creating new life out of ruins.

            And, God creates new life out of the ruins of our own lives, too.                                   

            As a priest, I’ve been privileged to see it happen over and over again.

            An illness or some other crisis provides the opportunity for people to pour out so much love and support, the opportunity to remember what’s most important.

            A broken relationship is healed through forgiveness, reconciliation, and a lot of hard work.

            The pain and panic of unemployment make way for a reassessment of priorities, make way for new opportunities and growth.

            Yes, God specializes in creating new life out of ruins.

            Oh, and about the ruin of St. John’s…

            On Thursday night the Jersey City Zoning Board approved Garden State Episcopal CDC’s plan to build a 47 unit condominium development at St. John’s.

            The project will set aside some units for affordable housing and others at market rate, and there will be much-needed new community space located inside what was the nave of the church.

            And the entire exterior of the ruined church will be preserved and restored: it will be magnificent once again.

            Yes, God specializes in creating new life out of ruins – new life out of ruined humanity – new life out of the ruins of our lives – and, yes, even new life out of ruined old churches.

            Out of the ruins, new life!

            Thanks be to God.

            Amen.

           

           

           

No More Poor Widows

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

November 8, 2015

Year B, Proper 27: The Twenty-Fourth Sunday after Pentecost

Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17

Psalm 127

Hebrews 9:24-28

Mark 12:38-44

No More Poor Widows

            …And, that’s why we should all give every last penny to the church!

            Today at St. Paul’s we are reaching the official end of our stewardship campaign.

            And, I certainly hope that those of you who haven’t yet pledged your financial support, haven’t yet taken on a new ministry, will fill out a pledge card today and place it in the offering plate.

            If you’ve been here at least a couple of times you’ve heard me talk about many of the exciting things that are happening at St. Paul’s, how so many new people are becoming members of our congregation while we’ve managed to hold on to most of our longtime members, how we’ve gotten more involved in the neighborhood and are now seen as a “community church” that cares for everybody, not just our own.

            It’s really wonderful.

            And, it should be noted, it’s also pretty unusual.

            Every poll, every study, that I’ve seen indicates that Americans are less and less interested in organized religion.

            Oh, they’re still plenty spiritual, still interested in the big questions of life.

            Why are we here? What gives meaning to life? Where do we go when we die?

            Is this all that there is?

            Forget about finding answers, it seems that Americans don’t really believe that they will find a safe place to explore those questions in our churches. So, they look elsewhere.

            Americans have less and less use for organized religion.

            And, actually, they’re in good company because as we hear very clearly in today’s gospel lesson, Jesus didn’t have much use for organized religion, either.

            In today’s gospel lesson we find Jesus teaching in the Jerusalem temple, the religious and civic center of Israel.

            There would have been throngs of people there, people there to conduct business, to see and be seen, to make animal sacrifices, to learn, and, yes, even to pray.

            And, right there in the temple, Jesus publicly criticizes the bad and destructive behavior of the religious professionals, “who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets. They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.”

            Then we’re told that Jesus is in the temple treasury.

            From other historical sources we know that in the temple there were thirteen large metal receptacles, shaped like trumpets.

            People would come and drop their offerings into these trumpet-shaped receptacles.

            You can imagine that the coins made quite a noise as they clanged to the bottom.

            So, everyone would have a pretty good idea of who was giving a lot of money to the temple.

            And, who was not.

            We’re told that a poor widow comes to the treasury.

            It’s almost redundant to call her a “poor widow” since in ancient Israel a woman whose husband had died got no inheritance. Most widows had to depend on the generosity of their families or charity. They were almost all poor.

            That’s why, throughout the Old Testament, God has special concern for widows – they were some of the most vulnerable people in society.

            So along comes this poor widow who drops two small copper coins – the smallest of all coins - into the trumpet-shaped receptacle.

            We can imagine the tiny, tinny, sound they made.

            The text doesn’t say this but we can also imagine other people noticing how little she gave and maybe rolling their eyes or smirking, judging and maybe ridiculing. You know how people are.

            Jesus certainly heard the tinny sound of those two little coins – and knows what it meant.

            He tells the disciples, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”

            …And, that’s why we should all give every last penny to the church!

            No, of course, not. That’s not what this passage is about.

            When Jesus says that the widow has given more than everybody else, he’s simply stating a fact. Since she has given all that she had, she has, in fact, given most generously.

            But, I’m pretty sure that Jesus disapproves of this whole scene – this ugly glimpse of organized religion at work – some people lording it over others, some showing off their wealth, and the poor giving every last penny.

            Jesus is turned off by the whole thing - just like more and more Americans today are turned off by organized religion.

            So, my fellow religious people, where do we go from here?

            It seems to me that the kind of church that Jesus wants - and the kind of organized religion that people out there are hungry for - is a church that, yes, gathers here in the temple for prayer and worship, forgiveness and healing, but then, instead of squeezing every last penny out of poor widows, actually works with God’s help to build a world where there are no more poor widows – an organized religion that works to build a world where there is no more poor anybody.

            So, we’re called to invite the poor into our temples, including the poor we might not like because of they way they look or smell or what they may or may not have done in their lives or even what they were doing just a few minutes ago.

            We’re called to invite the poor into our temples and, rather than taking their last couple of pennies, we’re called to feed them and to clothe them and to love them.

            And, we’re called to go out of our temples and out into the world and find and serve the hungry and the lost.

            Sometimes the hungry and the lost are easy to find – they’re out on Bergen Avenue right now hanging out around Royal Liquors.

            And, sometimes, the hungry and the lost harder to find, like the homeless families that our county “houses” in motels along Tonnele Avenue.

            So, yes, Jesus and lots of people have no use for organized religion that’s all about people lording it over others, some showing off their wealth, and the poor giving every last penny.

            But, Jesus and lots of other people can really use organized religion that welcomes every single person to the temple without judgment, that gives food and, yes, gloves to the homeless, that prepares a beautiful meal every month and throws open the doors to anyone who wants to come and eat, that offers art and culture that brings beauty into the ugliness that people face every day, that will feed probably about 200 hungry people on Thanksgiving, that works with thirty or so other congregations in Jersey City on improving education, public safety, and housing, that partners with Garden State Episcopal CDC to serve people in need.

            Well, it just so happens I know a church that’s getting to be more and more like that every day.

            And, you do, too.

            My prayer is that we will continue to be the kind of organized religion that Jesus wants and the kind of organized religion that people out there are hungry for - a growing church that, yes, gathers for prayer and worship, forgiveness and healing, but then, instead of squeezing every last penny out of poor widows, actually works with God’s help to build a world where there are no more poor widows – an organized religion that works to build a world where there is no more poor anybody.

            Amen.

           

           

           

           

           

           

           

                       

Taking Our Alleluias Out to the Streets

Church of the Incarnation, Jersey City NJ

November 2, 2015

The Funeral of Nyheem Jyel McKinney

Lamentations 3:22-26

Psalm 23

Revelation 21:2-7

John 14:1-6

Taking Our Alleluias Out to the Streets

            The Scripture passage I just read comes from a part of the Gospel of John when Jesus is saying good-bye to his disciples.

            All along, Jesus had been teaching, predicting, warning, that he was going to be arrested, executed, and rise again on the third day.

            The disciples must have heard Jesus talk like this many times, but you know how it is. Just like us, the disciples were good at tuning out what they didn’t want to hear – what they didn’t want to think about.

            But, now things were getting real.

            The time had come.

            Jesus is saying good-bye to his disciples, to his friends.

            He says, “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God and believe also in me.”

            And then Jesus says that he is going ahead to prepare a place for his disciples – to prepare a place for us – where we will be together forever.

            But, first, Jesus had to face and endure a brutal and violent death.                       
            You know, we’ve cleaned up the cross – sanitized it – turned it into beautiful decorations in our churches and jewelry around our neck making it easy for us to forget that the cross was an instrument of violence, pain, and death.

            But, Jesus wasn’t play-acting on the cross. He experienced real violence and real pain.

            And, real death.

            So, we know for sure that God really knows what real pain, real violence, and real death feel like.

            Now, in Jerusalem, two thousand years ago, despite what Jesus had told them, the hearts of the disciples were troubled. When Jesus was arrested most of them ran away, abandoning Jesus in his moment of need. At least one, Peter the so-called “Rock,” denied even knowing Jesus.

            Troubled hearts.

            Well, we know all about troubled hearts, don’t we?

            Some of us have had troubled hearts for a long, long time.

            Our hearts have been troubled by so few opportunities for our people, especially young people, in most parts of our city. Our hearts have been troubled by our neighborhoods with their shuttered storefronts, their empty litter-filled lots, their sidewalks scarred by shattered glass.

            Our hearts have been troubled by the seemingly endless and senseless violence on our blood-stained streets.

            Our hearts have been troubled by the wasting of beloved, precious, unique, human life with the pull of a trigger.

            And, now, our hearts are troubled by the murder of Nyheem Jyel McKinney, killed with his whole life ahead of him, leaving behind a heartbroken family, including his two year-old little girl.

            Troubled hearts.

            But, we know something that the first disciples with their troubled hearts didn’t know. In fact, we know the most important thing.

            The story of Jesus doesn’t end in the bloody violence of the cross.

            The story of Jesus continues on Easter Day – the tomb is empty – Jesus is risen! Alleluia!

            The story of Jesus lives on forever.

            And, so we know that, although death is very real, the story of Nyheem – of “Jy” – doesn’t end on the pavement over at the Junction.

            We know that his story continues with God forever and ever in the place prepared for him – and for us all – by Jesus himself.

            Now, for Jy, it’s Easter Day every day.

            So, what about us?

            Well, you know, after the first disciples encountered the Risen Christ, they didn’t keep the Good News to themselves.

            With their troubled hearts healed by God’s love and mercy and power, they went out into the world and shared God’s love with everyone they met.

            Near the end of today’s service, even with our troubled hearts, we are going to say that great old word of praise, Alleluia!

            We’re going to say “Alleluia” more than once.

            And I want us to shout that old word, “Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!”

            Because I’m convinced that just like the first disciples we are called to take our Alleluias out of this building, out of all our churches, and out into our neighborhoods with their shuttered storefronts, their empty litter-filled lots, their sidewalks scarred by shattered glass.

            Alleluia!

            Just like the first disciples, we are called to take our Alleluias out into the world, out onto our streets, stained with the blood of Jy and so many others, beloved, precious, unique human life taken in an instant. We are called to take our Alleluias out into these places of despair and death.

            Alleluia!

            And we take our alleluias out of our churches each time we offer love, especially to those who are hardest to love.

            Alleluia!

            We take our alleluias out there each time, rather than seeking revenge, we choose to forgive those who have wronged us.

            Alleluia!

            We take our alleluias out onto the streets of Jersey City each time we set aside our own differences and choose to work for peace with any and all people of goodwill, no matter where they come from, no matter what they look like, no matter how they worship God, or even if they don’t believe in God at all.

            Alleluia!

            We take our alleluias out onto the streets of Jersey City when we see and treat every single person as a beloved, precious, unique child of God – every single person – the illiterate and the college-educated, the young and the old and the in-between, black, white, brown, yellow, the drunk on the corner and the guy who sells him the booze, the math whiz and the brilliant athlete, the young men huddled in front of the bodega and the people who cross the street to avoid them, the rich and the unemployed, the people sleeping in cardboard boxes on the church steps and Donald Trump in his mansions, the lawyers, judges, police officers - and the people they defend, protect, arrest and prosecute, the perpetrators and the victims of violence, the saints and the sinners – every single person as a beloved, precious, unique child of God.

            Alleluia!

            The truth is that it’s only when we take our alleluias out into the streets and share God’s love with absolutely everybody that we will begin to end the violence that took Nyheem, and takes so many from us, far too soon.

            And, so, today right now, right here in Jersey City, Jesus says to us what he said to the first disciples long ago:

            “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me.”

            Nyheem is at peace.

            And, you and I, we have a job to do.

            Alleluia!

            Alleluia!

            Alleluia!

            Amen.

Saints Remember that God is the God of New Life

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

November 1, 2015

Year B: All Saints’ Day

Wisdom of Solomon 3:1-9

Psalm 24

Revelation 21:1-6a

John 11:32-44

Saints Remember that God is the God of New Life

            On Monday afternoon I drove out on Route 80 to Pennsylvania for our annual clergy conference at a hotel on the Delaware River.

            As I got farther west I was treated to a beautiful display of fall foliage, rich reds and bright yellows along with browns and even still some greens.

            And, actually, I didn’t have to travel too far to see beautiful foliage.

            Trees right here in Jersey City have been putting on quite a display, including the three trees in front of the rectory which have given us the gift of bright yellow leaves.

            Some of you may have seen the picture I took the other day of the church partially hidden behind those yellow leaves.

            But, we know where this is going, right?

            And, if we didn’t, we got a windy, cold, and wet reminder on Tuesday night when a storm blew through blowing many of those beautiful leaves to the ground, making too much work for Vanessa as she spent hours sweeping them up.

            Early this morning, we (or most of us) moved our clocks back an hour – or, actually, more and more of our devices just take care of that task for us. Anyway, we know that it’ll be getting dark around 4:30 this afternoon and it’ll still be dark tomorrow morning when we get up.

            And, soon enough it will be cold and it will be icy and it will snow and, who knows, teachers and kids might even get a snow day every now and then.

            And, it’s not just the weather. Let’s be honest. The world is often a cold, hard, dark place.           

            Our own lives are often filled with shadows – the shadows of illness and unemployment, the shadows of missed connections, broken relationships and lost love, the shadows of fear and violence.

            Our lives can be so shadowy that sometimes it almost feels like that we are bound like Lazarus in the tomb.

            Our city is so often a place of shadows.

            Tomorrow morning I have the sad duty and privilege of officiating at the funeral at Church of the Incarnation of Nyheem McKinney, shot and killed last Sunday night on Communipaw Avenue, at the Junction, just 20 years old, his whole life ahead of him, leaving behind a heartbroken family and a two year old baby daughter.

            And, all you need to do is turn on the news to know that our world is so often a place of shadows, too.

            Winter can be so cold, we can easily forget that spring is right around the corner.

            Our lives can be so hard, that we can easily forget that God is the God of new life.

            Which brings us to today’s gospel lesson.

            The sisters Martha and Mary and the crowd of sad, grieving people think they know where this is going.

            Their brother Lazarus had gotten sick.

            Maybe if Jesus had arrived in time he might have been able to heal Lazarus. After all, he had healed many people in many different places – even restored sight to the blind!

            But, Jesus didn’t get to Lazarus in time. In fact, we’re told, he deliberately and mysteriously delayed his departure.

            And now, Lazarus is dead.

            He’s not just dead but he’s been dead for four days. He’s very dead.

            So, Martha and Mary and the crowd perfectly sensibly think that they know where this is going.

            But, they were wrong.

            They were wrong because God is the God of new life.

            “Lazarus, come out!”

            And, “the dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, ‘Unbind him, and let him go.’”

            The raising of Lazarus is the most awesome and dramatic display of Jesus’ power – a foreshadowing of an even greater display of God’s power on Easter Day.

            Lazarus received the gift of new life that day.

            It turned out that the sisters Martha and Mary and the crowd didn’t know where this was going at all.

            God is the God of New life.

            Now, we know that, but most of us forget.

            We forget because our world is shadowy and filled with real suffering and, yes, all too real death.           

            But, it seems to me, that the saints are those people who really do know where this is going.

            The saints don’t forget – or they remember more often than most of us – that God is the God of new life.

            Saints are those who remember – even when all the leaves have fallen and the trees are bare and it’s so, so cold – that God is the God of new life and spring and rebirth are right around the corner.

            Saints are those people who remember, even when things are most shadowy, even when Lazarus is dead, very dead, in the tomb, even when Jesus is hanging dead on the cross, even when Nyheem is bleeding to death on Communipaw Avenue, that God is the God of new life.

            Now, actually, since we’re baptized we’re saints already. It’s true. Look it up.

            So, I say, let’s really do it. Let’s really be saints!

            Let’s remember that God is the God of new life.

            God is the God of new life – new life that, if we look, we see sprouting up all around us – in our church that a couple of years ago was on the ropes but is now booming with wonderful saints both old and new, with new and exciting ministries and more yet to come – in the Episcopal Church where in just a little while installing the Rt. Rev. Michael Curry as our first African-American Presiding Bishop, a man who’s unafraid to talk boldly about the power and love of Jesus, a man who calls us all to be “crazy” (in a good way!) Christians!

            So, let’s be saints!

            Let’s remember that God is the God of new life.

            God is the God of new life – new life that, if we look, we see all around us – right here in Jersey City where people of all different faiths and no faith at all, including a bunch of us from St. Paul’s, are coming together in a powerful community organizing effort to finally address homelessness, public safety, and education in our city which so often is split between the haves and have-nots.

            So, let’s be saints!

            Let’s remember that God is the God of new life.

            God is the God of new life – new life that, if we look, we see all around us – today most clearly in the faces of these two beautiful babies who are about to be baptized, Ian and Kennedy, who are about to die with Christ and rise again with Christ in the water of baptism right back there at the font – you don’t want to miss this – these two beautiful children who are about to become our newest saints.

            Yes, the world, our city, and our lives are often shadowy and we can forget that we really do know where this is going.

            “Lazarus, come out!”

            And, “the dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, ‘Unbind him, and let him go.’”

            So, yes, we know where this is going.

            God is the God of…new life!

            So, let’s be…saints!

            Amen.