Wiping Away Our Tears and Expecting Resurrection

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

March 27, 2016

Easter Day

Acts 10:34-43

Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24

1 Corinthians 15:19-26

John 20:1-18

Wiping Away Our Tears and Expecting Resurrection

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            It’s Easter morning and once again we are back in a garden.

            We’re back in a garden, back where everything began, back where everything got messed up, back where Jesus was betrayed, back at what seemed to be a place of only sin, defeat and death.

            We were last in a garden on Good Friday when Jesus’ dead body was laid in the tomb.

            We were last in a garden on Good Friday when some of us – people from many different churches – walked through the streets of Jersey City, making our Stations of the Cross Procession, stopping and praying at places of violence and death in our community.

            We made our way up and down the streets of what had once been God’s beautiful garden, which we have perverted into places of cracked concrete, steel gates, iron bars, shattered glass, places of broken hearts and bloody stains and haunting fear – God’s beautiful garden that we’ve reduced to the garden of sin, defeat, and, death.

            We carried the cross through those streets.

            We carried shirts bearing the names of the 29 people murdered in Jersey City since last January – the young and the not so young, the innocent and the quite guilty.

            We prayed and sang and splashed holy water on those Jersey City streets.

            We did all of that because we are expecting resurrection.

            We are expecting resurrection!

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Long ago, Mary Magdalene returned to the garden, back at the tomb in the darkness of early morning, where, to her horror, she discovered that the stone had been removed from the tomb.

            A horrible experience – the betrayal, torture and death of her Lord – seems to have just gotten even worse.

            She runs and gets the Beloved Disciple and Peter but they don’t know what to make of this scene – they’re no help at all – and so the men head back home.

            But, not Mary Magdalene - she stays at the empty tomb, weeping.

            What else can she do, right?

            But, then, right there in the garden, right there in the place of sin, defeat, and death, right there in the garden, Mary first encounters the two angels.

            They ask what seems to be a stupid, even cruel question: “Why are you weeping?”

            And then, a man who Mary mistakes for the gardener appears, asking the same, seemingly cruel, question.

            The man who seems to be the gardener calls her by name, “Mary!”

            And, suddenly Mary hears. She sees. She knows!

            “Rabbouni!”

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Over all these centuries there’s been a lot of speculation about why Mary Magdalene didn’t at first recognize the risen Jesus.

            Some have said, well, it was early morning, so it was still dark. Or, perhaps the rising sun was in her eyes, blinding her to the sight of Jesus.

            Others have said that the Risen Christ was mysteriously transformed, making him hard to recognize at first glance.

            Others have said, she couldn’t see Jesus through her tears. I’m sure many of us have had the experience of crying so hard that for a time we are unable to see clearly.

            Those are all very believable, very sensible, explanations, but I think the most fundamental explanation is that, in the garden, in that place of sin, defeat, and death, in her weeping with great sadness and despair, Mary Magdalene just didn’t expect to see Jesus.

            Mary Magadalene wasn’t expecting resurrection.

            Mary Magdalene wasn’t expecting resurrection and neither were Peter and the Beloved Disciple who look into the empty tomb and head home in confusion and despair, and neither were the other disciples including Thomas who won’t believe until he sees the wounds in Jesus’ hands and side.

            No, Mary Magdalene and the other disciples weren’t expecting resurrection. They weren’t expecting Jesus.

            But, let’s not be too hard on Mary and the other disciples. They had just been through a horribly traumatic experience, watching their Lord betrayed and humiliated and killed, dead and buried.

            And, let’s not forget, most of them had their own issues, their own guilt, to deal with since most of the disciples had abandoned Jesus, even denied Jesus, in his moment of need.

            They can be forgiven for not expecting resurrection, right?

            But, we – we should know better.

            We are here this morning because, despite our doubts and uncertainties, despite the pain in our own lives and the sorrows of our messed up world where people blow up themselves and others in airports and train stations and people are gunned down on our streets, despite all of that and more we are here because we are expecting resurrection!

            And, we don’t have to believe it, because if we wipe away the tears from our eyes, we can see the Resurrection of Christ right here in this garden.

            On Friday as we made our way up and down those streets, yes, it was Good Friday but I’ll let you in on a little secret: it was already Easter.

            The fact that, on a day that threatened rain, 100+ people spent much of the morning, praying and singing and blessing – the fact that so many people cared enough to give up their time in less than ideal conditions – the fact that so many people remembered all of those who have been killed while most of our city has simply forgotten and moved on – the fact that some of us made those shirts and hung them on our church gates - the fact that we were there – my friends, that was Resurrection – that was a powerful sign of new life.           

            Expecting resurrection. Expecting Jesus.

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            We don’t have to believe it, because if we wipe away the tears from our eyes, we can see the Resurrection of Christ right here in this garden.

            We see the Resurrection right here at St. Paul’s, where just a few years ago our church had become small and quiet, so small and quiet that some people wondered if we were going to make it  - and some in the neighborhood even thought we were closed already.

            Let’s wipe the tears from our eyes and look at what God has done in this garden – where each week more and more people are fed in their bellies and in their souls – and more and more of us are bringing God’s love into the community!

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            We see the Resurrection right here in Jersey City as hundreds and hundreds of people from more than 30 congregations have begun to organize, despite our differences have begun to unite, demanding safe streets and decent schools and affordable housing for all of our people.

            Let’s wipe the tears from our eyes and look at what God is doing in this garden!

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            And, here at St. Paul’s, we are doubly blessed today because we are about to see resurrection once again, right here in this garden.

             In just a few minutes as Michael and Jay, these grown men who have made this big decision all on their own, will take the plunge into the water of Baptism.

            Right back there at the font, their old selves are going to die with Christ and then they will come up out of the water born anew, part of the Body of Christ forever – right back there, so make sure you get a good look!

            And there’s nothing – not sin, not even death itself - that can separate Mike and Jay – or any of us – from the love of Christ.

            Michael and Jay, my friends, all of us, expect resurrection! Expect Jesus!

            So, let’s wipe the tears from our eyes and take a good look at what God has done – what God is doing – what God is about to do – right here in this garden!

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Amen!

           

           

            

Whom Are We Looking For?

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

March 25, 2016

Good Friday

Isaiah 52:13-53:12

Psalm 22

Hebrews 10:16-25

John 18:1-19:42

Whom Are We Looking For?

            Just like in the beginning, once again we find ourselves in a garden.

            Once again, we’re in a garden and once again human beings mess up in a very big way, seeming to ruin everything, yet again.

            We’re told that Jesus and his disciples are in a garden when suddenly Judas shows up with soldiers and police bearing lanterns and torches and weapons.

            Then Jesus, who, we’re told, knew all that was going to happen to him, asks the authorities, asks them twice, in fact, “Whom are you looking for?”

            “Whom are you looking for?”

            Whom are we looking for?

            Especially today, that’s a very good question, isn’t it?

            Whom are we looking for?

            From very early days, on Good Friday, the Church has read and heard the account of our Lord’s Passion according to the Gospel of John.

            It’s a powerful and rich telling of this old, sad, tragic story.

            But, it also presents us with some problems, some baggage, that we need to address right at the start.

            Over the centuries, as the Church retold and reheard this story, it just about forgot something very important: what we are hearing is a Jewish story.

            It’s a story of bitter disagreement and conflict among and between first century Jews, a story of some Jewish leaders rejecting Jesus of Nazareth as the messiah.

            Jesus lived and died as a Jew as did all of his first followers.

            Over time, the Church, either by accident or on purpose, or probably a bit of both, just about forgot that and so this old, sad, tragic story became even more tragic because Christians began to hear it as a story of conflict between Jews and Christians.

            And, as I’m sure I don’t need to tell you but I’m going to say anyway, this story fueled horrific anti-Semitism which I wish I could say has been finally extinguished, but in this season of renewed hatred, ugliness, and violence, we all know better than that.

            “Whom are you looking for?”

            The soldiers and the police answer that they’re looking for Jesus of Nazareth.

            They’re looking for Jesus because they’ve received their orders to arrest him – orders given because some of the religious leaders saw this charismatic rabbi from Galilee as a threat – this rabbi who healed the sick, expelled demons, raised the dead and announced that the Kingdom of God was at hand, this rabbi who had been welcomed into the capital city with waving palms and shouts of “Hosanna!”

            And, you know, the leaders were right to feel threatened, though Jesus wasn’t interested in being chief priest or the kind of king who wears a golden crown and lives in a palace.

            The soldiers and the police come looking for Jesus in the garden and what do they find?

            They find Jesus with a few of his disciples.

            They find Jesus who doesn’t resist.

            They find Jesus who tells Peter to put his sword away.

            They find Jesus who offers a different way.

            They find Jesus who shows us the Way, who is the Way.

            Whom are you looking for?

            Whom are we looking for?

            If we’ve come here this evening looking for Jesus who is far off, hidden, and completely unknowable to us, then we’ve come to the wrong place.

            If we’ve come here this evening looking for Jesus who, how about that, shares all of our opinions and prejudices, likes the people we like and isn’t too crazy about the people we’re not too crazy about, then we’ve come to the wrong place.

            If we’ve come here this evening looking for Jesus who is going to make us rich and successful in the eyes of the world, if only we pray hard enough and follow all the rules and pay our pledge, then we’ve come to the wrong place.

            If we’ve come here this evening looking for Jesus who is going to save us from suffering, who us going to wave a divine magic wand and make our troubles go away while other poor souls continue to languish in pain and despair, then we’ve come to the wrong place.

            So, whom are we looking for?

            Well, if we’ve come here looking for Jesus who makes himself known to us, makes himself known through his teaching, makes himself known to us through his love and sacrifice, makes himself known to us when we wash away the filth that clings to our suffering and broken world, makes himself known to us in the breaking of the bread, then we’ve come to the right place.

            If we’ve come here looking for Jesus who loves everybody, very much including the people we’re not too crazy about, loves us even we’re not too crazy about ourselves, loves, yes, loves Donald Trump and Ted Cruz and Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders, loves the soldiers and the police, loves Judas and the chief priests and scribes, if we’ve come here looking for that Jesus, then we’ve come to the right place.

            If we’ve come her looking for Jesus who in the eyes of the world was a complete failure, weak and ineffective, a loser, managing only to attract a small band of less than faithful, less than stellar, followers including one who betrayed him, followers who almost all abandon him at the end, Jesus who hangs on the cross humiliated and quite dead, if we’ve come here looking for that Jesus, then we’ve come to the right place.

            If we’ve come here looking for Jesus who knows all about suffering, Jesus, who still walks with the suffering on the streets of Jersey City, who still makes his home among the people drunk on the corner or shooting up in some dark and dirty room, who still makes his home with those imprisoned in all the ways we imprison ourselves and others, the Jesus who still makes his home with people grieving their losses and fearing what is yet to come, if we’ve come here looking for that Jesus, then we’ve come to the right place.

            We’ve come back to the garden, back to the place of tragedy, the place of betrayal, abandonment, and death.

            But unlike at the beginning, this time, despite appearances to the contrary, things are not ruined.

            This time we’re welcome to stay in the garden for a while, welcome to grieve, welcome to pray…and welcome to wait for resurrection and new life.

            Amen.

           

           

           

            

Outward and Visible Signs

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

March 24, 2016

Maundy Thursday

Exodus 12:1-4, (5-10), 11-14

Psalm 116:1, 10-17

1 Corinthians 11:23-26

John 13:1-17, 31b-35

Outward and Visible Signs

            Here at St. Paul’s, we had a beautiful Lent.

            Our Sunday services were well-attended and our book study was prayerful and thought-provoking.

            Each Thursday evening, a good number of us walked the way of the cross, making the journey around our old church stopping at each station and remembering the journey of Jesus to the cross and the tomb.

            Some of us took part in the Liturgical Churches Union Lenten worship series and heard some great music and fine preaching.

            But, you know, believe it or not, I think my favorite part of Lent was our confirmation classes, both the youth and adult classes.

            It’s such an honor to help prepare our fellow parishioners to make this big step of publicly coming out as a Christian, taking ownership of the faith that was entrusted to them in baptism, in most cases when they were infants and, obviously, had absolutely no say one way or the other!

            I run both classes as more or less a discussion rather than teaching like a formal class.

            In the old days, though, confirmation class meant a lot of memorization – memorization so that the confirmands would be ready in case the bishop sprang a pop quiz on them right there in church in front of everybody.

            Maybe some of you remember being terrified that the bishop would single you out and ask you a question!

            Many, including maybe some of you, had to memorize things, memorize things like the definition of a sacrament: “An outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.”

            “An outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.”

            Remember that?

            And, often confirmands were required to memorize the number of sacraments: Two. Or, seven, depending on who was doing the counting.

            Today, on Maundy Thursday (“Maundy” from the Latin word mandatum, command), we gather with the disciples for one last meal with Jesus.

            All along, Jesus had been warning his friends, predicting the rejection and the death that awaited him.

            But, you know how it is. Like many of us, the disciples preferred to tune out the bad news, to ignore the sadness – to tune it out and to ignore it until that was no longer possible.

            But, now, gathered with Jesus at the table, the hard truth is sinking in: Jesus, the one for whom they had dropped everything to follow, the one they called teacher and Lord, the one who had healed and taught and fed, the one who had confused, inspired, and challenged them – Jesus - was going to die.

            So, now that he finally has their attention, Jesus offers some teaching that he wants them – wants us – commands us - to not just memorize, but take into our hearts and live by.

            Jesus took the bread and the wine and said, “This is my body. This is my blood. Do this in remembrance of me.”

            And, from the start and over all these many centuries, the Church has done a pretty good job remembering this teaching. We’ve done a pretty good job of following this command.

            About two decades after Jesus’ earthly lifetime, Paul writes to the church in Corinth and not only does he know about the Lord’s Supper, he’s handed on this teaching, this mystery, this command, to the Corinthians and many others, and all the way down to us.

            Each Sunday we remember Jesus’ teaching that this bread and wine is his body and his blood. Each Sunday we follow Jesus’ command to do this in remembrance of him.

            If you put the consecrated bread and the wine under a microscope you’ll find it’s still just plain old bread and wine but, somehow, Jesus is really present in this plain old bread and wine.

            Somehow, Jesus is really present when we gather at the table, kneeling or standing at the rail, right there beside people we’ve known for many years, or, even  all our lives, and beside people we’ve never seen before, all of us with our hands outstretched, taking the Body and Blood of Jesus into our bodies and our hearts, giving us the strength, the grace, we need to face life’s many challenges.

            And, I don’t have to memorize that, because I’ve seen it.

            I see it all the time. And you’ve seen it, too.

            Sacrament.

            An outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.

            And then there’s Jesus’ second teaching, a teaching done with few words and impossible for the disciples to forget.

            We’re told that Jesus got up from the table, took of his robe, and tied a towel around himself, poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet.

            After Peter overcomes his shock and resistance, Jesus explains, commands, that the disciples – we – must follow his example and wash one another’s feet.

            But, to be honest, we haven’t always done such a great job of following this teaching, of obeying Jesus’ command.

            It’s not easy to offer this kind of loving, generous, even intimate, service to others. Usually we’ll do it for our own, of course. So many of us here have washed children and grandchildren. And, some of us have washed parents, grandparents, and even, sometimes, spouses who have grown ill, weak, or confused.

            Oh, yes, we take care of our own, making sure, as best we can, that they’re clean, housed, and fed.

            Very, very beautiful, but we’re called to – commanded  - to way more generosity than that.            

            We are commanded to pour out even more water and wash away the filth that clings to so many people both in here and out there – the filth of shame, rejection, and regret; the filth of hunger, loneliness, and despair; the filth of feeling unimportant, ugly, and unlovable. 

            Each time we give away food as good as what we eat ourselves and feed those we love, we wash the feet of another.

            Each time we listen to someone in pain and offer a shoulder to cry on, we wash the feet of another.

            Each time we visit someone in prison, maybe literally incarcerated or spiritually imprisoned by guilt, addiction, or fear, we wash the feet of another.

            Each time we resist the strong temptation to judge or ridicule or stereotype, but instead treat every single person as a beloved child of God, we wash the feet of another.

            And, when we wash the feet of another, or even just try, you know what, Jesus is really present right then and there, present in us and the person we’re loving, present in the gift that we’re giving, present in the “water” that’s being poured out.

            The foot-washing, this powerful symbol of our loving service to one another, especially the poorest and the most despised, is a sacrament.

            And, I don’t have to memorize that, either, because I’ve seen it.

            I see it all the time. And you’ve seen it, too.

            Sacrament.

            An outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.

            So, tonight, we remember Jesus saying farewell to his friends by teaching them – commanding them – to remember him in the bread and the wine – teaching us – commanding us – to wash one another’s feet – to love one another as he has loved us – promising to be present with us in the bread and the wine, present in the love that we share.

            Jesus teaches us to receive sacraments and to be sacraments for one another – to be sacraments for one another, way more than two sacraments or seven sacraments, but countless sacraments in a hungry and filthy world – all of us, countless sacraments: outward and visible signs of inward and spiritual grace.

            May it be so.

            Amen.

Following the Crowd Or Following Jesus

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

March 20, 2016

The Sunday of the Passion – Palm Sunday

Luke 19:28-40

Isaiah 50:4-9a

Psalm 31:9-16

Philippians 2:5-11

Luke 22:39-23:56

Following the Crowd or Following Jesus

            I love that today’s service is a little complicated and confusing. I love it because it helps us to really get, really experience, that Palm Sunday is the most disorienting day of the church year.

            Today is the start of a disorienting, confusing, even upsetting week that we call “holy” – a week when we remember terrible, heartbreaking events:

            On Thursday, we’ll remember, retell, and reenact the story of the Last Supper when Jesus said goodbye to his disciples, giving them the bread and wine to remember him by, getting down on his hands and knees and washing the feet of his disciples, teaching them in a way more powerful than words that this is how much he loves us and commanding us to love each other just as much.

            Then, at the end of the week, on the Friday we call “good,” we’ll once again walk the streets of Jersey City, visiting places of pain and death, remembering the pain and death of Jesus long ago and the suffering Jesus continues to endure in and through our neighbors killed, injured, and frightened.

            And on Saturday we’ll find ourselves in that weird, uncomfortable in-between time, between the death of Good Friday and the new life of Easter.

            Holy Saturday is like an eclipse when we can only see the outline of light that’s about to once and for all conquer the darkness.

            But, today is Palm Sunday, the most disorienting day.

            The day began with so much promise, welcoming the king into his capital city with waving palms and shouts of joy.

            But the mood has quickly soured and we’ve ended up at the cross with the king hanging abandoned, humiliated, and quite dead.

            The most disorienting day - so disorienting that the Church can’t even settle on one name. It’s Palm Sunday and it’s also the Sunday of the Passion.

            The most disorienting day.

            Lately, I’ve been reading a biography of one of my heroes: Dietrich Bonhoeffer.

            Maybe some of you know that name or know something about him.

            He was a German pastor and theologian who was born into a well-to-do family in 1906, meaning his childhood was marked by the First World War and he grew into adulthood just before the rise of the Nazis.

            Bonhoeffer was brilliant and exceptionally well-educated, recognized at a young age as one of the most brightest theologians in Germany, a land that had produced and took pride in so many great religious thinkers.

            At the same time, thanks to his family’s wealth, Bonhoeffer was pampered and, frankly, kind of spoiled, insulated from the profound suffering of many of his countrymen in the years after the Great War and then at the start of the Great Depression.

            He seems to not have been paying much attention when Hitler and his Nazi thugs cleverly took advantage of people’s fears and bitterness, offering simplistic and horrible messages of hatred, including, of course most especially the brutal scapegoating of the Jews as the source of all of Germany’s problems.

            It’s a story that I’m sure is at least somewhat familiar to many of us.

            This history is certainly very familiar to me. I’ve studied it and I’ve taught it.

            But, reading this biography of Bonhoeffer, I’m struck by how fast it all happened. It happened so fast that lots of people, including Bonhoeffer and other intellectuals and other Christian leaders, were caught off guard, disoriented.

            Hitler mutated so quickly - mutated from someone ridiculed by the elites as a buffoon who they could easily manipulate and control into the absolute leader who just a few days after gaining power began moving brutally against those he hated.

            So disorienting and so terrifying.

            I’m also struck by the crowds.

            Seemingly overnight, suddenly there were huge crowds at the Nazi rallies listening to mindless speeches and saluting their hateful leader with their right arms outstretched.

            Tragically, most of the supposedly Christian leaders of Germany, both Protestant and Catholic, fell into line and followed right along with the crowds. They put on their red Nazi armbands and oriented themselves toward Hitler, saluting their leader, joining the huge crowds that would follow Hitler along the death road to genocide, war, and national suicide.

            Most Christian leaders followed the crowd, but not quite all.

            Although he was stunned and disoriented that these hateful developments could be happening in Germany, the land of poets and philosophers, Dietrich Bonhoeffer along with a handful of other Christian leaders followed Jesus. They resisted Nazi rule, risked their lives by refusing to follow the crowds.

            Each year on Palm Sunday – the Sunday of the Passion - we remember the fast-moving developments in Jerusalem two thousand years ago – and we remember the crowds.

            There’s a crowd of people greeting Jesus as he entered the capital city, but they seem to have the wrong idea. They think that Jesus is going to be a mighty warrior like his ancestor David, a warrior-king who will defeat the Roman occupiers and restore the independence of Israel.

            The crowd greets Jesus with waving palms and shouts of joy but at least some of them must have had second thoughts and doubts almost immediately when they saw their new king riding not a noble horse like any self-respecting monarch but a lowly colt, a visual that was not likely to inspire or excite the crowd.

            Events then move quickly and soon enough there’s another crowd, probably a much larger crowd - and I bet it included at least a few of the same people who had been waving palms and shouting joyfully just a few hours earlier.

            This crowd rejects Jesus with the repeated shouts of “Crucify him!”

            It doesn’t take much imagination to see their faces, right?

            We can see their faces twisted and screwed into rage, rage fed by disappointment, fear and despair, rage fed by the leaders, rage that feels so good at the time but always leads down the road to death.

            It’s ironic, but on Palm Sunday, on this most disorienting day, we see the choice so clearly.

            Do we follow the crowd?

            Or, do we follow Jesus?

            If we follow Jesus then we share the bread and wine with each other and with all those hungry people out there.

            If we follow Jesus then we follow his example of loving service, getting on our hands and knees and washing each other’s feet.

            If we follow Jesus then we reject the hate and the ugliness of the crowd, even when, especially when, it’s going to cost us.

            If we follow Jesus then we follow him to the Cross, follow him to all the many places of violence, pain, and loss.

            And, if we follow Jesus it will cost us everything – and it will gain us everything because this is a journey on the road to Easter, the road to new life.

            Unlike almost everybody else, Dietrich Bonhoeffer resisted Hitler and the Nazis right to the end.

            Not surprisingly, he was arrested and sent to a concentration camp where he was executed near the end of the war.

            In a letter from prison he wrote, “The Cross is not the terrible end of a pious happy life. Instead, it stands at the beginning of community with Jesus Christ. Wherever Christ calls us, his call leads us to death.”

            My brothers and sisters, today we begin the disorienting journey of Holy Week.

            Let’s not follow the crowd.

            Let’s follow Jesus.

            Let’s follow Jesus to death on the cross.

            Let’s follow Jesus to the new life of Easter.

            Amen.            

Looking for Jesus, Hungry for Jesus

The Liturgical Churches Union of Jersey City and Vicinity

Lenten Worship Service

March 16, 2016

John 6:22-27

Looking for Jesus, Hungry for Jesus

            One of my favorite things to do – one of my greatest privileges as an Episcopal priest – is the opportunity to administer Communion, to give the Bread of Life to everyone who presents themselves to me at St. Paul’s.

            Now, I know that we have at least somewhat different theologies and practices when it comes to the Lord’s Supper.

            But, over at St. Paul’s the way we do it is during the Sunday service people line up, come forward, and either kneel or stand at the altar rail.

            As I make my way down the line, I’m often touched, really moved, by the different ways people receive communion.

            Some raise their outstretched hands high while others keep them low.

            Some seem to want to make eye contact with me, eager for a human connection in this sacred moment, while others keep their eyes downcast, humble in the face of this most personal encounter with the Lord.

            I love seeing all the many hands, all the different colors, the old hands creased by a lifetime of hard work, bent by the pain of arthritis, and the young hands, smooth and barely lined, full of the promise and hope of youth, and the middle aged hands beginning to show some wear and tear.

            And then there are the children.

            At St. Paul’s we leave it up to the parents to decide when their baptized children are ready to receive communion.

            Some parents let their kids receive at a very young age, and usually they come bounding up to the rail, excited, overjoyed, even. Do they really understand what they are about to receive? No, but neither does anybody else!

            And then there are the children whose parents won’t let them receive yet. Often the kids will put out their hands expectantly, maybe even defiantly, only to have their mom or dad gently push them down and ask me to simply bless the child.

            But, you know, their disappointed faces show all too clearly that those kids know that they’re missing out on the good stuff.

            All of those people – all of us – old and young – gather at the Lord’s Table to take the Bread of Life into our bodies and souls.

            Whether there’s communion or not, we come to church – on Sundays or on a Wednesday night or any other time because we are looking for Jesus – and we have at least some idea where to find him.

            Looking for Jesus.

            Say it with me: “Looking for Jesus!”

            We’ve been having a blessed Lent, haven’t we?

            It has been a gift these past few weeks to travel around to our different churches, to see all these different holy places where people look for and find Jesus, a gift to hear the preaching of my clergy sister and brothers, and to soak in the sound our amazing choirs.

            I’m thankful to Rev. Legay for his kind introduction and Rev. Dorothy Patterson for the honor of preaching in her pulpit. With God’s help, I hope to be worthy of your trust.

            Looking for Jesus.

            This Lent we’ve been traveling around Jersey City and now we’ve come to Bayonne, because we’re…looking for Jesus.

             Say it with me: “Looking for Jesus!”

            And, thank God, we have some idea where to find him.

            And, in tonight’s lesson from the Gospel of John we heard about some other people who were looking for Jesus, too.

            We need to back up a little, though, to the day before the events we heard about in tonight’s reading.

            Because that day was a really big day.

            The Evangelist John tells us that a huge crowd had been following Jesus, seeing the signs he was performing for the sick, but it had gotten late, probably people were so focused on Jesus they lost track of the time!

            Anyway, because the hour had grown late, Jesus asks Philip, “Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?”

            Philip, he has no idea – all he knows is there’s definitely not enough food and certainly not enough money to feed all these people.

            Andrew helps out, managing to find a boy who’s got some food, but it’s only just five barley loaves and two fish, surely nowhere near enough.

            But, you know the rest, right?

            With Jesus, there’s more than enough for everybody.

            I imagine the people sitting on the grass that day, passing around the seemingly bottomless baskets of bread and fish, stretching out their hands, their hands worn from first century hard work, taking this mysterious food into their bodies.

            They didn’t understand at all what was happening but they knew that this was the good stuff – and knew that they wanted more!

            John tells us later that night the disciples got into a boat without Jesus and started out across the sea. A rough storm kicked up and suddenly they saw Jesus walking towards them – and they were terrified – terrified to see their Lord walking on the water.

            Jesus tells his terrified friends, “It is I; do not be afraid.”

            Which can also be translated, “I am; do not be afraid.”

            The disciples are beginning to realize that Jesus is more than a teacher, more than a prophet, more than a miracle-worker.

            In and through Jesus, God, the great “I Am,” has come among us.

            It was a really big day.

            Now, we pick up the next day with this evening’s lesson.

            The crowd from the day before who had eaten all of that bread and fish, all that good stuff, they discover Jesus and his disciples have departed and so they get into their boats and row to the other side, looking for Jesus.

            Say it with me: “Looking for Jesus!”

            They’re looking for Jesus, but like us, they don’t really understand who Jesus is – they don’t understand the meaning of the bread and fish they had received yesterday.

            They call Jesus “rabbi, “ which is true enough, but we know  - and the disciples are beginning to realize - that he’s so much more than that.

            Jesus tells them that they’re only looking for him because they ate up all the bread yesterday and now they want some more.

            Can’t you imagine him saying that with a little half-smile?

            And, you know, maybe they do want more bread and fish, maybe they were hungry to see what Jesus would whip up for breakfast, maybe they were eager for another miracle, another spectacle, another sign.

            But, the bottom line is that those people from long ago who rowed across the sea, with their imperfect understanding, they were looking for Jesus.

            Say it with me: “Looking for Jesus!”

            And, you know, we’re not so different from those people long ago who were well fed by Jesus, who got a taste of the good stuff, who didn’t understand everything – how can we?

            Like them, we know where to look for Jesus.

             We know to come back to our churches week after week where we are fed by the Word of God, where we are fed by the preaching (no comment, St. Paul’s!), where we are fed by the music, where we are fed by the sacraments, where we are fed by the fellowship, where we are fed by the gift and privilege of serving and loving one another.

            Like those people long ago rowing their boats across the sea, we’ve gotten a taste of the good stuff – a taste of the best stuff of all – and we want more, so we go looking for Jesus – we go looking for Jesus in our churches – we go looking for Jesus right here during this Lenten series.

            We’re looking for Jesus – and, thank God, we know where to find him.

            Amen? Amen!

            But…but, there are so many people out there who are hungry for Jesus. So many people out there who can’t find Jesus, or who haven’t found him, yet.

            There are so many people out there who don’t even know where to begin looking for Jesus.

            We know these people, don’t we?

            In fact, maybe we used to be them.

            We know those men and women overwhelmed by life, all those bills that somehow need to get paid, the challenge of raising children in hard, dangerous neighborhoods with substandard schools, the burden of being stained forever by past mistakes, the seemingly pointless search for a job, the fear of illness and death, the enslavement to drugs or alcohol.

            We know these people who are hungry for Jesus.

            Say it with me: “Hungry for Jesus!”

            So many people are hungry for Jesus but they don’t know where to begin looking for him because maybe they’ve been hurt by the church. Maybe they’ve been abused by the church one way or another – we know that happens more often than we’d care to admit.

            So many people are hungry for Jesus but they can’t find him because maybe they’re turned off by the loudest and most famous and, yes, I’ll say it, richest “Christian” leaders in our country who preach the law before love, who are quick to judge and condemn and slow to forgive, who throw their considerable power and prestige behind political candidates who promote hate and feed fear.

            So many people are hungry for Jesus but they don’t know where to begin looking for him maybe because of “Christian” leaders who puff themselves up, who live in mansions and fly around in private jets while supposedly humbly following Jesus of Nazareth - Jesus who had no place to rest his head, Jesus who called on the rich young man to give away his possessions to the poor and follow him.

            Say it with me: “Hungry for Jesus!”

            And, yes, so many people are hungry for Jesus but they can’t find him because of us.

            Our churches can so easily become safe little clubs where we get to hang out with people just like us, people we’ve known a long time and love and trust – safe little exclusive clubs where too often the stranger is looked at with suspicion or, maybe even worse, is pounced upon as he or she walks through the door for the first time: fresh blood who can do some of the church work we’re so tired of doing.           

            Our churches have so often retreated into ourselves – into our little church politics and our irrelevant disputes that look completely ridiculous to the outside world.

            We’ve stopped going out to the street and stopped being with the people, being with the people who are so hungry for Jesus – who are starving for Jesus.

            People are looking for Jesus.

            People are hungry for Jesus.

            My favorite definition of evangelism is one maybe you’ve heard. It’s from a 20th Century Sri Lankan Methodist pastor named D.T. Niles.

            He said, “Evangelism is just one beggar telling another beggar where to find bread.”

            “Evangelism is just one beggar telling another beggar where to find bread.”

            I love that.

            My brothers and sisters, we are the beggars who know where to find the bread.

            We are the beggars who know where to find the good stuff.

            We are the beggars who know where to find Jesus – we may not always understand him – how could we? – but, we know where to look for Jesus and we know where to find Jesus.

            Now, maybe more than ever, we’re called to be the beggars who tell the other beggars where to find the bread.

            Through our deeds and words, we’re called to tell the people in our own families.

            Through our deeds and words, we’re called to tell the people across the hall or across the street who are burdened and worn down by life.

            Through our deeds and words, we’re called to tell the people who’ve been hurt, disappointed, or just plain disgusted by the church.

            Through our deeds and words, we’re called to tell the kids on the corner, maybe just hanging out or maybe up to no good.

            We’re called to tell them all – tell them through our very lives – through our lives of love and generosity – we’re called to tell them that we’ve looked for Jesus and, yes, we’ve found him – we know where to find the bread – we know where to find the good stuff.

            We know, so come on over.

            And if we share this Good News – if we share this best news of all time – more and more of us will gather with our hands of different colors, our hands lined, creased and bent, our hands smooth, our hands lifted up, hungry and ready to find Jesus and be fed by Jesus, ready to take Jesus into our bodies and our souls.

            People are looking for Jesus.

            People are hungry for Jesus.

            So, my fellow beggars, it’s time, actually it’s long past time, for us to tell those beggars out there, to show them where to find the bread, where to find the good stuff, where to find Jesus.

            Amen.

           

The Sweet Fragrance of New Life

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

March 13, 2016

Year C: The Fifth Sunday in Lent

Isaiah 43:16-21

Psalm 126

Philippians 3:4b-14

John 12:1-8

The Sweet Fragrance of New Life

            I love living in Jersey City. I really do.

            But, let’s admit it: sometimes, it stinks.

            I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed this but sometimes, especially in the morning, there’s a nasty odor hanging in the air. I’ve been told that the smell comes from a tannery in Newark. I don’t know if that’s true. Maybe the smell comes from the polluted Newark Bay, or the incinerator that pumps waste into the sky night and day, or the hulking generating plant that sits smoking at the western edge of the city.

            I don’t know what it is, but it stinks.

            And, if we’re honest, we have to admit that life stinks a lot, too.

            Jersey City isn’t the only place we’ve polluted, of course. Far from it. By now much of God’s beautiful creation has been soiled and spoiled by us, God’s beautiful creation that we’ve for so long treated as an open sewer.

            And, unfortunately, we’re paying the price for our abuse of the planet as temperatures and tides rise, wiping out vulnerable creatures and communities all around that world, as lead poisons the city of Flint and some thirty public schools in Newark and no one would be surprised if our water is poisoned, too.

            That stinks.

            Here in our country, we’re in the midst of the most bizarre presidential campaign of our lives as people flock to highly unlikely non-establishment candidates: a wealthy reality TV celebrity and a Vermont Socialist who, each in their own way, have said out loud what everybody knows - the system is corrupt, rotten.             

            Of course, they offer very different messages and answers, but both get that people are hurting, people are afraid, people are falling behind, the divide between rich and poor is growing ever wider, and it sure looks like our children won’t have it as good as we’ve had it.

            That stinks.

            Thanks to our work with Jersey City Together some of us have become increasingly aware of the injustices in our own city: the tax abatements still being given for development along the waterfront – some of the most valuable real estate in the world – depriving our often substandard public schools of desperately needed money; the unjust tax structure that has people in wealthy areas paying less than their full share in property taxes; whole neighborhoods where just about the only legal commerce is the very busy liquor store that can be found on every other block.

            That stinks.

            And then there are the stinky aspects of our own lives.

            Over my nearly three years here as rector have become increasingly aware of how hard so many of our lives are: the broken relationships and wounded families; the struggle to pay the bills; the desperation of unemployment, underemployment, and even over-employment, as some of us work long hours at more than one job just to keep our heads above water.

            There are the physical and mental health challenges we face, making it difficult to just get through the day – and the fears of what’s yet to come.

            That stinks.

            It was today’s lesson from the Gospel of John, the story of the anointing of Jesus in Bethany, that got me thinking about… stinkiness.

            All four gospels tell the story of Jesus being anointed by a woman, though they give different details of the event.

            In the Gospel of John, which we heard today, Jesus stops in Bethany on his way to Jerusalem and visits the home of his friends, the sisters Mary and Martha and their brother Lazarus.

            Lazarus! Remember Lazarus: Jesus’ friend who had died – who was already dead four days when Jesus arrived at his tomb, greeted by the grief-stricken Mary and Martha.

            Martha had warned Jesus that her brother Lazarus had been dead for four days – he was really dead – the body was already stinking – but Jesus ordered the stone rolled away  - “Lazarus come out!” and out of the tomb came the stinking dead man – rising to new life.

            Now, in the story of the anointing at Bethany, John mentions Lazarus twice, making sure that we catch that he’s there, alive and at the table, no longer stinking but breaking bread with his sisters and his Lord.

            Jesus stops in Bethany on his way to Jerusalem  - where he knows what awaits him – a brief royal welcome with waving palms, shouts of “Hosanna!” followed quickly by betrayal, rejection, mockery, abandonment, torture, and death on the cross.

            The Son of God had come into the world only to be rejected by just about everyone – to say that stinks is an understatement, for sure.

            Jesus knows his fate and so, it seems, does one other person: Mary of Bethany.

            We’re told that Mary uses a huge amount of costly perfume – an extravagant amount - costing 300 denarii, about a year’s worth of wages for a worker – uses all of that to anoint Jesus’ feet.

            She then wiped his feet with her hair in an almost unbelievably tender, intimate, and generous act of love.

            And, “the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.”

            Throughout his ministry – and most especially when he raised Lazarus from the dead – Jesus transformed the stink of death – the stink of despair and fear and selfishness – the stink of death – into the fragrance of new life – the fragrance of hope, faith, and love.

            Mary of Bethany had the chance to give thanks to Jesus by imitating Jesus - by pouring out perfume on his feet – she poured out great love and generosity – and the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume – the fragrance of new life.

            The truth is that you and I have the chance to give thanks to Jesus by imitating Jesus.

            Look around at the people here with us today – our lives stink a lot.

            Look at the people you pass on the sidewalk or who are in the car ahead of you or who are sitting next to you on the bus or who live across the hall or across at the street – their lives stink a lot, too.

            Their lives – our lives – stink with broken relationships and wounded families; the struggle to pay the bills; the desperation of unemployment, underemployment, and overemployment - stink with physical and mental health challenges – stink with the fears of what’s yet to come.

            Look at the people all across this country frightened of immigrants and hateful toward people of color – look at the people terrified of slipping further down the economic and social ladder – look at the people desperate to go back to the way things, supposedly, used to be – their lives stink a lot, too.

            Look at the people hanging outside Royal Liquors over on Bergen right now, loitering near liquor stores all across this city, begging for change to buy the next drink, their lives stinking for sure with the unmistakable odor of addiction and despair.

            You and I are called to imitate Jesus and to imitate Mary of Bethany by pouring out the perfume of love and generosity.

            We are called to pour out the perfume of love and generosity – not little drops as if we’re afraid there won’t be enough perfume to go around – but really pour it out – really pour it out by loving and serving the people closest to us and loving and serving our neighbors and strangers, by even striving to love and somehow serve the person who broke into our church, even if all we can do is pray, really pray, for him or her.

            We are called to pour out the perfume of love and generosity so that our food bins in the back of the church are overflowing with food - food at least as good as what we eat and serve ourselves and those we love.

            We are called to pour out the perfume of love and generosity so that our diaper collection surpasses 1000, maybe even 2000 diapers!

            We are called to pour out the perfume of love and generosity so that we forgive those who’ve wronged us and, yes, at least try to love those who are different, who don’t look or act like we do, to love the people drunk on the street, nodding off on the corner, to love all the people we don’t like or trust one bit.

            If we try, with God’s help, to pour out the perfume of love and generosity then we can fill this house, we can fill this stinking old city, with the sweet fragrance of new life.

            May it be so.

            Amen.