The Blindness of the Crowd

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

October 28, 2018

Year B, Proper 25: The 25th Sunday after Pentecost

Job 42:1-6, 10-17

Psalm 34:1-8, 19-22

Hebrews 7:23-28

Mark 10:46-52

The Blindness of the Crowd

            The other day the latest issue of Prep Magazine arrived in the mail.

            As I usually do, I took some time to look through this thick and glossy magazine – much thicker and glossier than back when I was a student at St. Peter’s Prep in the last century – I took a few minutes to get up to date on the latest construction, to look through the long list of generous donors, and to review the lists of births, marriages, and deaths.

            The magazine usually gives me a warm feeling – a reminder of that wonderful school that was and continues to be such a big influence in my life, second only to my family.

            It was at St. Peter’s Prep where I really learned that God wants me – wants all of us – to be men and women for others – to give away our lives in service, especially service to the poorest and most vulnerable.

            I’ll always be so grateful to my parents for sacrificing much so that I could go to Prep.

            Now, of course, I didn’t love everything about Prep.

            I hated math class.

            And, I also was never crazy about the school’s mascot: the Marauder.

            If you look up “marauder” in the dictionary you’ll find that it’s someone who’s a raider, a plunderer, a pillager, a looter, a robber, a bandit…

            I’ve always thought that a “marauder” was a strange choice of mascot for a school devoted to following Jesus Christ, who was and is pretty much the opposite of a “marauder.”

            Anyway, I usually never gave much thought to the Marauder except at school rallies, which was something else about Prep that I was never crazy about.

            Oh, it was fine to celebrate our athletes – and most of us teenage boys were certainly OK for our cheerleaders (who were girls from St. Dom’s) to come and cheer for us – but sometimes things got a little out of hand.

            Often there was some kid dressed as the mascot of one of our opposing schools – the Hudson Catholic hawk, for example – and he’d come out and we’d all boo and shout insults and then the Marauder would “attack” the hawk and we’d all cheer as he ran away or lay defeated on the gym floor.

            I don’t want to blow this out of proportion, but that kind of spectacle always left me uneasy both as a student and later a teacher. Obviously, the mock violence was disturbing. But, there was also what I can recognize now as the temporary blindness of the crowd – the crowd swept up into such a frenzy that maybe for just a few minutes we forgot all of those other lessons that we were supposed to be learning – that we were meant to be men for others – not men cheering the humiliation and defeat of another, not even of our despised “enemy.”

            In today’s lesson from the Gospel of Mark, we heard the story of Jesus giving sight to the blind beggar, Bartimaeus.

            It’s a beautiful and powerful story of faith – the blind Bartimaeus – a blind man by the roadside who is such a nobody that he doesn’t even have a real name of his own – “Bartimaeus” simply means “son of Timaeus.”

            Bartimaeus may be a blind nobody but when he hears that it’s Jesus of Nazareth coming, Bartimaeus “sees” a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and he works up the courage to speak up – Bartimaeus has the faith to cry out:

            “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

            “Son of David, have mercy on me!”

            Of course, Jesus hears and sees this blind nobody, calls Bartimaeus to him, and rewards his faith by giving him his sight.

            And, not only does Bartimaeus receive his sight but we’re told that he now becomes a follower of Jesus, following him on the way.

           

As usual, Mark is a very economical writer, packing a lot of story and meaning into a few words while also leaving a lot unsaid, leaving a lot for us to imagine, a lot of blanks for us to fill in.

So, let’s back up for a minute.

Mark begins by telling us that Jesus and his disciples came to the city of Jericho.

We don’t know what Jesus said or did in Jericho but we can imagine that it was his usual mix of teaching and healing and praying – but we don’t have to imagine that Jesus made quite an impression in Jericho because we’re told that a crowd follows Jesus out of the city – on the road where they encounter blind Bartimaeus.

And it’s here that we discover that Bartimaeus is not the blindest person in this story.

No, there’s the blindness of the crowd.

When Bartimaeus first cries out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” we’re told that many in the crowd “sternly ordered him to be quiet.”

Now, hold on a minute.

 You would think that this crowd following Jesus out of Jericho – this crowd that presumably had just been hearing and seeing Jesus teach and heal – this crowd that would have been drawn to Jesus’ love for all people, especially the poor and the vulnerable, you’d think that this crowd would have seen in Bartimaeus a wonderful opportunity to serve someone quite obviously in need.

You would think that they would’ve picked up Bartimaeus and brought him to Jesus! Right?

But, no.

Instead, this blind crowd tells the blind man to be silent.

And, I wonder why.

There are probably lots of different answers – maybe as many different answers as there are people in the crowd

Maybe some only want Jesus for themselves and for the people they know and love.

Maybe some think that this poor man’s blindness is a kind of divine punishment and so they think he isn’t worthy of healing, is somehow not worthy of the love of Jesus, or of our love.

Maybe some can’t see that Jesus’ message of love and healing isn’t some abstract philosophy for us to study and talk about, but in fact is meant to be put into practice with the nobodies we encounter along the road.

But, I’m just guessing here. I honestly don’t know why the blind crowd can’t see.

But, the shocking blindness of the crowd in today’s lesson has gotten me thinking about our current sad and scary situation.

We live in a time of crowds – crowds at rallies and protests – crowds making their way through Central America – crowds that have turned some of our streets and neighborhoods into shooting galleries – and, let’s not forget, there are also virtual crowds online.

And, crowds can be dangerous – sometimes for our physical safety - but also spiritually dangerous because, just like at a pep rally, we can get swept up into the frenzy of the crowd, forgetting who and what we are supposed to be – forgetting who and whose we really are.

Crowds are especially dangerous for those who are seen as the other, the enemy, the opponent - the Hudson Hawk.

And, in a more subtle way, crowds can also be dangerous for those of us on the outside looking in, because in a way we become blind, too.

Looking at a crowd from the outside, we just see a mass of people chanting their slogans and carrying their signs – we just see a mass of people slowly making their way in a so-called caravan desperately hoping to enter our country – we just see a gang in their color-coordinated outfits hanging out menacingly on our street corners – and, as we’ve been painfully reminded in the last few days, if we’re really twisted we just see abstract groups of people with labels we’ve somehow learned to hate: “Blacks” “Democrats” “Jews.”

But even if we’re not hate-filled, when there’s a crowd, we often become blind - it’s hard for us to see individuals, hard to see clearly our brothers and sisters, each with a name, each with disappointments and hopes, and each one, every single one, so loved by God.

Today we definitely live in a time of often angry and sometimes dangerous crowds – and so many of us have gone blind.

But there was hope for blind Bartimaeus, and there was hope for the blind crowd, too.

Notice that as soon as Jesus responds to Bartimaeus, the crowd immediately changes its tune, saying to the blind man: “Take heart, get up, he is calling you.”

It was like suddenly the crowd was reminded of who and what they were supposed to be – reminded of who and whose they really were.

Just like for Bartimaeus, at the word of Jesus the blind crowd could now see.

The truth is there’s not much that you and I can do about a lunatic in a white van covered in political stickers sending his dangerous packages or a racist aiming to open fire in a black church and, when that doesn’t work out, having to settle for killing two people in a convenience store.

And there’s not much that we can do about an anti-Semite slaughtering worshippers in a synagogue and there’s not much that we can do about the caravan heading north and there’s not even that much we can do about the gang violence bloodying our streets.

But, right here and now, in our own time of crowds and blindness, my prayer is that we will hear the word of Jesus – and really see not crowds, but brothers and sisters – really see what and who we are always meant to be: men and women for others.

Amen.

The Authority of Service

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

October 21, 2018

Year B, Proper 24: The Twenty-Second Sunday after Pentecost

Job 38:1-7, 34-41

Psalm 104:1-9, 25, 37b

Hebrews 5: 1-10

Mark 10:35-45

The Authority of Service

            Whenever we start a new chapter of our lives – when we start a new school year or a new job or a new relationship – when we move to a new place – or when we retire – whenever we start a new chapter of our lives, we never know exactly what it’s going to be like, right?

            Oh, we usually have some idea, for sure, but there are always things that surprise us, things that, for better or for worse, we just hadn’t considered or expected.

            For example, when I was in seminary coming through the ordination process I imagined that as a priest I would spend a lot of time teaching and preaching, celebrating the sacraments, and visiting the sick and shut-in.

            And, it’s true, I do spend a good bit of time doing those beautiful and sacred things.

            But, I really hadn’t expected that I would spend so much of my ministry, so much of my time…attending meetings.

            I go to a lot of meetings.

            And, some of them are not very good meetings.

            For example, I’ve missed the last three Stone Soup Suppers (all of which looked like they were over-the-top delicious – Trish always sends me pictures of the food, just to rub it in). I missed those great meals because I’ve attended the last three meetings of the Hudson County freeholders. I’ve been present as they’ve faced a public outcry over how they near-secretly renewed the county’s contract with ICE, allowing the county to continue to profit from the detainees held in our county jail – where, in fact, detainees now outnumber regular prisoners.

            It was fascinating and moving – and, more often, frustrating and sometimes infuriating – to watch the freeholders respond to members of the public as, one after the other, they voiced their opinions, their concerns, and sometimes their outrage.

            Some of the freeholders paid close attention, seemed to be thinking hard about these complicated and difficult issues, while others were arrogant, defensive and self-pitying, and some seemed to be hardly paying attention, checking their phones, talking among themselves.

            At the last meeting, last Thursday night, at around 11:00pm, after everything they had heard over the past three months, the freeholders finally voted to renew the contract for the next couple of years, keeping everything the same, essentially kicking the problem down the road.

            Bad meeting.

            Fortunately, most of the meetings I attend are church-related and, while I won’t say that they’re all wonderful experiences, usually when we meet we’re at least a little bit mindful of the big picture - that we are supposed to be playing our part in God’s ongoing work in the world.

            And, usually, we are reminded of what we’re supposed to be about because we start and end our meetings with prayer.

            Very often Bishop Beckwith would begin meetings by asking us to reflect on and share with the others where we had recently seen signs of God’s grace.

            That’s a worthwhile exercise, right?

            And, considering where I had seen God’s grace in my life, nearly always made me more grateful for the blessings that I receive all the time.

            Since I think most of us can agree that we are living in difficult and even frightening times, I’ll admit that I’ve been trying extra hard to look into my heart, to look around at our community, and to look out at the world, looking for signs of God’s grace.

            Especially these days, it’s not always easy, but the signs of God’s grace really are there if we take the time to look.

            In today’s Gospel lesson we hear the latest installment of our long-running series called, “The Apostles Just Don’t Get It.”

            In this episode the brother apostles James and John boldly tell Jesus, “we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.”

            Now, if you or I were the messiah, this conversation would have ended right then and there, but Jesus allows them to proceed with their request.

They say:

            “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left.”

            OK.

So, even after everything they have seen and heard with Jesus, all the teaching and the healing, after all of that and more, these two apostles – and, actually, all twelve of Jesus’ closest friends and followers – they still don’t get it – still don’t get that it’s not about our glory but it’s all about God’s glory.

            But, rather than throwing up his arms in frustration and going off somewhere to find some new, sharper followers, Jesus uses this request as a teachable moment. Jesus says,

            “You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.”

            Jesus’ vision of leadership – Jesus’ model of leadership – is the exact opposite of what we usually see in our country and in the world.

            Jesus’ vision of leadership is what the great twentieth century German theologian and martyr Dietrich Bonhoeffer called, “the authority of service.”

            The authority of service.

            And, when we see the authority of service at work among us, then we also see God’s grace.

            So, we’ve already clearly established that I attend some not so good meetings but one of the best meetings I’m part of is a weekly meeting at our Triangle Park Community Center.

            Every Wednesday afternoon, a small group of us - Rev. Laurie, Belinda Stokes, Joyce Davison from Grace, Monica Shaw who coordinates the center, and me, - we meet for a couple of hours to assess how things are going at the center and to plan for the future.

            Frankly, for quite a while these meetings were a frustrating slog because we just couldn’t seem to get things going at the center – couldn’t get the right programming launched – couldn’t find the right personnel to lead the center – but now, now over the past few months those missing pieces have clicked into place and now our little storefront is humming with activity – food pantry, art show, afterschool program, arts and crafts classes, voter registration drive, and soon SAT Prep classes and North Porch.

            A few times I’ve looked around the table at this small group of leaders – especially Belinda and Joyce who aren’t earning a penny for their labor – I look at these people giving so much time and energy and persistence, creating something out of nothing at Triangle Park and I’ve been struck by their generosity – by their sacrifice.

            We’re not down there to get rich or to become famous or to use people in some way. We’re not even there to make more Episcopalians (though I’d take them, of course).

            No, we’re there simply to be of service to a long-neglected community – a community so long-neglected that at first people couldn’t quite figure us out or couldn’t believe what we told them – couldn’t get why our brand-new bishop would want to celebrate with us in the middle of their street – but now I look around and I see the “authority of service” at work and making a difference … and I see God’s grace.

            And then, last weekend, far from Triangle Park and far from Jersey City, the Roman Catholic Church made official what most people have known for some time: Oscar Romero of El Salvador is a saint.

            I hope you had the chance to see some of the celebrations or to read a little about Romero.

            For most of his ministry, Oscar Romero was a highly intelligent, sensitive, hardworking, and also rather conservative, priest and then bishop.

            When he was appointed Archbishop of San Salvador in 1977, the repressive government was pretty happy but many others were disappointed because he was not as outspoken on social justice as other leaders of the church.

            But then just a month later, Rutilio Grande, a Jesuit priest and close friend of Romero was assassinated – and this death inspired Romero to serve God and God’s people in an even deeper and more courageous way.

            Now, remember that Romero could have lived like many of his brother bishops, could have lived a comfortable and safe life, cozy with the powers that be, but instead he began speaking out against the actions of the brutal El Salvadoran government (generously supported by the US government, by the way) and Romero began speaking up loud and clear on behalf of the poor and the oppressed.

            With his calls for liberation, Romero became a hero within El Salvador and beyond – although, no surprise, not everybody admired him - and some began to plot against him.

            On March 24, 1980, Romero had just finished preaching his sermon during Mass in a hospital chapel, when a gunman opened fire and shot and killed the archbishop at the altar.

            Here’s a quote from Romero’s last sermon, which captures what he was about - and what the “authority of service” is all about:

            “…you have just heard Christ’s Gospel, that one must not love oneself so much as to avoid getting involved in the risks of life which history demands of us, that those who would avoid the danger will lose their life, while those who out of love for Christ give themselves to the service of others will live, like the grain of wheat that dies, but only apparently.”

            In the years since his murder, the story of Oscar Romero and his “authority of service,” has continued to spread, continued to inspire more people, finally leading to the huge gathering of overjoyed pilgrims at St. Peter’s Square last Sunday.

            And now, today we find ourselves living during difficult days with many leaders in our country and around the world acting like the Apostles James and John, eager to gather more power and glory for themselves, rather than giving away their lives in loving service to others.

Today, God’s grace may seem to be in short supply.

            Yet, if we take the time to look, I know that we’ll see signs of God’s grace all over the place – signs of God’s grace right here among us - signs of God’s grace in Triangle Park – signs of God’s grace in an El Salvadoran grain of wheat that only appeared to die – and, yes, even signs of God’s grace at a long and frustrating freeholder meeting! Amen.

Where's The Love?

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

October 7, 2018

Year B, Proper 22: The Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost

Job 1:1, 2:1-10

Psalm 26

Hebrews 1:1-4; 2:5-12

Mark 10:2-16

Where’s The Love?

            Over the last couple of weeks in what some people call our “national conversation” there’s been a lot of talk about memory.

            There’s been lots of talk about the reliability of our memory – about how we can remember trauma in great detail even when we forget everything that came before and after – lots of talk about how consuming too much alcohol can black out our memory.

            I’m no scientist, but as I get older I’m amazed by the strangeness of memory. There are many months of my life about which I can recall nothing much at all. But then there are random, seemingly insignificant things that I remember with perfect clarity.

            For example, I remember an argument between two teachers – one a priest and the other a layman – an argument that took place back when I taught at St. Peter’s Prep – so this has got to be fifteen years ago or more – but I can still hear their voices in my head.

            I don’t remember exactly what the two teachers were arguing about, but the general issue was how strictly we as a school should be enforcing church rules.

            The layman was arguing for a looser, more pastoral approach when it came to our students – or maybe even one particular student – while the priest, who was a real stickler, kept quoting the rules and regulations.

            Finally, in exasperation the teacher asked the priest a question that I can still hear echoing down through the years:

            “Where’s the love, Padre?”

            “Where’s the love?”

            It’s a good question, right?

            It may even be the most important question when we’re trying to make decisions.

It may be the most important question when when we’re trying to find signs of God among us.

            Where’s the love?

            If you watch the news, I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s often hard to find the love.

            Instead, we find bitter divisions and underhanded political tactics.

            Instead, we find the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer.

            Instead, we find an alarming and sickening epidemic of sexual harassment and abuse – especially of women – in our society. It’s an epidemic that we’re certainly more aware of now but it’s safe to say that not all of us are really taking it seriously.

            It’s hard to find the love today.

            Where’s the love?

            Even if we come to church a lot and even if we read the Bible a lot, it’s easy to forget that life was really hard for people back in the first century, back when Jesus of Nazareth walked the earth.

            Of course, here were all the usual problems of disease and violence.

            But, in this case, there was also the Roman occupation of Palestine, forcing all Jewish people of the day to make the choice of either collaborating with the enemy or actively resisting or just keeping their heads down and getting through the day, getting through life.

            And, there were the religious leaders of the day who, like many religious leaders since and, yes, still today, sometimes made life more difficult for people by being sticklers – by enforcing strict rules without love or mercy.

            We don’t have to look far in the gospels to find that Jesus the faithful Jew was not terribly impressed by the religious leaders of his time and place – and I’m guessing he’s not terribly impressed by most of the leaders of his church today.

            Where’s the love?

            Anyway, in today’s gospel lesson the Pharisees ask Jesus a question:

            “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?”

            Like all good lawyers, the Pharisees are asking a question to which they already know the answer: Yes, the Law (specifically Deuteronomy 24:1-4) allows a man to divorce his wife “if she does not please him because he finds something objectionable in her.”

            Now, just to make things more complicated, although Jewish law only allowed a man to divorce his wife, Roman Law did in fact allow a woman to divorce her husband!

            Nevertheless, the right answer would be for Jesus to say, “Yes”  - and then move on.

            But, of course, that’s not the way of Jesus.

            Instead, Jesus acknowledges the law about divorce but insists that this commandment was given because of the people’s “hardness of heart” - because of their lack of love – because, frankly, sometimes men want to ditch their wives for someone more attractive or just someone different.

 And then Jesus looks all the way back to the beginning – back to the first people in the garden – reminding the Pharisees and us that God gives us one another for mutual support, for companionship, and for love.

            So, Jesus says, no, a man should not divorce his wife if she no longer “pleases” him.

            And, for that matter, a woman should not divorce her husband if he no longer “pleases” her.

            Where’s the love in that?

            But, you already see the problem, I bet.

            The Church being a human institution full of sticklers took Jesus’ words here and turned them into a hard, unbreakable, harsh, and sometimes destructive and even deadly rule: no divorce and certainly no remarriage after divorce.

            But, where’s the love in such an absolute and unforgiving law?

            Where’s the love in forcing people to remain in marriages where there is no love or, far worse, forcing people to remain in marriages where there is emotional and/or physical abuse and danger?

            Where’s the love in being such a stickler for the rules that sometimes people are sentenced to a life of misery and danger?

            Where’s Jesus in all of that?

            And, where’s the love?

            Fortunately, right after this passage about divorce, Jesus turns his attention to children.

            Now, there’s the love!

            Before the world gets to them, most children are so very loving – delighted by a good round of peek-a-boo with just about anybody – and wanting to be friends with all the other children, no matter what they look like or how much or how little money their parents make.

            Children are so very loving – yesterday I met with a woman I taught in high school long ago and her three young sons. As we stood outside talking, one by one and over and over the boys brought their mom little flowers that they had picked from the garden until she had a miniature bouquet in her hands.

            And, Jesus says that’s how we are to be – that’s how we are to receive the kingdom of God.

There’s the love.

           

            In our hard and broken world it seems almost impossible, but, fortunately, every once in a while God sends us someone – someone we look at and say, “Yes, there it is! There’s the love!”

            The other day we celebrated the Feast of Francis of Assisi and later this afternoon we’ll have our annual blessing of the animals service in his honor.

Francis was a most extraordinary Christian, born in the late 12^th century into a well-to-do family, born during a time when the Church had largely lost its way, had gotten so cozy with worldly power, had gotten addicted to money and influence, when the Church seemed to have forgotten that it was supposed to follow the poor man from Nazareth, Jesus.

            But, Francis heard an extraordinary call from God to rebuild the church – not with stone and mortar as he had originally thought – but by taking Jesus at his word and giving up everything to live a life of love.

            So, like a child, Francis loved other people – especially the poor – loved men and women, especially his beloved sister in Christ, Claire.

            Like a child, Francis loved the whole creation – preaching the Good News to the birds in trees, singing his song to “Brother Sun” and “Sister Moon.”

            Francis loved poverty – not the grinding poverty created by greed and injustice – but holy poverty, a freely chosen poverty, the poverty that is total trust in God.

            And sure enough, when people saw Francis – saw how he lived – people recognized that there’s the love – and people began to join his movement – a movement that continues to this day – and the Church was reminded of the poor man from Nazareth.

            There’s the love.

            And now, here we are.

            Here we are.

            We live in a time when much that has been hidden is being uncovered.

We live in a time when hate, greed, and deceit are on the loose – and so many people are suffering – and many people are afraid of even more suffering on the way – and many are losing hope.

            We live in a time where much of the Church has gotten cozy with worldly power and has no trouble defending the indefensible.

            We are certainly called to raise our voices and to stand up for justice and to do our best to protect the most vulnerable people around us.

            But, most of all, in a time of fear and suffering – as we begin a new day together as a church – I challenge myself and I challenge all of us to be like loving children - to make tons of egg salad sandwiches for the hungry – to give to those in need – to welcome absolutely everybody - to sometimes bend the rules, not because they don’t matter but because love is the most important rule of all.

            I challenge all of us to live our lives – to be the kind of church – that when people ask, “Where’s the love?” they can look at us and say,

            “There it is.”

            “There’s the love.”

            “Here’s the love.”

            Amen.