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.