Sometimes the Road to Emmaus is Bergen Avenue

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

April 30, 2017

Year A: The Third Sunday of Easter

Acts 2:14a, 36-41

Psalm 116:1-3, 10-17

1 Peter 1:17-23

Luke 24:13-35

Sometimes the Road to Emmaus is Bergen Avenue

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Although our Easter flowers are beginning to droop and have been removed to the hall, and although our alleluias don’t have quite as much oomph as they did a couple of weeks ago, it’s still Easter.

            It’s still Easter for us – and it’s still Easter for the two disciples in today’s gospel lesson.

            Yes, it’s still Easter, it’s the end of a long first Easter Day, for Cleopas and the other unnamed disciple – perhaps “Mrs. Cleopas” – who are heading home to Emmaus, sad and confused about all that they had experienced and heard about in Jerusalem over these last few momentous days.

            The story of the Risen Christ appearing to the two disciples on the road to Emmaus reminds us of what our faith is all about:

            You and I are on a journey, and on this journey we meet Jesus in Scripture, and the breaking of the bread - and we meet Jesus in the stranger.

            One of the key elements of this story is that Cleopas and the other disciple offer hospitality. And, without knowing it, they offer hospitality to Jesus himself.

            Now, on the road, the two disciples had good reason to be suspicious of strangers. There was still a lot of fear that what had happened to Jesus – arrest, torture, death – was going to happen to his followers, too.

            Plus, there was the usual fear of strangers – the fear of the unknown – the fear of being robbed or hurt or even worse.

            Yet, at some risk to themselves, they open up to this stranger, sharing the hope they had placed in Jesus, the sadness they felt about his death, and the confusion they were experiencing after hearing reports of his resurrection.

            The two disciples offer hospitality to the stranger. And, without knowing it, they offer hospitality to Jesus himself.

            And then, at the end of their journey, they offer even deeper hospitality, inviting the stranger into their home, offering him food and rest, giving Jesus the opportunity to reveal himself in the breaking of the bread.

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            The story of the Risen Christ appearing to the two disciples on the road to Emmaus reminds us of what our faith is all about:

            We are on a journey, and on this journey we meet Jesus in Scripture, and the breaking of the bread, and we meet Jesus in the stranger.

            We Christians are meant to offer hospitality, treating the stranger as if he or she were Jesus himself.

            It’s a lesson that I’ve learned many times, but it’s a lesson I seem to need to relearn, need to be reminded of hospitality, all the time.

            As some of you know, for a year I was chaplain at the University of Florida.

            The chapel and student center where I worked – and where we lived – was on the main drag and, as you might suspect, we attracted a good number of homeless people who came looking for money and food, or even just a bathroom.

            But, there was one homeless man named Jesse who lived on our grounds, sleeping and spending much of the day drinking on a bench right outside the chapel door.

            To be honest, in the beginning, I was concerned about his wellbeing and, yes, I was worried about how his presence looked – that it would scare away people from coming to the chapel.

            But, I had inherited this “problem” and I decided I would just have to tolerate him living with us.

            Although he literally lived outside our door, I didn’t really get to know Jesse until he started coming to Morning Prayer. When he first showed up, I cringed. What would people think? Would his smell drive the others away?

            But, then, during the service it was time for people to add their own prayers. And, I have to tell you that Jesse prayed like I’ve never heard anyone pray – the most beautiful prayers from deep in his heart, prayers not for himself but for so many others, including me.

            When we offered even just a little hospitality to this homeless drunk man, every person at our services encountered the Risen Christ.

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            I’ve never forgotten Jesse, but I still need to be reminded of the importance of hospitality, reminded over and over again.

            Like, for example, this past Wednesday.

            For a couple of unexpected reasons, it was a very busy day.

            Late in the morning I was walking on Bergen Avenue, hurrying back to church, when I reached the Wonder Bagels corner.

            As often happens, one of the guys who hang out around that intersection, but someone I didn’t recognize, called out to me,

            “Hey, Pastor!”

            I hope he didn’t see my eye roll.

            I tried to just wave – smile - keep going, but he called out again,

            “Hey, Pastor, wait. Let me ask you something.”

            With probably another eye roll, I thought for sure he was going to ask for money – money that would be quickly spent at Royal Liquors or on something even worse – but instead, he looked right in my eyes and said he was really hungry and nodded toward Wonder Bagels and asked if I would buy him something to eat.

            I took a deep breath, thinking I don’t really have time for this, time for the long lunchtime line, but said OK, hopefully with at least some enthusiasm.

            When we got to the counter, the young woman working there realized what was going on and threw in a chocolate chip cookie, winking at me, and mouthing, “No charge.”

            When we got outside, I was still in a hurry, but he stopped me, thanking me over and over again and then he said that we had met before – that we had talked outside of the church one day a few weeks ago – and that he would surprise me one day and come to a service.

            I don’t know if that’ll ever happen, but when he reminded me of our previous meeting, I felt a little like Cleopas and the other disciple when their eyes were opened:

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            But, some of us need even more reminders so, later that same busy afternoon, near the same spot, I was hurrying past Dunkin’ Donuts when one of the guys, a different guy, called out to me,

            “Hey Rev!”

            I hope he didn’t see my eye roll.

            I tried to wave – smile - keep going but he called out to me again. I stopped, thinking he was just going to ask for money – money that would be quickly spent at Royal Liquors or on something even worse – but instead he asked,

            “Would you pray with me?”

            Surprised, I said sure, and asked if there was something specific he wanted to pray for. He said, “No, I just wanna pray for everybody.”

            He put his hand on my shoulder, and I prayed, not as good as Jesse, but as best as I could.

            Just before I finished, he said, “And, we should pray for the president, too.”

            Yes. Yes, we should.

            He told me his name and I told him mine and he hugged me.

            He said, “I love you, Rev” and hugged me again.

            As I walked away, and, yes, I’ll admit it, after checking that my wallet was still in my back pocket, I realized that I had gotten yet another reminder of what this is all about:

            We are on a journey, and on this journey we meet Jesus in Scripture, and the breaking of the bread, and we meet Jesus in the stranger.

            We Christians are meant to offer hospitality, treating the stranger as if he or she were Jesus himself.

            We are like Cleopas and Mrs. Cleopas on the road to Emmaus – and, sometimes, believe it or not, the road to Emmaus is Bergen Avenue.

           Alleluia! Christ is risen!

           The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

           Amen.

The Wounded God

St. Paul’s Church in Bergen, Jersey City NJ
April 23, 2017

Year A: The Second Sunday of Easter

Acts 2:14a, 22-32

Psalm 16

1 Peter 1:3-9

John 20:19-31

The Wounded God

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Last week we had the most amazing Easter celebrations here at St. Paul’s.

            I think they were about as perfect as anything we’ve ever done, about as perfect as our worship can be.

            This place always looks great, but on Sunday it was a glimpse of heaven.

            I loved looking out at so many people, so many diverse and beautiful people, who came to church for many reasons, I guess, but, in the deepest parts of their hearts, they – we – were here for Good News, for the best news of all time:

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            The music at the Easter Vigil and the 10:00 Easter Day service was about as good as it gets – and at 10:00 we started with the premiere of our Children’s Bell Choir.

            When I heard those beautiful tones rung by our beautiful kids, I knew everything was going to be just fine.

            And, of course, there were the baptisms.

            What an honor and a blessing to baptize Liam and Luca McCahill at the Vigil (who were pretty good sports during a long service that went way past their bedtimes) and then on Easter morning to baptize Luca Thompson who gave a nice loud cry as he officially joined our Christian community.

            I could go on, but, thanks to the hard work of some dedicated and loving people, it all really was amazing.

            On Sunday afternoon, despite being pretty tired, it felt like I practically floated out of church.

            It really was Easter.

            And, since Easter is more than just a day, since Easter is a whole season of fifty days, it’s still Easter today.

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed!

            It’s still Easter for us and in today’s gospel lesson it’s still Easter for the disciples.

            Actually, for them, it’s Easter evening.

            But, unlike us, they’re not joyful, at least not yet. For the disciples, it must have been a most confusing time.

            These closest followers of Jesus were still understandably afraid of the authorities, afraid that what had happened to Jesus was now going to happen to them, so afraid that they kept the doors locked.

            But, at the same time, some of them had seen the empty tomb, and by now all of them had heard the stories of something unexpected, had heard that maybe God had made yet another unexpected turn, made the most unexpected turn of all, raising Jesus from the dead.

            When I try to visualize the scene, I can imagine the room as very quiet but I can also imagine the room filled with lots of chatter as the disciples traded stories, trying to make sense of what had happened, of what was happening.

            Suddenly, into this most confusing scene, steps the Risen Christ.

            A locked door is no obstacle for him.

            “Peace be with you,” he says.

            And, then, notice what the Risen Christ does next: he shows his wounds, shows his wounded hands and his wounded side.

            Jesus knows that the disciples will recognize the Risen Christ most clearly by his wounds.

            This is still the same Jesus, risen, transformed, and wounded.

            The wounded God.

            Of course, not everybody was there that night to see the Risen Christ.

            The Apostle Thomas was absent and when the other disciples tell him about seeing the Risen Lord he famously doubts them, and knowing the disciples’ track record, I’m pretty sure we would doubt them, too.

            But, Thomas doesn’t just doubt. Thomas insists that he will only recognize Jesus by his wounds:

            Thomas says, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”

            And, sure enough, we’re told that a week later the Risen Christ appears again to the disciples, and this time Thomas is there.

            The Risen, but still wounded, Christ shows Thomas his hands and his side – and that’s all the apostle needs to see.

            In joy and shock, Thomas cries out the truth, saying more than he probably understood, “My Lord and my God!”

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            The disciples recognize the Risen Christ by his wounds.

            This is still the same Jesus, risen, transformed, but still wounded.

            The wounded God.

            You know, if we were God, if we were writing the story, I bet that after Easter, we’d make sure that Jesus’ wounds were completely healed, that they vanished without even the faintest scar, right?

            But, no, the wounds of Jesus remain, reminding us of the cross, reminding us that, in a sense, God is wounded, too – reminding us that, if we look, this wounded God can be seen in the wounds, and among the wounded, all around us.

            So, yes, last week we recognized the Risen Christ when we gathered for our Easter celebrations, when we heard the glorious music and smelled the fragrance of the flowers, when we washed three children in the water of Baptism and when we heard the Word of God and received Christ’s Body and Blood.

            But, if we looked, we could also recognize the Risen, but still wounded, Christ on Good Friday.

            If we looked, we could also recognize the Risen, but still wounded, Christ when we were joined by a man whose wife had just died a few days earlier in a very public and tragic way, a man who couldn’t think of a better place to be than walking with Jesus and walking with us.

            If we looked, we could also recognize the Risen, but still wounded, Christ when we walked up and down the streets and sidewalks, sidestepping broken glass and gaping holes in the concrete, past some well-kept homes and many more in disrepair, as we were watched by people hanging out of windows or hanging out on corners, trying to make sense of this strange spectacle.

            If we looked, we could also recognize the Risen, but still wounded, Christ in the faces of at least two grieving mothers who walked with us, two women still mourning the senselessly violent deaths of their sons, whom they loved so much.

            If we looked, we could also recognize the Risen, but still wounded, Christ, at each station, at each place where a brother or sister was injured or killed, dying for not very much at all, so many wounded and wasted lives.

            If we looked, we could also recognize the Risen, but still wounded, Christ, in the police officers walking and riding with us, men and women who go to work each day not sure if they’ll make it back home, cops who, at the end of our walk, all came forward to gratefully to receive a blessing.

            As the Apostle Thomas understood, if we look, we can recognize Risen Christ in the wounds. We can recognize the Risen Christ in the wounded – and not just on Good Friday.

            Last week, on Easter Day, while you and I were still floating after our beautiful celebrations, there was yet another shooting in Jersey City, a shooting that left a nineteen year-old young man dead and a ten year-old girl seriously injured.

            If we look, we can also recognize the Risen, but still wounded Christ, right there at that bloodstained spot on Ocean Avenue.

            And, the wounds are not just a result of violence and murder.

            If we look, we can recognize the Risen, but still wounded, Christ in the wounds of the people around us, the people who are so disappointed by how their lives turned out, the people who are so afraid of the future, the people mourning lost loves, the people regretting the roads not taken, the people who couldn’t work up the courage or the energy to be here with us last week.

            And, yes, if we look, we can recognize the Risen, but still wounded, Christ in our own wounds, in our own woundedness.

            Last week the Risen Christ was especially present here in this beautiful place, but the Risen Christ was and is also always especially present in our wounds.

            The wounded God lives among - and loves - all of us wounded people, breaking through locked doors to say, “Peace be with you.”

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Amen.

Turning Toward the Risen Christ

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

April 16, 2017

Easter Day

Acts 10:34-43

Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24

Colossians 3:1-4

John 20:1-18

Turning Toward the Risen Christ

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            You know, throughout history, God has been a God of unexpected turns – from choosing the small and not very powerful Israel to be God’s people – to deciding to come among us in and through Jesus of Nazareth, born to a couple of nobodies in an out of the way place, a king who washed the feet of his followers and suffered a shameful and torturous death on a cross.

            Yes, throughout history, God has been full of unexpected turns, but no turn is more unexpected and earth-shattering than what we celebrate today.

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Although the disciples had seen God perform many amazing acts, had seen God make many unexpected turns in and through Jesus, they all thought the cross and the tomb was the end of the story – that, as much as they had loved Jesus and as closely as they had followed him, as much as they had hoped – in the end, Jesus had turned out to be just another charismatic leader struck down and crushed by the powers of the world.

            And, yet.

            And, yet we’re told while it was still dark Mary Magdalene returned to the tomb – the tomb that had been sealed by the heavy stone.

            John doesn’t tell us why Mary Magdalene was there

            But, I imagine that, in the midst of her shock and inconsolable grief at the loss of her Lord, she didn’t really know what to do with herself, so she returned to this place of death.

            And, maybe, somewhere deep in her heart, she was hoping against hope that after so much tragedy, God would somehow make one last unexpected turn.

            At first, she finds the empty tomb. Can it be that this horrible story has only grown worse?

            And then, after Peter and the other disciple (who were no help at all, by the way) went back home, there are two angels, and then, finally, without understanding what’s going on, Mary turns away from this place of death, and turns toward life, turns toward the Risen Christ!

            “Mary!”

            “Rabbouni!”

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Throughout history, God has been full of unexpected turns, but no turn is more unexpected and earth-shattering than what we celebrate today.

            On that first Easter morning, love defeats hate and life conquers death, once and for all.

            And, yet.

            And, yet, we see war and rumors of war flaring up in too many parts of the world, terrifying weapons being deployed and innocent life taken without a thought.

            And, yet, we see a rise in hate and hate crimes right here in our own country.

            And, yet, once again on Good Friday, we made our way through the streets of Jersey City, visiting and praying at so many places of violence and death, carrying shirts bearing the names of the 25 brothers and sisters murdered last year here in our city.

            Though the war is won, hate and death continue to battle on.

            So, you and I, as followers of the Risen Christ, we’re called to turn away from the places of death in our hearts, to turn away from our hatreds and grievances and fears, to turn away from scapegoating certain people as the source of all our problems, to turn away from holding on for dear life to the little we think we have.

            Yes, we’re called to be like Mary Magdalene, called to turn away from the places of death and turn toward the Risen Christ.

            And, we turn to the Risen Christ by doing our best to keep the baptismal promises that are about to be made on Luca’s behalf, the baptismal promises that we are about to renew.

            With God’s help, we turn away from the places of death and turn toward the Risen Christ each time we pray and break bread together, each time we resist evil, each time we ask forgiveness for our sins, each time we proclaim the Good News, each we seek and serve Christ in absolutely everybody, especially those we don’t like one bit, and each time we strive for justice and peace among us all.

            Those are some big promises and we’re sure to fall short, but with the help of the God of unexpected turns, with the help of the God who raised Jesus from the dead, we really can be more faithful, more generous, and more loving than even we ever thought possible.

            Maybe now more than ever, we are called to be like Mary Magdalene, called to turn away from the places of death and turn toward the Risen Christ.

            It won’t be easy, but there’s really nothing to fear, because…

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Amen!

           

             

God Turns Toward Us

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

April 15, 2017

The Great Vigil of Easter

Genesis 1:1-2:2

Genesis 7:1-5, 11-18; 8:6-18; 9:8-13

Exodus 14:10-15:1
Ezekiel 37:1-14

Romans 6:3-11

Psalm 114

Matthew 28:1-10

God Turns Toward Us

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Well, we’ve heard a lot of Scripture this evening, haven’t we?

            And, you know, when that Scripture was written most people believed that the earth – that they, that we – were at the center of the universe.

            And, if we were at the center of the universe, it’s not too surprising that God would take a keen interest in what was going on here on this planet.

            But, although we all know a few people who think they are the center of the universe, over the centuries, we have come to understand that our planet, as beautiful and as precious as it is, the only planet we’ve got, is just a speck in an incomprehensibly vast universe.

            We are small, very, very small.

            The psalmist understood this long ago when he wrote, “When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars you have set in their courses, what is man that you should be mindful of him?”

            And yet, although Liam and Luca and all of us are small, God is mindful of us.

            We are of infinite value to God.

            And, so, tonight, we re-told the stories of God’s saving deeds in history, just a few of the more memorable times when God has turned toward us and saved us from disasters, usually, let’s face it, disasters of our own making.

            We began with the story of creation, the story of God turning to us, creating all that is out of love.

            And, whenever I hear that story I always think about what happens just a little later, how the first man and woman mess up and, out of their new experiences of shame and fear, they try to hide from God.

            I think of that heartbreaking moment when God comes through the garden looking for the man and woman, turning toward them and calling out, “Where are you?”

            And, through the centuries, God continued to turn toward us, continued to call out to us with, again, let’s face it, limited success.

            Finally, God turned toward us and came among us in and through Jesus of Nazareth – and, at first, even that attempt didn’t seem to go very well, did it?

            On Good Friday, Jesus seemed like a heartbreaking, tragic failure.

            But, then God took an unexpected turn – God made the most unexpected turn of all - shining light into the shadows, love conquering hate, and life defeating death – the most unexpected turn that we celebrate tonight:

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Now, tonight, God turns toward us again, and God especially turns toward Liam and Luca, making an unbreakable bond with them in the water of Baptism, a bond that can never ever be dissolved no matter what they ever do, or don’t do.

            They and we are of infinite value to God.

            And, so God offers Liam and Luca and the rest of us the water of baptism and the Body and Blood of Christ.

            God turns toward us, and, in and through Jesus, offers us the way: pray and break bread together, resist evil, ask for forgiveness when we mess up, share the Good News, see Christ in everybody – especially the people we hate and fear, strive for justice and peace.

            And, though we’ll never be the center of the universe, the more that Liam and Luca and the rest of us follow this way, the more we choose love instead of hate, the more we choose life instead of death, then this beautiful and precious planet really will be the good creation for which God has dreamed, and worked, and sacrificed so much for so long.

            On Easter, once again, God turns toward us – little us – raising Jesus from the dead and offering us all new life, new life, new life!

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

           

            

Unexpected Turns

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

April 13, 2017

Maundy Thursday

Exodus 12:1-14

Psalm 116:1, 10-17

John 13:1-17, 31b-35

Unexpected Turns

            For me, one of the most appealing, most endearing, aspects of the Gospel is the fact that so often the disciples really just don’t get it.

            Obviously, they all saw something in Jesus, something that they had never seen before, something that inspired them, compelled them, to leave behind their old lives and follow this mysterious teacher and healer from Galilee, the one that they had come to believe was the long-awaited Messiah.

            Yet, throughout the Gospel, Jesus’ closest followers don’t really understand Jesus’ teaching, don’t understand the meaning of his miracles and signs, and they certainly don’t understand – or, maybe, don’t want to understand - that Jesus is going to suffer and die.

            But, we shouldn’t be too hard on the disciples because, after all, Jesus’ life and ministry was full of unexpected turns.

            Starting with his miraculous birth to a couple of nobodies to his hanging out with the despised tax collectors and prostitutes to revealing his true identity to the Samaritan woman at the well to raising his friend Lazarus from the dead to allowing Lazarus’ sister Mary to anoint his feet with costly perfume – through it all, Jesus’ life and ministry was full of unexpected turns.

            And, that was true right up to the end.

            Just the other day we celebrated Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem, when the crowd strew palms on the road and greeted the king with shouts of joy.

            At that parade, I’m sure the disciples thought that they had it all figured out.             Here we go!

            Now Jesus would be crowned as king and they would all get powerful positions in the new regime.

            But, instead, now, in yet another unexpected turn, the disciples find themselves eating a last supper with their Lord, a meal that feels more like a wake than a feast.

            The other evangelists tell us about Jesus identifying the bread and the wine with his body and blood, commanding his followers to remember him each time they gather to break bread and share wine.

            But, only the Gospel of John, which we heard tonight, tells us about the foot-washing.

            In yet another unexpected turn, Jesus begins washing the feet of his friends. This is so unexpected – so very “inappropriate” – it’s the work of a lowly servant not a king - that Peter who so often didn’t get it doesn’t get it this time, either, and objects.

            But, Jesus insists that this must be done – and Jesus commands Peter and the other disciples to follow his example of offering this lowly and loving service.

            An unexpected turn.

            It would be nice to be able to say that we’ve done a god job of obeying Jesus’ command, but unfortunately, in our broken world offering this kind of lowly service to the kind of people Jesus hung out with is still pretty much an unexpected turn.

            That’s why we’re surprised when on this day Pope Francis washes not the well-scrubbed feet of priests but the calloused feet of prisoners, the feet of often despised men and women, including even the feet of Muslims.

            An unexpected turn.

            That’s why our sister church offering asylum to people from faraway dangerous places like Syria has surprised so many and gotten so much attention.

            An unexpected turn.

            That’s why the people we feed at the homeless drop-in center are so surprised by, and grateful for, our coffee hour-quality lunch that we serve them once a month.

            An unexpected turn.

            In a moment, I’ll invite you to come forward and let me wash your feet.

            And, a little later, we’ll gather at the Lord’s Table like we always do, but then, in what may be another unexpected turn for you, we will strip the altar and bring the sacrament to the “Altar of Repose,” symbolizing Jesus’ unexpected departure and his night of agony in the garden, anticipating his fate.

            The service will end in silence and you’re invited to stay a while with Jesus in the garden, and ponder these most unexpected turns.

            The Good News, of course, is that there are still a few more unexpected turns in this story.

            But, first, tonight, let’s follow the commands of Jesus.

Wrong Turns

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

April 9, 2017

Year A: The Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday

Matthew 21:1-11

Isaiah 50:4-9a

Psalm 31:9-16

Philippians 2:5-11

Matthew 26:14—27:66

Wrong Turns

            There were few if any commemorations, but the other day was the one hundredth anniversary of the United States entering the First World War.

            By the time the US joined the fight, the war had already been going on for three years and had caused previously unimaginable suffering, death, and destruction.

            As so often happens in human history, the Great War was sparked by a tragic but seemingly relatively unimportant incident.

            From your history classes, some of you may remember that Archduke Franz Ferdinand, the heir to the Austrian throne, was visiting a remote, though troublesome, part of his empire, Bosnia, and its capital city, Sarajevo.

            There was a parade and the sidewalks were lined with people. Some were excited to greet the royal visitor, and others not so much.

            In fact, there had already been one assassination attempt earlier in the day.

            Later, the motorcade reassembled and started the parade again.

            For whatever reason – maybe it was a mistake, maybe it wasn’t - the driver of the Archduke’s car turned onto a narrow street where a waiting assassin fired his gun, fatally wounding the Archduke and his wife.

            That wrong turn in a small capital city in the remote corner of a vast empire set off a storm that in some ways has never ended, a war that continues to echo and take life in places like Syria and Iraq to this very day.

            Wrong turns.

            Today, Holy Week begins with another parade.

            It’s a parade in Jerusalem, a city that because of our faith looms large in our imaginations but for the Romans it was the capital of a remote, though troublesome, part of their vast empire.

            The King entered his capital city to shouts of “Hosanna!” and a road covered in palms, greeted by a crowd of people hoping that this healer and teacher might really be the long-awaited Messiah, the one who would liberate Israel from the hated Roman occupation and restore the mighty kingdom of David.

            But, from the start there are signs that the crowd is in for a big disappointment, just look at what the new king is riding.

            Today is the most disorienting of all the days in our church calendar because the crowd turns – the crowd turns from shouts of joy and adoration to cries for blood and death.

            The crowd turns and follows the religious and political leaders, who are determined to hold on to their power at all costs, and eager to be rid of this would-be messiah.

            Wrong turns.

            This wrong turn leads to the death of an innocent man – the death of the innocent man.

            Now, because of the many wrong turns taken by Christians over the centuries, it is essential for us to remember that the wrong turn in Jerusalem two thousand years ago was not Jews turning against Christians.

            There weren’t any Christians, yet.

            Aside from Pilate and the other Romans, everyone in this story is Jewish.

            The point is that they are men and women caught up first in the excitement, the frenzy, of welcoming a savior.

            And, they are men and women caught up in the excitement, the frenzy, of turning against this innocent man when it seems he’s not the kind of king that they had expected, had so longed for.

            This wrong turn happened fast, right? But it shouldn’t surprise us that people can turn so quickly.

            Probably every parent has had the experience of a child one minute saying “I love you!” and seemingly the next minute shouting, “I hate you!”

            Athletes and actors and politicians and employees, husbands and wives, probably all of us at one time or another, experience that kind of turn. One minute you can do no wrong, you’re the answer to our prayers - and the next minute you’re the worst thing ever, the source of all of our problems.

            Wrong turns.

            And, of course, we all make plenty of our own wrong turns, too.

            Too often, we choose hate instead of love, death instead of life.

            We also get caught up in the excitement, the frenzy, of the crowd – accepting the simple answers, ridiculing certain people, rejecting certain people, identifying them as the worst thing ever, the source of all our problems.

            That’s why in today’s service we all play the part of the crowd, calling for the blood of the innocent man.

            Because we make plenty of wrong turns.

            Yes, everybody makes wrong turns - but not Jesus.

            Jesus turns his face toward Jerusalem and all that awaits him there.

            And then, despite very real fear, Jesus the Son of God doesn’t turn. He sees it all through: betrayal, abandonment, torture, despair, and, finally, death itself.

            Two thousand years ago, people in a small capital city in the remote corner of a vast empire - people not so different from us, really, - they made a wrong turn, but this wrong turn sets off a very kind of storm, a storm that has never ended, a storm that continues to echo and give life throughout the world, including right here in Jersey City.

            This time, God takes our wrong turn and uses it to show just how much God loves us, revealing on Easter morning that, yes, ultimately, love conquers hate and life defeats death.

            But, that’s next week.

            Now, first, we sit at the tomb, and grieve the consequences of our wrong turns.

            

Signs of New Life

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

April 2, 2017

Year A: The Fifth Sunday in Lent

Ezekiel 37:1-14

Psalm 130

Romans 8:6-11

John 11:1-45

Signs of New Life

            One of the great privileges of being priest is the chance to be invited into other people’s lives, especially at some of the most important moments.

            This really is a privilege, but it can also be a burden when those moments are almost unspeakably sad – when a relationship crumbles, or a bleak diagnosis is given, or when death itself arrives, quickly and prematurely.

            I once knew a woman who was struck by cancer in the prime of her life, but rather than listening to a doctor and facing the familiar and, yes, terrifying, menu of radiation, chemotherapy, surgery, she chose to follow the advice of someone who practiced “alternative medicine."

            Unfortunately but not surprisingly, this alternative route didn’t work and eventually the cancer had spread so much and had become so painful that she ended up in the hospital.

            By then, there wasn’t much that the doctors could do, and, despite the fervent prayers of her devout family and so many loving friends and parishioners, there was to be no miracle.

            Her decline was mercifully quick.

             The last time I saw her was when she was receiving hospice care at home. I prayed with her as she lay in a hospital bed against a wall in her kitchen, drifting in and out of consciousness, with just a few more hours to live.

            It was a terribly sad and tragic experience for all who knew her.

            Sometimes, when I think back to that experience, I wonder about the person who suggested, or maybe even promised, the “miracle” of alternative medicine, who gave this lovely woman the false hope that some dietary changes would heal her cancer.

            There are lots of people like that out there, right?

            People, maybe sincere or maybe not, peddling all sorts of miracle cures, lotions and supplements that will supposedly cure what ails us.

            And, there are a lot of supposedly religious people who claim to have special healing powers, promising that if you just say the right words - or make a generous donation - miraculous healing will occur.

            And, the same was true back in the day of Jesus. Probably, there were even more of these supposed wonder-workers in a time before there was science or much medicine at all.

            There were all sorts of supposed miracle workers wandering around from place to place, gaining fame and probably some wealth because of their self-proclaimed wonders.

            And, at first glance, people back then and maybe even some of us today would lump Jesus in with that crew.

            But, the gospels make it quite clear that Jesus is different.

            In many cases, after Jesus has performed a miracle, he orders people not to say a word about it. He’s not looking for fame, wealth, or earthly power. Just the opposite.

            And, you know, in the Gospel of John, which we’ve been reading these past few weeks, Jesus does all sorts of amazing things.

            At Cana, he turns water into wine.

            If you were here last week, you’ll remember that we heard the story of Jesus giving sight to the man born blind.

            And, today, we heard Jesus do the most amazing thing of all, raising his friend Lazarus from the dead.

            These deeds and more really are amazing, but John declines to call them “miracles.”

            No, there’s something even more important going on here.

            It was an incredible gift for the people partying at the wedding in Cana to drink that most delicious wine, but Jesus didn’t go around to every party providing drinks as needed, though, presumably, he could have done just that (and made a lot of friends, too).

            It was an incredible gift for the blind man to receive his sight, but Jesus didn’t go around healing every blind person he met, though, presumably, he could have done just that.

            It was an incredible gift for Lazarus to be raised from the dead, but Jesus didn’t go around raising every dead person, though, presumably, he could have done just that.

            No, for John, and for us, these amazing acts of Jesus are signs – signs pointing to what God offers us all the time: abundance, and vision, and, most of all, new life.

            Signs of new life.

            And, those signs of new life aren’t just confined to the pages of the Bible.

            No, God continues to offer us signs of new life, all around us, all the time.

            The other day after the last of the dirty old snow had finally melted, suddenly there were beautiful little flowers popping up all over the place, flowers that had been growing all along, hidden and in less than ideal conditions.

            Signs of new life.

            And, just look at St. Paul’s. It was just a few years ago that people, including some of us, wondered if this old church had much life left in it, yet now, thanks to God and the work of so many, we are unbound, healthy and vibrant, drawing many people to our community, doing all kinds on exciting ministries - just this past Friday serving a beautiful lunch at the homeless drop-in center, and last Sunday afternoon hosting an amazing Jersey City Together action.

            If you were here, you know that the action itself was a sign of new life, as over 175 people came together to speak truth to power, to give voice to the voiceless, to offer new life to people and places long abused, ignored or forgotten.

            So many signs of new life.

            But, of course, the raising of Lazarus gets us thinking about another empty tomb, draws our attention to the central event of all time, to the heart of our faith: the raising of Jesus from the dead on Easter Day.

            Unlike the wine that eventually ran dry again - unlike the eyes that eventually grew dim with age - or even unlike Lazarus who eventually died again, the Risen Christ remains for all time, the ultimate sign of new life.

            This Easter, we at St. Paul’s are so blessed that three little boys are going to be born into new life in the water of baptism. Liam and Luca and Luca (yes, you heard me right!) will be marked as Christ’s own forever and, just like us, each in our own way, they will be called to be, expected to be, signs of new life, too.

            A few last thoughts about the woman with cancer.

            You know, she didn’t get her miracle, but, even in the midst of suffering and death, she was a sign of new life, too.

            She knew she was going to die, and she was sad that she wouldn’t get to see her child grow into adulthood, sad about all that she would miss out on, but, remarkably, she wasn’t afraid of death. In fact, especially considering how much fear she earlier had about her illness, she faced death with great confidence, talking about the people she was sure she would see in heaven.

            And, as she was dying, and for the long time since, a whole incredibly generous community was inspired to come together to care for her and for her grieving family.

            Even in her tragic death, this woman became a sign, a sign pointing to what God offers us all the time: abundance, and vision, and, most of all, new life.

            Amen.