The Missing Disciples

The Church of St. Paul & Incarnation, Jersey City NJ

April 28, 2019

Year C: The Second Sunday of Easter

Acts 5:27-32

Psalm 118:14-29

Revelation 1:4-8

John 20:19-31

The Missing Disciples

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Even someone like me who often sees the glass has half-empty – even I have to admit that last week was a pretty amazing time for us here at St. Paul and Incarnation.

            In their own way, each of our Holy Week services was beautiful – and this year our Good Friday Stations of the Cross Procession through the streets of Jersey City was particularly moving and powerful.

            And then it was Easter and all three of our Easter services, again each in its own way, was joyful but for me and I think for many of us the highlight was the baptism at 10:00 of our newest disciple, little Jack – who calmly took it all in with those big eyes of his, watching us and watching his new life begin.

            Yes, my friends, it was Easter!

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            But, by now, out in the world, most, if not all, of the Easter chocolate has been eaten and most, if not all, of the Easter eggs have been made into egg salad sandwiches – so much egg salad that maybe our cholesterol is spiking, maybe we never want to see egg salad again – by now, the fancy hats and outfits have been carefully stored away – by now, the lilies have started to wilt - by now, the world has moved onto whatever the next thing is.

            But, not here.

            Here, we’re just getting started.

            Our Easter joy will continue through the great feast of Pentecost on June 9, and, God willing, longer even that that.

            It’s still Easter for us – and, in today’s gospel lesson, it’s still Easter for the first disciples of Jesus – or, actually, at the start of today’s reading it’s not quite Easter for them just yet.

            Earlier on that first Easter day, Mary Magdalene had discovered the empty tomb and had quickly run to tell the others and Peter and the Beloved Disciple had run to the tomb and, sure enough, discovered it empty and then, no use at all, they left, leaving Mary Magdalene alone to discover by herself the Good News – the best news of all:

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Mary then follows Jesus’ instruction to go tell the others, but as of yet they haven’t seen Jesus for themselves and so we pick up in the evening of that first Easter Day – the running around has stopped and the frightened disciples are hiding behind locked doors.

The Evangelist John says that the disciples were afraid of “the Jews.”

We can’t just slide by that because we are living in a time when anti-Semitism is on the rise, as we saw most painfully yesterday when another armed-to-the-teeth man opened fire in a synagogue, this time in California, on the last day of Passover, killing one congregant and injuring several others, including the rabbi.

So, especially in this time of hatred and violence, we need to clarify that the disciples were not scared of “the Jews” – all of the disciples were Jews, remember - but they were understandably terrified that the religious authorities and the Romans who had finished off Jesus were coming for them next.

            But, then…the disciples see for themselves.

            The Risen Lord appears – he’s transformed, somehow able to slip through locked doors – but he’s still himself – he still has the fresh wounds of his suffering and death.

            Love is stronger than death!

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!     

            But, of course, not all of the disciples were there in the locked room that first Easter night, most notably Thomas.

            Thomas will be forever associated with doubt – the doubt we heard him express today – the doubt which I always point out is more about doubting the word of the disciples – he’s seen these guys at their worst, remember - than it is about doubting Jesus.

            But, I’d like to back up to before the doubt, back up to the fact that Thomas was not with the others that night – that Thomas was a missing disciple.

            And, I always wonder why.

Why wasn’t Thomas there with the others that night?

            Why was he a missing disciple?

            There might be some kind of boring explanation, like he was off running an errand, or maybe he was spending the night with his own family, or maybe he was too frightened to be with the others – though the little we know about him tells us that he was brave.

            But, as I imagine it, I see Thomas off by himself somewhere – angry at God for allowing Jesus to suffer so terribly – angry and ashamed at himself for abandoning Jesus in his greatest moment of need, abandoning Jesus just like nearly everybody else.

            I see Thomas off by himself somewhere, so angry, so disappointed, so sad, that it had all – all of the hope and expectation – that it had all come to the horror of the cross and the tomb.

            You know, thinking of Thomas the missing disciple got me thinking about our own missing disciples.

            There were a lot of people in church last week – but there were also a lot of people – a lot of our own disciples - who were not here.

            Some were away on vacation or visiting with family who live out of town, and that’s great, of course.

            But, there were others who were enduring what I imagine Thomas experienced – there were those who were still at the cross or at the tomb – those who were just feeling too crushed by the sadness and disappointment of life – those who couldn’t quite face the flowers and the music and the beautiful baby and all of the alleluias – those who had not yet heard, really heard, the Good News – the best news ever.

            Thomas is not the only missing disciple.

            My favorite part of today’s gospel lesson is that in the midst of their great joy, the disciples didn’t forget about Thomas.

            They tell him – they probably couldn’t wait to tell him – the Good News.

            And, of course, he doesn’t believe them – yes, he doubts – but there must have been something in their faces and their voices that convinced him to rejoin the group – to be there with the other disciples, just in case the best news ever was really true.

            And, the efforts of the disciples and the willingness of Thomas pays off the following week when Jesus returns, wounds and all – and Thomas doesn’t need to touch those wounds after all – but instead he says more than he probably understood:

            “My Lord and My God!”

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            It’s still Easter for the disciples and it’s still Easter for us – and it’s going to keep on being Easter for a long time – but there are still quite a few missing disciples and so, like the disciples seeking out Thomas, let’s not wait to tell them the Good News, the best news of all time.

            And, with God’s help, maybe there will be something in our faces and in voices that will convince the missing disciples of today that…

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Amen.

           

           

           

Light

The Church of St. Paul & Incarnation, Jersey City NJ

April 21, 2019

Easter Day

The Baptism of Jack Boone Nwachukwu

Acts 10:34-43

Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24

1 Corinthians 15:19-26

John 20:1-18

Light

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Our Easter began last night as we came into this sacred place from the world outside, a world that is so often overshadowed by sin and suffering.

Easter began last night as we came into our half-lighted and shadowy church, coming here with all of our baggage and coming also with all of our hope and expectation.

And then the Paschal Candle was lit – and the light of Christ once again filled this old building – shining so bright - brighter even than the golden cross hanging above the ruins of Notre-Dame – shining so bright, driving away the shadows of fear and despair.

Finally, at last, it was Easter!

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            And you know, thinking about it, in some ways, our Easter began not unlike the first Easter.

            In the dark of early morning, Mary Magdalene arrived at the tomb. The memory of her beloved friend and teacher’s death was still so fresh, still so shocking, still so heartbreaking.

            There were deep shadows in her heart – the deep shadows of sorrow and grief, the deep shadows of fear and loneliness.

            It was dark that first Easter morning.

            There were shadows all around – all around the garden and within Mary Magdalene’s broken heart.

            We can imagine the piercing shock that Mary felt when, after everything that she and the other friends of Jesus had been through - after everything - she discovers that the stone had been removed from the tomb.

            Such horror.

            How can it be that things are still getting worse?

            Mary ran to tell the disciples and, in turn, Peter and the Beloved Disciple raced each other back to the tomb – where they discovered the disturbing and mysterious scene – and then they returned home.

Let’s be honest: throughout this whole story, the men were not much use at all.

            But, for some reason (hope? fear? exhaustion?) Mary, with her overshadowed heart, remains right there, in the shadows of the garden.

            And, suddenly a man appears and at first Mary doesn’t recognize him – maybe because of the shadows of the garden or maybe because of the shadows of her heart – or maybe because after all the terrible things that have happened she just doesn’t expect there to be any good news at all, let alone the best news ever.

            But then she hears his voice – she hears Jesus call her by name.

            And then, she knows.

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            And, while I’m sure she wanted nothing more than just to stay right there in the garden with the Risen Jesus, just gazing at him and marveling at all that had happened, she follows Jesus’ instructions and goes to the disciples who were still hiding in the shadows of fear and grief – she goes to the disciples, bringing them the Light of Christ, saying:

            “I have seen the Lord.”

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            And for all of these many centuries, in good times and not so good, the Light of Christ has shone bright – and continues to shine so bright in this beautiful place, right here and now this morning.

            And, in just in a few minutes the Light is going to shine a little bit brighter when I have the privilege of baptizing Jack.

            Ever since he was born – or really even before that, when we eagerly anticipated his arrival – Jack has been a blessing and a joy – and he’s also been quite fortunate to be born to such wonderful parents – to be born into such a beautiful family.

            Jack has already been a blessing and a joy and God loves him so much and we love him so much.

 But in a few minutes – right here in this room – right back there at the font – when I pour some water over Jack’s head, he’s going to become part of the Body of Christ and God is going to promise to never let go of him, no matter what.

            Near the end of the Baptism I will hold a candle before him - which I fully expect will capture the attention of his bright eyes – and I will say to him:

            “Jack, you are the light of the world. Let your light shine before others so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”

            And, with that, together with all of us here in his community, Jack will take on the work of every Christian.

            He’ll take on the work begun long ago by Mary Magdalene when she went to share the Light of Christ – to share the Good News – to share the best news ever – with the disciples.

            Jack will take on the work of a lifetime.

He’ll take on the work of breaking bread and praying with all of us – the work of asking forgiveness when he messes up – the work of sharing the Good News by what he says and by what he does - the work of loving his neighbors as much as he loves himself – the work of striving for justice and peace for all people, especially the poorest and most vulnerable.

In just a few moments, I’m pretty sure without even realizing it (though you never know), Jack will begin his Christian life – and he will remind us of who we are, whose we are, and what we are supposed to be about.

And, I know that, together, we will continue to shine the light of Christ into a world that is still so very shadowy, a world so desperately in need of light.

Together, we will shine the Light of Christ so bright that at least some of the people in our broken and sad world will shout for joy:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Amen.

           

           

From Shadow to Light

The Rev. Thomas M. Murphy

The Church of St. Paul & Incarnation, Jersey City NJ

April 20, 2019

The Great Vigil of Easter

From Shadow to Light

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            We began this evening’s service in shadow, straining to make out the words in the bulletin and in the hymnal, straining to see the Good News that we knew – we knew for sure – was going to be announced here tonight.

            And, now, as the light of the Paschal Candle and the lights of our beautiful old church shine bright, we have at last moved from the shadows and into the light – out of the shadows and into the Light of Christ.

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Of course, what we’re doing here tonight has been carefully planned out, following a pattern stretching far back into the history of the Church – the practice of sparking the Easter light – the custom of recalling some of the great stories of God’s saving acts – the tradition of baptizing new Christians, or at least renewing our own baptismal promises, as we have just done here tonight.

            And, in the lead up to tonight, we followed another ancient pattern – Lent – forty days of penance and reflection – forty days when we made some changes here in church, putting away or covering the silver and most of the other shiny stuff, using different prayers and trying on other language, walking the way of the Cross week after week, and, maybe most noticeably, definitely not saying the “A Word” – not saying the word, “Alleluia.”

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            I’m not going to name names but over the long weeks of Lent a few of us slipped up and let an “A word” escape our lips – if you go to church a lot, it’s hard to break the habit.

            I’ll admit that since I’m usually the one leading our services, I worry that I’ll be the one to mess up and never hear the end of it from some of you!

            Fortunately, I managed to get through Lent without an Alleluia – with one big exception.

            The traditions around Lent and Easter are all beautiful and important and I wish everyone could experience them, but the truth is that God is not bound by our customs – the truth is that God can and will shine light anytime God wants, even during Lent.

            And that’s what happened right here just a few weeks ago.

            Some of you will remember that, until it closed last year, we used to offer a monthly healing service over at the nursing home first known as Liberty House and later Majestic.

            For the small team of us who went over there month after month to pray, and sing some songs, and anoint some of the residents with Holy Oil, the service became a very meaningful spiritual practice.

            As usual, we got more out of it than the people we were there to serve, I think.

            One of the residents who often attended our service was a relatively young man with the memorable name of Hamlet.

            It was only near the end of our time at Majestic that I became aware that Hamlet had lived what we might call the unconventional life of an artist, it was only near the end of the nursing home and only near the end of Hamlet’s life that I realized that he was a very talented and much-loved fixture in the local arts community.

            Last year our friend Steve Cunniff hosted a show of Hamlet’s work at his hair salon around the corner from here. I went there to see his art and to see Hamlet.

And, there he was, just beaming, surrounded by his art and by so many friends, who were all kind of fawning over him.

            I had to stand in a kind of receiving line waiting to greet him and when it was finally my turn, Hamlet gazed at my face trying to place me – I wasn’t wearing my priest uniform – and then his eyes widened and he smiled and said, “I know you!”

            Some months ago, after a long illness and many years of nursing home life, Hamlet died and was mourned by so many.

            A few of his friends reached out to us here asking if they could have a memorial service for Hamlet.

            Of course I said sure, imagining a not-very-religious service, more like friends gathered to tell stories and sing songs.

            But, gradually, what I came to understand was, no, his closest friends wanted a real church funeral service, including Holy Communion.

            And, so here we were just a few weeks ago on a Saturday in Lent, with Hamlet’s ashes in a box in front of last year’s Paschal Candle shining bright – here we were singing familiar hymns and saying familiar prayers.

            I went into the service knowing that there would be a lot of people here who don’t go to church – who don’t want to go to church – and I wondered if I’d see eye-rolling or people staring at their phones or snickering at the whole thing.

            But, instead, it was beautiful.

            People lined up for communion with eyes wide with expectation, somehow knowing that something special was going to happen.

            And, sure enough it did.

            At the end of the service, during what’s known as the Commendation, I broke the Lenten fast and, thinking of Hamlet and moved by the whole event, I choked back tears, and said,

            “All of us go down to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.”

            And now, tonight, in our carefully planned and ancient service, the light from a new Paschal Candle shines bright – shining the light of Christ into our often shadowy world.

            Death is not the end for Christ and death is not the end for us.

            And, thanks be to God, Easter light shines not only tonight and tomorrow, but any time and all the time, even during a funeral in Lent.

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Amen.