The Gift of the Spirit for Troubled Hearts

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

May 26, 2019

Acts 16:9-15

Psalm 67

Revelation 21:10, 22-22:5

John 14:23-29

The Gift of the Spirit for Troubled Hearts

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            I recently read a book by Kate Bowler, who teaches at Duke Divinity School and is a scholar of what’s known as the Prosperity Gospel.

            The Prosperity Gospel is a particularly American twist on Christianity that is preached in many churches across our land as well as on our TV sets. And, yes, I know that some of our own parishioners come here for real-life church but also tune into some of the Prosperity Gospel preachers on TV.

            Those prosperity preachers teach that God is ready and willing to shower every material blessing upon us, if only we believe the right things, live the right way, pray hard enough, and, yes, give very generously to their church.

            They often hold themselves up as evidence that what they’re preaching really works – and if they can do it then we too can have a mansion and a jet and gleaming white teeth and remarkably tight and unlined skin.

            Obviously, I’m not a fan of this particular theology.

            But, as someone who leads a church that draws only about 100 or so people on a typical Sunday while most of the prosperity preachers draw thousands and thousands of people, some humility is probably a good idea, as usual.

            Anyway, Kate Bowler is a scholar who has studied and written about the Prosperity Gospel, but the book of hers I read isn’t scholarly at all.

            No, it’s an incredibly powerful and moving memoir and reflection called, Everything Happens for a Reason and Other Lies I’ve Loved.

A few years ago, back in 2015, Kate Bowler’s life seemed to be going along just fine. She was married to the man she had loved since they were teenagers.

They had just had their first child, a healthy and happy little boy.

She had a good job teaching at Duke.

But then, at the age of 35, Kate Bowler began experiencing excruciating pain.

It took the doctors some time to figure out what was going on with this seemingly healthy young woman, but eventually they determined that she was suffering from Stage IV cancer and the prognosis was very bleak indeed.

            Suddenly Kate’s whole life was upended and she had to face the likelihood that she had very little time left – very little time with her husband and young son – very little time for her career – very little time for all the simple yet profound pleasures of life.

            As you’d guess, this scholar and teacher of religion has a lot of Christian friends and acquaintances.

Some of the Prosperity Gospel people said the kinds of things that people – maybe even some of us – sometimes say in situations like this. They said her faith was being tested. They said her suffering was part of God’s mysterious plan, and that, yes, everything happens for a reason.

But, they also kicked their praying into overdrive, absolutely convinced that the right amount and the right kind of prayer would convince God to beat back the cancer threatening Kate’s life.

Others among her friends also prayed for her, of course, but they also offered the gifts of presence – just being with her and holding her hand – and also the gift of solidarity, saying out loud that what was happening to Kate was horrible, unfair, and terrifying.

In her book, she reports something surprising – that in the midst of all of this terror, all of the meetings with doctors, all of the painful treatments, all of the difficult conversations with family, in the midst of preparing for death, she somehow felt an odd sense of peace – she felt God’s presence with her during the worst days of her life.

She writes, “At a time when I should have felt like I was abandoned by God, I was not reduced to ashes. I felt like I was floating, floating on the love and prayers of all those who hummed around me like worker bees, bringing notes and flowers and warm socks and quilts embroidered with words of encouragement. They came in like priests and mirrored back to me the face of Jesus.”

Four years later, Kate Bowler still has her cancer, but thanks to experimental treatments and, I have no doubt, the power of the prayers that continue to surround her, Kate Bowler is still alive and working, living from one doctor’s appointment to the next.

Pretty amazing, right?

But, it’s that sense of peace for a troubled heart that I find most amazing of all – and it’s what I keep thinking about.

And, I think that peace is the gift of the Holy Spirit that Jesus speaks about in today’s lesson from the Gospel of John.

The setting is the Last Supper and the disciples are understandably upset that Jesus is leaving them – their hearts are so very troubled that Jesus will die, seemingly abandoning them to an uncertain and frightening fate.

But, Jesus promises that God the Father will send the gift of the Holy Spirit – the Holy Sprit who will teach, but maybe most of all, the Holy Spirit who reminds us of God’s presence even when everything seems to be going wrong, even when our world is turned upside-down.

Jesus says, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”

In two weeks, on the great feast of Pentecost, we’ll officially celebrate the gift of the Holy Spirit with a big service and by wearing red and by enjoying a barbecue picnic, but we don’t have to wait until June 9 for the Holy Spirit.

 That gift of peace is available to us, especially when our hearts are troubled.

When I was reading Kate Bowler’s beautiful little book, I couldn’t help but think of the many people I’ve encountered past and present who have faced sudden and terrible events: a broken relationship, a lost job, a bad choice, a grim diagnosis, the death of one we love.

Around here lately we’ve had quite a few people going through those kinds of difficult times and my hope is that we are the kind of community that doesn’t offer easy words but is willing to really enter into the suffering others, to be there side by side, lamenting the sadness and unfairness of it all but promising to hold on no matter what.

That’s what I hope we are and I am, but, honestly, it’s a lot.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m certainly not complaining.

I knew what I signed up for and feel very much blessed to be here and do this work.

But it does take a toll.

So, lately, I’ve been a little bit in the dumps, feeling sad about how much suffering is going on right here in our own church, feeling disgusted and frightened about what’s going on in Washington, feeling frustrated by the many buildings and grounds issues we face on our aging property, increasingly aware of my own aging, discouraged by the slow bureaucracy of the church, and on and on.

I’ve felt a little bit like one of those cartoon characters that has a cloud following them wherever I go.

Anyway, the other afternoon I was driving home after yet another meeting, feeling grumpy and generally dissatisfied.

I turned down a side street and, sure enough, had to stop behind a school bus, with its lights flashing and little stop sign extended.

Ugh.

I don’t remember exactly, but I bet I was tapping my finger on the steering wheel, probably mumbling something like, “Oh, come on, come on, come on already…”

But then, a little boy came off the bus.

He was about eight years old, I think.

He was obviously disabled, just barely able to walk on his own, slowly and awkwardly.

He took those few steps with determination, making his way from the bus to the curb where a woman who seemed to be his grandmother was waiting for him.

When he finally reached the curb, he broke into this huge smile and his grandmother broke into this huge smile and he just about threw himself into her arms and they embraced and they laughed and she bathed his head with loving kisses.

Their joy - it was like he had just returned from a long, long journey rather than just a day at school.

I have to tell you that their love nearly knocked me back in my seat, nearly blinded me with its brightness.

And now, instead of impatiently tapping my steering wheel, I was wiping away tears, and I felt a sense of love and peace like I hadn’t felt in weeks.

So, no, I don’t think that everything happens for a reason, but I do know that, especially when our hearts are troubled, God sends us the gift of the Holy Spirit.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

A New Earth Built By Love

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

May 19, 2019

Year C: The Fifth Sunday of Easter

Acts 11:1-18

Psalm 148

Revelation 21:1-6

John 13:31-35

A New Earth Built By Love

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Recently I read a very interesting magazine article about… the Moon.

            Specifically, the article was about the big plans that some countries, some companies, and some entrepreneurs have for the Moon.

            In recent years scientists come to understand that the Moon is full of very valuable minerals – and it even has water.

So, several countries have recently sent unmanned spacecraft to the Moon – with more on the way.

Scientists are thinking about using the Moon as a launch pad to explore farther into the Solar System  - the Moon’s low gravity would make launching space ships much easier and cheaper than it is to launch them from Earth.

 Some very clever people want to start digging on the Moon, mining some valuable resources that are starting to run low here on Earth – where mining also does a whole lot of devastating environmental damage.

            In fact, Jeff Bezos, the founder of Amazon, believes that in the decades ahead we will be able to move most of our heavy industry from Earth to the Moon, allowing us to heal the damage we’ve done to our planet, to give us a chance at a new Earth.

            Now, who am I to argue with the man who started out by selling books on the Internet and is now worth something like $153 billion?

            But, I have to say that even if we’re able to mine on the moon – even if we’re able to move much of our industry to the moon – even if we have the knowhow and the will to do all of that amazing stuff, what’s most likely to happen is that along with the high tech we will bring our human conflicts and competition and hatred and fear – we will simply bring all of that old human baggage from Earth to the Moon.

            After all, our country is already creating a new military branch: Space Force.

            And, you know that other countries are thinking along the same lines.

            The hard truth is that more and better technology will not give us a new Earth.

            Only love can do that.

            Love was at the heart of the life and mission of Jesus – and in today’s Gospel lesson, as Jesus says goodbye to his disciples he commands them – and commands us today - to love one another:

            “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

            Over all the long years since Jesus gave us his “love commandment,” we Christians have sure struggled to obey it – and we have had to learn over and over again just how big God’s love is – we’ve had to learn over and over again that God loves every single one of us and that, with God’s help, we are commanded to love every single one of us, too.

            We heard some of that learning – some of that stretching – in today’s first lesson from the Acts of the Apostles.

            The earliest church was very small – just a relative handful of Jewish men and women who believed that Jesus was the Jewish messiah.

            But, very quickly, Peter and the other members of this early “Jesus Movement” were challenged to share God’s love beyond their little group – they were stretched to love and welcome people who were not Jews – to recognize that we are commanded to love all people, no matter the language they speak or the food they eat or even what they believe or don’t believe.

            It was a long time ago that Jesus commanded us to love one another – and after all this time we’ve made some progress but I think we can all agree that we still have a long way to go.

            It’s easy to get discouraged when we hear about a woman in Texas who was arrested for following the example of the Good Samaritan, lending a hand to three desperate people who waved her down on the side of the road – two men and a very ill woman who turned out to be undocumented but desperately in need of help.

            It’s easy to get discouraged when once again we hear the calls for war – calls that always seem to come from men who have sacrificed nothing of their own but are always quite willing to sacrifice the lives of others.

            It’s easy to get discouraged by the everyday desperation, meanness, and cruelty we experience here in our own neighborhood, where, for our own safety, some of us avoid certain streets and corners – our own neighborhood, where two of our parishioners have been robbed in the last couple of months, where four solar powered lights that Vanessa placed right outside the rectory to brighten the stairs were stolen… the very first night.

            But, despite all of these and many more very real reasons for discouragement, Jesus still commands us to love one another.

            This morning I have the privilege of baptizing yet another beautiful baby – and we all have the honor and joy of welcoming the newest Christian into our community.

            Today is very much about the indissoluble bond – the unbreakable bond – that God will make with Marcus in the water of baptism.

            No matter what Marcus does or doesn’t do in his life, God will never let go of him, never, ever.

            Today is about God and Marcus but today is also about God and us.

            As we welcome Marcus into our community, we are reminded that the way of Jesus is the way of love.

            We are reminded that we are expected to pray and break bread together – that we are to resist evil and ask forgiveness when we mess up – that we are to share Jesus through our word and example – that we are to love our neighbor as our self – that we are to respect every single person.

            No matter how many times we hear them or say them, these big promises of Baptism remain challenging.

            No doubt, they’ll be challenging for Marcus, too.

            But, he’ll have us.

            And, we have each other.

            And, most of all, we have God’s help.

            And, together, we will surely struggle to obey Jesus’ command to love one another – and we’ll have to learn over and over again just how big God’s love is – that God loves the strangers by the side of the road – and God loves the woman who helped them – and God loves the officers who arrested her for helping them – that God loves the leaders who are quick to start a war – that God loves the guys hanging out on the corner – that God loves the people who hurt us – and God even loves the people who steal our solar-powered lights – just as surely as God loves us.

            God loves absolutely everyone.

            But, if we try – really try - to obey the love commandment, slowly and with God’s help we really will create a new Earth – a new earth built not by technology, but a new Earth built by love.

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Amen.

Oneness

The Church of St. Paul & Incarnation, Jersey City

May 12, 2019

Year C: The Fourth Sunday of Easter

Acts 9:36-43

Psalm 23

Revelation 7:9-17

John 10:22-30

Oneness

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            The passage I just read comes from the Gospel of John, the last of the four gospels to be written, completed around the year 100.

            That was about seventy years or so after the earthly lifetime of Jesus – a long time – and so the Gospel of John retells the story of Jesus but it also gives us a glimpse into an early Christian community, people who were still working out what it means to be a follower of Jesus.

            For the first few decades, most, if not all, members of the “Jesus Movement” were Jews – after all, Jesus himself and all of his disciples were Jews.

            But as the first century wore on, as Christians made bigger and bolder claims, it became increasingly difficult to be both Jewish and a follower of Jesus – and so now people had to choose one way or the other.

            Some of these early Christians cut themselves off from their Jewish roots while others gave up on Jesus and left the community.

            It must have been a very difficult time, and we can hear that tension and even anger in many spots throughout the Gospel of John, including what I read today.

            Although a small group of Jewish Christians will hang in there for a few centuries, there is a hard and bitter split between Jews and Christians.

            We go our separate ways, often mistrusting and even hating each other – and Christians will abuse Jews on and off for two thousand years, and, as you know, unfortunately, today anti-Semitism is on the rise here in our own country and around the world.

            The whole sad story must break God’s heart.

            Of course, the split between Jews and Christians is just one example of the many, many divisions among us.

            Over the centuries, we Christians have shattered into thousands of denominations, often breaking up over things that, looking back, seem not so important.

            But, the truth is, whether we’re talking about religion or pretty much anything else, division is one of the things that we humans are really good at.

            Black and white.

            Rich and poor.

            Republicans and Democrats.

            Gay and straight.

            Urbanites and suburbanites.

            Divisions in our churches.

            Divisions in our neighborhoods.

Divisions in our own families.

            And, on and on and on.

            God’s heart must break over and over.

            But, somewhere deep inside of us most of us know that this is definitely not how things are supposed to be.

            Somewhere deep inside of us we know that while our differences are real, we are meant to be one – just as God is one – just as the Father and Jesus are one.

            And, if we pay attention, we find that God is hard at work reassembling the pieces of shattered humanity, knocking down all of our many divisions, herding the sheep to safety, reminding us over and over that love is the strongest force in the universe, stronger even than death itself.

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Here at church, from time to time we get calls and emails from people seeking information about baptisms, weddings, and funerals from the past.

It’s pretty routine, but a couple of months ago I received an email that was not routine at all. It was from a woman named Hazel who told me a story from long ago both sad and beautiful, and asked for my help.

            Hazel was baptized here at St. Paul’s way back in 1951.

            Tragically, Hazel’s mother, Lenora, died in 1954, just days after giving birth in the Margaret Hague Hospital to Hazel’s brother.

This young mother died leaving behind two young children (Hazel and her sister) and a newborn baby.

I don’t know all the details but obviously it was a devastating time and it also seems to have been chaotic for these three young children.

            For a time, Hazel and her brother and sister were placed in an orphanage, until their mother’s family took custody of them and brought them to the Bahamas where they were raised – and despite their tragic start in life, all three of them grew up and later returned to the US, where they have had accomplished careers and brought up families of their own.

            As for their mother, all they knew was that she had been cremated. She was, it seemed, lost to them forever.

            But, over all this time the children never forgot her and a few years ago Hazel and her siblings began a determined effort to try to find her.

            It took a long time and a lot of investigating, but eventually they learned that Lenora had been buried in the Jersey City Harsimus Cemetery (the cemetery on Newark Avenue just down the hill from Dickinson High School).

            Lenora had been buried in a pauper’s grave, unknown, and seemingly forgotten.

            This past February, Lenora’s children visited her grave for the first time. Of course, there was no stone or any other marker, so they ordered one and then contacted me, asking if I would gather with them and offer graveside prayers.

            Hazel seemed to think that I would need some special convincing to do this, but of course I didn’t need to be talked into playing a small part in this amazing story.

            So, last Saturday, on a cloudy and rainy day, about a dozen of us gathered in the cemetery.

            In the minutes before the little service was about to begin, the cemetery’s attendant scurried around, putting up a canopy over the grave to protect us from the rain, laying down Astroturf so we wouldn’t have to stand in the mud.

            Looking at the faces of Lenora’s children and grandchildren, I could see such a mix of emotions: sadness, and joy, and wonder at all that had happened, but maybe most of all, gratitude that this family separated for so long was reunited at last.

            After I led the prayers, one of Lenora’s children asked to speak.

            She stepped forward and looking down at the beautiful stone bearing her mother’s name, birth and death dates, and a small photo, she began:

            “To the mother I never knew.”

            And, then she went on to thank her for giving her and her sister and brother life and assured her mother that they had never forgotten her and said that she would be so proud of the family that she had never had the chance to know.

            Her words were almost unbearably beautiful and we all had tears in our eyes.

            Our service concluded with each family member placing a flower on the stone and I took my leave of these remarkable people and this incredible scene.

            As I came out from under the canopy, the cemetery attendant was standing there, and he had been crying, too.

            We shook hands and he looked right into my eyes and said:

            “We don’t give up until everyone is accounted for.”

            And, you know, even if we do give up sometimes, God never gives up.

            God continues to reassemble the pieces of our shattered humanity, knocking down all of our many divisions, herding the sheep to safety, reminding us over and over that love is the strongest force in the universe, stronger even than death itself.

            And, just like Hazel and her sister and brother didn’t give up until they found their mother - didn’t rest until they were all reunited on a rainy day in Jersey City - God won’t give up until we are all accounted for.

God won’t rest until we all experience the oneness that has always been God’s dream for us.

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Amen.

Making Our Lives Matter More, Wounds and All

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

May 5, 2019

Year C: The Third Sunday of Easter

Acts 9:1-20

Psalm 30

Revelation 5:11-14

John 21:1-19

Making Our Lives Matter More, Wounds and All

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            You know, every once in a while a news story really hits close to home.

            A couple of weeks ago, I was surprised by how deeply sad I felt watching the roof of Notre Dame burn and collapse. I’m fortunate enough to have visited there a couple of times but it was not a particularly meaningful place for me.

            But, throughout the day, watching on social media and TV, my stomach sank as the flames spread and I, along with people all around the world, feared that the whole building might be lost.

            I don’t need a psychiatrist to tell me why I found the whole fiery scene so upsetting.

            First, I was upset by the loss of so much history, the possible loss of a place where people had worshipped and prayed and wondered for nearly a millennium.

            Second, that inferno in Paris tapped into one of my biggest fears about our church – this one hundred and fifty year old marvel of wood frame construction.

            I really, really don’t like to think about it, but I’ve always worried about fire here, though I’ve consoled myself that the firehouse is at the corner and that this old wood would burn pretty slowly.

            The firehouse is still there but watching the 900 year-old lumber of Notre Dame burn like matchsticks shattered my illusions about the wood all around us here.

            That Monday – the Monday of Holy Week – my mind immediately turned to the Easter Vigil, the one service every year where we distribute handheld candles to the congregation, the one service when my heart is in my mouth, the one service when I can usually smell the faint hint of smoldering as an inattentive parishioner starts to burn her bulletin, the one service when Vanessa always sticks close to a fire extinguisher!

 My mind immediately turned to the Easter Vigil and I decided that I just couldn’t bring myself to use the candles this year.

Instead, we adjusted the lighting, definitely losing some of the drama but I have to say it was by far the most enjoyable Easter Vigil since I’ve been here!

And, the other recent news story that really hit close to home was the shooting last Saturday – the last day of Passover – at a synagogue in Poway, California.

Rabbi Yisroel Goldstein was preparing to deliver his sermon when he heard a loud bang in the lobby. He ran out to find one of his members bleeding, dying, on the floor. The angry young armed man was right there and opened fire on the rabbi, hitting him in both of his hands, obliterating one of his index fingers. Covered in blood, the rabbi still managed to get to where the children were, chasing them out, probably saving at least some of their lives.

After injuring a couple of other congregants, the attacker’s rifle jammed and he fled.

Somehow, as his congregation gathered on the sidewalk, waiting for help, the rabbi managed to preach – to preach words of encouragement, defiance, and, most of all trust in God, no matter what.

Obviously, reading about this makes me and our vestry members think about safety here.

And, reading about the heroism of the rabbi makes me wonder if I would have his presence of mind in the midst of such terror.

Not only did Rabbi Goldstein act heroically when his people were attacked, a couple of days later he wrote a very moving article that was published in The New York Times.

In the piece he tells the story of the attack and then he announces that, going forward, his lost finger will serve as a reminder that he’s living on borrowed time.

And, rather than hiding his Jewishness he’s going to be more “brazen” with his faith, with his identity, with his love – this wounded rabbi is going to shine even more light into the darkness.

Rabbi Goldstein writes that he’s going to use his borrowed time to make his life matter more.

Making our lives matter more.

In today’s gospel lesson we heard what’s usually thought of as the epilogue to the Gospel of John.

It’s kind of a P.S. to the gospel, included perhaps because there was still some unfinished business – unfinished business for Jesus and unfinished business for Peter.

It’s a mysterious scene with Peter and some of the other disciples fishing. Even after meeting the Risen Jesus, their lives seem to have gone back to more or less normal. They still need to earn a living.

After an unsuccessful night of empty nets, early the next morning they encounter the Risen Jesus on the beach – the Risen Jesus who is still himself – the Risen Jesus who as Thomas discovered still carries those wounds in his hands and his side – but he’s also transformed, able to appear and disappear, able to go unrecognized even by the people who knew him best.

Anyway, Jesus encourages his fishermen friends to try for fish again and this time there is so much abundance – so many fish (153 of them, but who’s counting?) that the net should have torn but it didn’t.

Then Jesus invites his friends to a fish breakfast and we get to the unfinished business.

You’ll remember that after Jesus had been arrested, Simon Peter had denied Jesus three times – denied even knowing him.

Peter certainly hadn’t forgotten that and you have to wonder how he dealt with the guilt he must have felt about his betrayal and cowardice – guilt that didn’t magically disappear when it turned out that death was not the end for Jesus – guilt that may have even dulled Peter’s Easter joy.

Well, Jesus has also not forgotten Peter’s denials, and now pointedly asks him three times: “Do you love me?”

There’s a lot going on under the surface of this little exchange between Jesus and Peter but each time Peter declares that, yes, he loves Jesus.

And, each time Jesus basically says, O.K., prove that love – live out that love - by feeding and taking care of the sheep.

Finally, this haunting exchange concludes with a little foreshadowing as Jesus predicts the kind of death that Peter would endure – that ultimately he would be taken prisoner and be executed for following Jesus.

But, in the meantime, Jesus points Peter to how he is to live his life – how he is to live out being a follower of Jesus – by taking care of others – by feeding the sheep.

The truth is we’re not going to get through life without wounds.

Even Jesus couldn’t get through life without getting wounded!

Things that we thought would last forever burn and vanish.

People get inflamed by hate and do terrible, unspeakable things.

People we love get sick. People we love get hurt. People we love die.

Sometimes we fall short, hurting the very people we say that we love the most.

We wound others and we wound ourselves.

We get wounded.

And, those wounds never vanish completely, but God loves us wounds and all, and will never let go of us, no matter what.

And so, just like for Rabbi Goldstein and for Peter, the only way forward is to make our lives matter more – and we do that not by piling up lots of money or gaining fame and power – but by loving and feeding one another.

There is a very old tradition – one which was probably known by the first readers and hearers of the Gospel of John – that in the 60s of the first century Peter was killed in Rome – martyred around the same time and place as Paul, whose conversion story we heard in today’s first lesson.

In Peter’s case, the tradition is that he was crucified upside-down, and that upside-down cross is still used to symbolize St. Peter today.

As Jesus had predicted, Peter was led to where he did not want to go, and he would endure a few more wounds before he died.

And yet, I like to think that even in those last minutes, Peter must have remembered the Risen but still wounded Jesus – the Jesus who loved him no matter what, wounds and all.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.