The "Unclean Spirit" of Fear

St. Paul’s Church in Bergen & Church of the Incarnation

Jersey City, NJ

January 28, 2018

Year B: The Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany

Deuteronomy 18:15-20

Psalm 111

1 Corinthians 8:1-13

Mark 1:21-28

The “Unclean Spirit” of Fear

            Well, so far, so good.

            Our first two Sundays worshiping together as an unified congregation have gone very well, with even more people in church last week, probably thanks to milder weather and, yes, more parking.

            More important than attendance, these past two weeks there has been such a wonderful spirit in this room, in this sacred space, and also next door during coffee hour.

            After last week’s 10:00 service, my father mentioned to me that the style of my sermon seemed a little different than usual. That could be, I guess, though I wonder if he wasn’t just picking up on the increased energy here – and my own response to all of that joy.

            These past two weeks have been the culmination of a lot of work – a lot of work by the Holy Spirit and a lot of work by the leaders of our two congregations. It has been a busy but exciting time to lead our church – to lead with Gary and with our dedicated lay leaders.

            And, you know, one of the challenges of leadership is knowing when you might be pushing too hard – when you might be overwhelming people with ideas, and events, and tasks.

            I know I’m guilty sometimes of pushing too hard.

            More than once my dad has said, “It’s hard work being an Episcopalian!”

            About two weeks ago I was afraid that maybe I had really pushed too hard.

            As some of you know, for the past few months Gary and I and a few others have been trying to start a chapter of the Episcopal Peace Fellowship here in the Diocese of Newark.

            We planned to make a big push at our diocesan convention, which was this past weekend.

            At one of our planning meetings someone had the idea of making orange ribbons (which represent gun violence awareness) and distributing them to everyone at convention and even having extra to be shared with family, friends, and fellow parishioners.

            It was decided we needed about 600 ribbons.

            You know the next question, right?

            Who would make 600 orange ribbons?

            Hesitantly, I said, well, we have a craft guild at St. Paul’s and I can ask them if they would be up for the challenge.

            The next day I worked up the courage to call my mother who, as most of you know, coordinates the craft guild.

            After we exchanged the usual pleasantries, trying to sound as casual as I could, I told her that I needed a favor.

            “Oh?”

            I explained about the Episcopal Peace Fellowship and convention and about the orange ribbons, and finally asked if she thought the craft guild would be up for this.

            She asked, “How many ribbons are we talking about?”

            I cleared my throat, and then confessed, “Um, 600?”

            There was a long pause at the other end of the line and then finally, “600?!? Are you crazy?”

            Well, you now the rest of the story: last week after the 10:00 service some of the craft guild members along with other parishioners stayed behind and twisted and pinned all 600 orange ribbons, in an amazing act of generosity and dexterity.

            And, at convention these past two days I was so proud to see so many people, including our bishop, wearing orange ribbons, ribbons made by us.

            If you were here last week you may remember that we heard about the start of Jesus’ public ministry, when he began to gather his disciples, calling two pairs of fisherman brothers – Peter and Andrew and James and John – calling these seemingly ordinary working men to follow him.

            I doubt that these guys knew what they were getting themselves into when they left their boats and nets but soon enough they discovered that this Jesus of Nazareth was a great teacher and a great healer – and more than a healer, he was an exorcist. Jesus is able to cast out what the Evangelist Mark calls “unclean spirits.”

            Now, I’ll admit that with my modern sensibilities and my concern about confusing illness with demonic possession, exorcism isn’t a part of Jesus’ life and ministry that I talk about very much, but it’s clear from the Gospels that casting out “unclean spirits” wasn’t just a kind of sideline for Jesus – it was a central part of his work.

            In fact, the casting out that we heard today is Jesus’ first miracle in the Gospel of Mark, highlighting its importance in Mark’s story of Jesus.

            You know, one of the themes running through the gospels is the fact that although the disciples have front row seats for Jesus’ teaching and healing, and, yes, front row seats for his exorcisms, the disciples have a hard time figuring out who or what Jesus is exactly.

            They have such a hard time recognizing Jesus’ identity that the Church actually sets aside a special day to celebrate when the Apostle Peter finally figured it out!

            But, one of the odder aspects of the Gospel is the fact that, yes, the disciples and others have trouble recognizing Jesus’ identity, but the “unclean spirits,”– they know exactly who Jesus is – yeah, the demons, they know Jesus only too well and they want nothing to do with him.

            As we heard today, the unclean spirit possessing the man says,           

            “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.”

            The unclean spirit knows exactly what’s coming and, sure enough, faced with the divine power of Jesus the unclean spirit will fold like a gambler who’s overplayed his hand.

            Jesus says, “Be silent, and come out of him!” And Mark tells us, “And the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying with a loud voice, came out of him.”

            And, I imagine everybody else there looking with wide eyes and opened mouths, wondering at what they had just witnessed.

            So, what does a long ago exorcism have to do with us, here today?

            Well, it seems to me that we don’t have to look very hard or very far to find “unclean spirits” wreaking havoc in our city, in our country, and around the world.

            In fact, there are so many unclean spirits – anger and jealousy, racism and so many kinds of hatred, greed and selfishness, violence in word and deed – so many unclean spirits crying out and wreaking havoc that it’s a little hard to know where to begin.

            But, I think the “unclean-est “ of all the unclean spirits and the spirit we see doing its demonic work so effectively today is fear.

            It’s fear that causes us to hate the stranger and build walls to keep people out of our lives, out of our land.

            It’s fear that causes us to hold on for dear life to what we have, refusing to share with others.

            And, yes, it’s fear that causes us to arm ourselves to the teeth, no matter the consequences, no matter that our guns don’t make us safer – quite the contrary, no matter how many people, no matter how many innocent people, no matter how many children, pay for our unclean spirit with their lives.

            With all the news of the government shutdown and DACA and CHIP and a president who makes news every single day, and the horrible hit-and-run on the Boulevard just a few blocks away from here, plus all the other stuff going on in our own lives, you may have missed the school shooting in Kentucky the other day.

            Actually, you probably have missed the at least 11 school shootings this year (remember, it’s still only January) and the 50 or so that have taken place this school year.

            In Kentucky, this time it was apparently a 15 year-old student who did the shooting. He killed two other students, Bailey Nicole Holt and Preston Ryan Cope, both also 15, and wounding 21 others.

            Later, later in the news it was reported that Bailey was able to call her mother as she was dying.

            The sad fact is that our unclean spirit of fear has gotten us into such a mess that our schools have become fortresses – and our unclean spirit of fear has made these events so common that we barely notice – they don’t make the front page, or if they do they’re quickly forgotten.

            At this point we barely remember the massacre in Las Vegas, where 58 people were killed and 851 people injured – just a few months ago, back in October.

            And, we barely take note of the shots ringing out up and down some of our avenues and side streets.

            Like the man in the synagogue long ago, we are possessed by unclean spirits, especially the unclean spirit of fear.

            And, just like the unclean spirits of two thousand years ago, the unclean spirits of today know the power of Christ – they know the power of Christ’s people and all people of goodwill when we work together – so they do everything they can to keep us divided and distracted – to make us too numb, too overwhelmed, and, most of all too afraid, to cast them out.

            And, yet, think of all those orange ribbons.

            Last Sunday nobody really felt like sitting in the parish hall and making all those ribbons, but, accomplishing that daunting task in about an hour and a half was a tiny - but beautiful - taste of what we can accomplish when we work together, when we allow Christ to work in and through us.

            Next week, both St. Paul’s and Incarnation will have our annual parish meetings when we’ll look back at an eventful year and look to the challenges and opportunities in the year ahead – at least the ones we can see from here.

            My prayer is that Christ will cast out the unclear spirit of fear that still may be within us - cast it out so that Christ can then use us to exorcise the unclean spirits that possess our society and cause so much pain and sorrow.

            And, here’s the thing: the unclean spirits know very well that if we, the Body of Christ in the world, get our act together, well, then like a gambler who’s overplayed her hand, they won’t stand a chance.

            Amen.

             

Repentance: Life After Hate

St. Paul’s Church in Bergen & Church of the Incarnation

Jersey City, NJ

January 21, 2018

Year B: The Third Sunday after the Epiphany

Jonah 3:1-5, 10

Psalm 62:6-14

1 Corinthians 7:29-31

Mark 1:14-20

Repentance: Life After Hate

It is good to be here together, isn’t it?

And, even if today weren’t a good day, it would still be OK because if you’re like me you’re still flying after our celebrations here last week, when St. Paul’s and Incarnation gathered for our first Sunday officially worshiping together, taking a big step toward becoming one congregation.

What a day that was, right?

It was so good to see brothers and sisters from our two churches all mixed together in the pews and especially in the choir.

It was so good to hear Jill’s dynamite sermon. She rightly looked back on some of the ugly parts of our own history but, most of all, she pointed to the unmistakable fingerprints of God at work right here and now in our midst, knitting together our two congregations: the handiwork of the God who has known our true name all along.

And, of course, I have to mention that it was so good to taste and see the abundance at coffee hour with tables weighed down under so much good food and drink and an unmistakable sense of joy in the room.

And, it was so good to be here for our Sunday evening service, our Baptist –Episcopal mash-up, with a rockin’ choir and yet another powerful sermon.

Rev. Perry shared a vision of Martin Luther King as a prophet, and looking around at our frightened, angry, and often mean land, he asked, where are the prophets of today?

It was – and is – good to be together.

In today’s Gospel lesson, we heard the story of Jesus beginning his public ministry.

He begins by picking up where John the Baptist had left off, calling people to repentance – and then gathering his first disciples, Peter and Andrew and James and John these fisherman brothers who, let’s be honest, had no idea what they were getting themselves into when they suddenly left their nets and signed up to be fishers of people.

And, you know, all these many centuries later, maybe we have a clearer idea of what it means to follow Jesus.

We may have a clearer idea of the costs and the rewards of following this Jesus who announces the Kingdom of God and proclaims Good News.

But, I think many of us still miss what Jesus means when he calls us to repent.

In just a few weeks, when we enter Lent, as always, we’ll hear a lot about repentance.

But, what does that mean?

I think for most of us repentance means looking into our hearts and into our memories and reflecting on the times and the ways that we have fallen short, acknowledging our sins, and asking forgiveness.

And, that’s good and important, but that’s just a small part of repentance.

Like the prophets before him, when Jesus calls us to repent, he’s calling us to much more than just saying we’re sorry and trying to do better next time.

While I was driving the other day, on the radio I heard an interview with Christian Picciolini. His story was so compelling that a few times I found myself not paying as close attention I should have to the traffic around me!

Christian is a little bit younger than me and grew up in a blue-collar Chicago suburb, the son of hard-working Italian immigrants, who owned a hair salon and later a restaurant.

However, at the age of 14, when he was an angry and lonely teenager, he was recruited quickly and easily into a white supremacist skinhead group.       

Just two years later, the group’s leader was arrested and Christian took charge of this violent and hate-filled organization – when he was just 16 years old.

An obviously smart and talented guy, Christian grew the organization, especially through the use of music.

His skinhead bands (one was named “Final Solution”) sang racist and hateful songs, sold a lot of records, and toured around the United States and also Europe, including, unbelievably, even Germany where his show attracted 4,000 attendees.

He was still just a kid, and in the interview, he told hair-raising stories of how he wreaked havoc at one school after another (imagine having him in class or imagine his locker next to yours).

He and his gang strategized, making plans to infiltrate police departments and the military, where they would gain respectability and learn valuable skills. They also realized that they might have to dial down their look and their words in order to attract more people to the “movement” – they understood that they needed to be subtler about the white supremacy they believe in – and give new members plausible deniability that they were racists.

So some of them grew out their hair and put on suits and ties.

Of course, they also took part in more traditional white supremacist activities, including alcohol-fueled rampages, terrifying people of color in their communities who were just minding their business.

He told one story of going into a McDonald’s and chasing some black kids out, following them onto the street, ready to fight when one of the black kids pulled out a gun and tried to shoot, but the gun malfunctioned.

Christian attacked this kid, brutally beating him. But, in the interview he said at that moment he looked into the other kids eyes. Somehow there was a connection. And, somehow, Christian’s conscience slowly reawakened and he began to recognize that what he was doing was wrong.

Getting married and having kids began to change him, as did opening a record store where, yes, he sold white power music but also other types of music. At first because he was interested in making money, he decided to treat all of his customers with respect. Over time, he interacted with all kinds of people and the embers of hate within him began to die.

At great risk to himself and his wife and kids, he eventually left the movement.

He covered his swastika tattoo with a Jesus tattoo and the words, “Love/Pain.”

And, not only that, he helped start a group called “Life After Hate” which advocates for peace and educates about the dangers of extremism.

Life after hate: that’s Good News.

Life after hate: that’s what repentance looks like.

Christian’s story is disturbing, amazing, and powerful but it also reminds us there is nothing magic about repentance, because despite his change of mind and change of heart, the consequences of his choices and actions continue to echo down to the present – and he will always have to live with that.

As you’d guess, the skinheads were enraged by his change of heart and have made repeated threats against him and his family, and, of course, are fully capable of acting on those threats.

That’s bad and frightening, obviously, but there’s something even worse.

His music – his music with its ugly words of hate is still out there being passed around, and downloaded, and influencing young listeners who weren’t even born when Christian wrote it.

For example, apparently Dylan Roof, the young man who opened fire at a Bible Study at Mother Emanuel in Charleston had listened to some of these anthems of hate and had been influenced by them.

It seems to me that only God’s grace allows someone to live with that heartbreaking knowledge.

Repentance: life after hate.

So, maybe like the first disciples, we don’t really know what we’re getting ourselves into when we sign up to be fishers of people – no idea what we’re getting ourselves into when we follow Jesus who calls us to repent, calls us to much more than just saying sorry and promising to try to better next time.

True repentance is much more like the story of Christian Picciolini – a total change of mind, a total change of heart, a total change of direction.

And, as I’ve thought about this, I’ve come to realize that this is what we’ve been up to here in Jersey City, these past few years.

Of course we were never quite as ugly as white supremacist skinheads, but as Jill reminded us last week, there are certainly hateful elements to our church history – the ugly racism that led to the founding of Incarnation.

But there are also more recent, more subtle, hateful elements to our story: the lack of cooperation and fellowship, the competition, the suspicion, the occasional betrayal of trust, the duplication and waste of resources, and way too much unkindness.

But, look at us here today.

Repentance: life after hate.

And, all of this has happened not a moment too soon, because the forces of hate unleashed by people like Christian Picciolini – these forces are on the move, becoming mainstream with grown-out hair and suits and ties, gaining power and influence in our country and elsewhere around the world.

So, yes, by the grace of God, we have changed our hearts and changed our direction and come together as one not a moment too soon, because I really do believe with all my heart that we have a special vocation.

Because of our rich diversity and our remarkable ability to love one another and to serve together – and now also because of our journey from division to (almost) unity, from hateful things to new life – because of all that and much more, we have a special vocation to be prophets of repentance, to be fishers of people, to model for our city, and maybe even beyond, the way that abandons hateful things and, by God’s grace, leads to new life.

Amen.

Identity

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

January 7, 2017

Year B: The First Sunday after the Epiphany – The Baptism of Our Lord

Genesis 1:1-5

Psalm 29

Acts 19:1-7

Mark 1:4-11

Identity

            As some of you know, I recently celebrated the tenth anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood.

            It was very low-key, which was just fine by me, but I certainly appreciated the acknowledgement and the kind words I received at the 10:00 service a couple of weeks ago.

            As you might expect, reaching such a milestone got me reflecting – got me thinking about these past ten years (which, sometimes feel like they have gone by in a flash and other times feel like a whole lot longer than a decade!).

            And, this milestone got me thinking about how I got into this in the first place, my early days as a parishioner here at St. Paul’s, and then my three years at seminary.

            As you know, before I was a priest I was a high school History teacher.

            I taught for about 15 years, and for my last seven years in the classroom, I taught at my alma mater, St. Peter’s Prep.

            Over that time, being a teacher became a major part of my identity – maybe the major part of my identity. I think that’s how a lot of people thought of me (“Tom Murphy the teacher”) and, frankly, that’s how I thought of myself, too.

            And, teaching at Prep was a big part of my identity, too.

            I was never a total Prep fanatic like some other alums, but the school had played a huge role in my life and teaching there was such a thrill and such an honor – and it was also a wonderfully warm and loving experience because I had the chance to work beside many friends, including some of my best friends.

            At Prep, I had a clear identity – and, while I’m sure that there were some people who weren’t crazy about me (hard to believe, I know!), for the most part I felt loved and respected – felt like I belonged.

To me, teaching at Prep felt like:

            “This is who I am.”

            …Except for that gnawing sense of God calling me to something else.

            Deciding to leave Prep and go to seminary full-time was one of the boldest moves I’ve ever made – and while I thought it through carefully, there were a few consequences that I just didn’t consider, just didn’t anticipate.

            One consequence I didn’t consider was how traumatic it would be to lose such a big part of my identity.

            “Tom Murphy, the Prep History Teacher” was no more.

            I didn’t anticipate how hard it would be to leave a big, warm, loving place where everybody knew me and (I think) most liked me and go to a new place where no one knew me, where I was a student and not the teacher, and where and I had to introduce myself and allow others to get to know me while (and I definitely didn’t realize this at the time), in a very real way, I didn’t know who I was anymore.

            I’m guessing that even if you never left teaching to go to seminary, most if not all of you can imagine what that felt like - because I’m pretty sure that eventually all of us lose identities.

            We lose an identity when we leave a job.

            We lose an identity when an important relationship ends, either through break-up or death.

            We lose an identity when the last child leaves the nest.

            We lose an identity when we retire.

            We lose an identity when we become disabled or grow ill.

            You can come up with other examples I’m sure.

            And, if we look around our country and the Church we see people shedding all kinds of identities – we’re losing our identity as Americans devoted to the common good and replacing it with much smaller and often destructive identities – increasingly seeing ourselves as consumers or worker bees or, most unfortunately, as political partisans, concerned with winning at all costs, seeing our country – seeing life itself – as a zero-sum game: If you win, I lose. And, if I win, you lose.

            And, here in the Church, denominational identities are fading away. It wasn’t too long ago that there were a good number of absolutely rock-solid committed Episcopalians, but now, I think most people simply choose a particular church that meets their needs or their tastes.

            Some of this is good and some not so good, but all of this shedding and loss of identity forces us to face some essential questions:

            “Who am I?”

            “Who are we?”

            “What is my truest identity?”

            “What is our deepest identity?”

            Yesterday morning, a few hearty parishioners braved the bitter cold to celebrate the Feast of the Epiphany here at St. Paul’s.

            We retold the story of the wise men from the East, eluding a frightened and murderous ruler, to visit the newborn King, to give gifts to this King born to nobodies in an out of the way place.

            It’s a beautiful story – the Epiphany – the manifestation of Jesus as Messiah for the whole world.

            But, today, on the First Sunday after the Epiphany, we remember an even more important event than the visit of the wise men. Today we celebrate the Baptism of Jesus

            You know, just like all of us, Jesus had lots of identities.

            He was a Jew, a Galilean, son of Mary, a brother, a friend, a craftsman, a teacher, a healer, …

            But in the water of Baptism, God reveals Jesus’ truest, deepest identity.

            We’re told that just as Jesus “was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him.

            And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’”

            In the water of Baptism, Jesus recognizes his truest, deepest identity: beloved Son of God.

            And then, right after his Baptism, Jesus begins his work, first by resisting temptation, and then by heading out into the world, gathering a few friends and followers, teaching and healing, challenging the powers that be, and finally getting rejected and abandoned by just about everybody, and finally getting killed in an especially shameful and horrific way.

            There were surely lots of times of fear and frustration, thoughts of ending the mission and just going back to the carpentry shop, but Jesus stuck with it, saw it through, because, I think even when pretty much everything else was stripped away, he never forgot his Baptism, never forgot his truest and deepest identity:

             Son of God – loved with a love that was - and is - greater even than death.

            And, the best news of all is that what was true for Jesus is also true for us.

            It’s in our Baptism that our truest and deepest identity is revealed to us and to everybody around us.

            We are beloved children of God – loved with a love greater even than death.

            And so, just like for Jesus, our Baptism should send us out into the world, loving and serving one another, proclaiming that life is not a zero-sum game, that when we give to others, when we “allow” others to “win,” we are all blessed.

            And, just like for Jesus, there have been and there will surely be hard times, times when we might want to end our mission, times when we might want to just live like everybody else.

            There will be times when we will lose some of our cherished identities - times when we lose jobs, times when we lose those we love, times when we just can’t do what we used to be able to do - but there is nothing, nothing, that can ever steal our deepest, truest identity:

            Beloved children of God.

            This is who we are.

            Amen.