"It" Can Happen

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

June 30, 2019

Year C, Proper 8: The Third Sunday after Pentecost

2 Kings 2:1-2, 6-14

Psalm 77:1-2, 11-20

Galatians 5:1, 13-25

Luke 9:51-62

“It” Can Happen

            You don’t have to look very hard or very far to find celebrities or politicians – or, ahem, celebrity-politicians – who have devoted their lives to the pursuit of fame and fortune, power and pleasure.

            Lots of people, famous and unknown, are convinced that if only they get enough of these things then, then they will be finally satisfied, finally at peace, finally secure, finally sure of their own worthiness and lovability.

            Well, you know where this is going, right?

            It’s a tragic and old, old story. We’ve seen it played out in the Bible, in mythology, in literature, and every week in the tabloids that some of us flip through on line at the supermarket (not me, of course, but probably some of you).

It’s a tragic and old, old story: people who seem to have it all – piles of money, the adulation of millions, power over other people – and yet, somehow, it’s still not enough.

            It’s never enough.

            And, despite all that they have, there’s little peace in their hearts and in their lives.

            Instead, they crave more applause, an even fatter bank account, higher highs, more, more, more…

            It’s a sad story.

            Some of you know that one of my favorite celebrities is William Shatner, who became famous more than fifty years ago playing Captain Kirk on what I’m sure you’ll agree was the best TV show ever, Star Trek.

            Shatner has been famous for as long as I’ve been alive, beloved by millions, richer than he could have probably ever imagined, and he’s still remarkably active at the hard-to-believe age of 88. He’s achieved so much you’d think he would feel a real sense of accomplishment.

            But, even with all of his fame, fortune, and fans, even with middle-aged men getting teary-eyed when they meet him in person (or, so I’ve heard), even with all of that, Shatner has spoken openly of still feeling dissatisfied and unfulfilled.

            As he’s put it: “It hasn’t happened yet.”

            And, I think most of us non-celebrities can probably relate to that feeling.

            If we’ve lived long enough, we’ve all thought that if only we could have that experience – or get that job – or have that relationship – or live in that house – or have that much money in the bank – if only we had our own church parking lot - if only we had that, then, then finally we would be satisfied and be at peace.

            It hasn’t happened yet.

            And it hasn’t happened yet – and, spoiler alert, it is not going to happen – it hasn’t happened yet because we were made first and foremost for God.

            And, it’s only when we put God first – it’s only when we make our home with God - it’s only then that we can know true peace.

            As the great theologian St. Augustine famously said, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it finds its rest in you.”

            Today’s gospel lesson marks a turning point in the story of Jesus as told by the Evangelist Luke.

            Jesus has set his face toward Jerusalem, beginning the journey to his capital city where he will be first greeted with great joy but where the mood will quickly change and he will be rejected, abandoned, tortured, and left for dead.

            Along with his disciples, Jesus begins this final journey by going from his homeland of Galilee into Samaria.

            Now, because of the parable of the Good Samaritan we tend to think of Samaritans as, well, good, but the truth is Jews and Samaritans had a tense relationship with each other. It was actually kind of a family feud. Jews and Samaritans were related to each other but had different histories and had very different ideas about Scripture and worship and the messiah.

            But, still, as unpleasant as it might have been for all involved, the most direct route from Galilee to Jerusalem was through Samaria. Not surprisingly, the Samaritans don’t want to have anything to do with Jesus. And also not surprisingly, the disciples James and John – both Jews, of course - don’t take this rejection well at all and provide us with the latest episode in our long-running series, “The Disciples Just Don’t Get It.”

            Apparently James and John (and probably the other disciples, too) hadn’t been paying attention when Jesus taught that we should turn the other cheek and that we should love our enemies. Instead, they ask permission to… call down fire from heaven in order to destroy the Samaritan villages.

            Luke simply says that Jesus turned and “rebuked” them – a strong word. Personally, I’d like to know what a probably highly frustrated Jesus actually said to these guys, but we can probably imagine, right?

            Anyway, so far this is a pretty routine story with two very familiar ingredients:

Number 1: Some people reject Jesus.

Number 2: The disciples just don’t get it.

But the second half of today’s gospel lesson is much more unsettling challenging – and gets us to the heart of the matter.

As Jesus continues on in his journey to Jerusalem, he encounters three people.

The first takes the initiative and says boldly to Jesus, “I will follow you wherever you go.”

To which Jesus replies that, unlike foxes and birds, he has nowhere to lay his head – he has no earthly home of his own. Jesus seems to be saying: understand that if you really go through with this – if you really do follow me – you may lose your home – or, what you had thought of as your home.

And then, Jesus encounters two other people and in these cases it’s Jesus who takes the initiative and says to them, “Follow me.”

They both seem interested and willing to become disciples, but they have other priorities, priorities that involve home - or what they had thought of as home.

One says, “First let me go bury my father.”

And the other says, “Let me say farewell to those at my home.”

But, Jesus says to both of these interested, willing, and, yes, responsible people that, no, this isn’t good enough.

It must have been shocking when Jesus said these words.

I mean, who can object to wanting to bury a parent or to saying goodbye to those we love before setting out on a long journey?

It must have been shocking two thousand years ago and I bet if we really listen to these words it’s still shocking for us here today.

And it seems to me that Jesus means these words to be shocking – shocking us to get our priorities straight – shocking us to put God first in our lives – shocking us to recognize that our true home is with God – that, no matter how much we love our homes and our families and our neighborhoods and our jobs – now matter how much we love all of those usually very good things – our hearts are restless until they rest in God.

And then – and here’s the thing – when we really do allow ourselves to rest in the God who loves us just the same no matter how much or how little we achieve – when we really do put God first  - then “it” finally happens.

And, if we want to know what “it” is, in today’s second lesson from the Letter to the Galatians, St. Paul gives us quite a list.

For Paul, “it” is the fruit of the Spirit.

“It” is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

“It” is kind of the exact opposite of the celebrities and politicians – and celebrity-politicians – who always crave more.

And, sure, it’s easy to judge them as we flip through the supermarket tabloids (uh, you, I mean you.)

But, the truth is that most, probably, of us have our priorities out of order – maybe not as messed up as celebrities who get turned around by fame, but we all put someone or something in the first place that should belong only to God.

You know, we don’t know what happened to those three people who really wanted to follow Jesus but who were challenged to put God first, ahead of everyone and everything.

But, if they really did accept that great challenge, I bet they discovered that by making their home with God they were able to love the people in their lives more generously, more wholeheartedly, than they had ever thought possible.

“It” might have happened back then.

And, “it” can happen for us today.

Amen.

Casting Out Evil Spirits, Then and Now

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

June 23, 2019

Year C, Proper 7: The Second Sunday after Pentecost

1 Kings 19:1-15a

Psalm 42

Galatians 3:23-29

Luke 8:26-39

Casting Out Evil Spirits, Then and Now

            Today’s gospel lesson, the story of Jesus casting out demons from a man in the land of the Gerasenes, has been troubling me all week.

            And, if you live here in our neighborhood and regularly walk Bergen Avenue, as I do, maybe this vivid and powerful story will trouble you, too.

            It’s a story that is found, with some differences, in Mark, Matthew, and here in Luke.

            In Luke, it is the one and only time that Jesus leaves Jewish territory and enters a non-Jewish, Gentile land. Just in case we weren’t sure about that, we’re told that there are swineherds tending their pigs, so we know that we’re not in Israel any more!

            The gospels don’t agree on the name of this place and scholars are not sure exactly where it was, aside from the vague description that it was “opposite Galilee.”

            And maybe that vagueness is part of the point.

            The country of the Gerasenes could be just about anywhere.

            We’re told that Jesus and his disciples arrive in this unfamiliar territory, where they are immediately met by a terrifying “welcoming committee” of one: the pathetic figure of a man possessed by demons.

            We’re not told how the disciples reacted to this scene, but knowing them I’m guessing that it was something like: “Uh, Jesus, what do you say we get back on the boat and go back home?”

Luke paints quite a terrifying picture of this poor man – living in the tombs, naked, probably carrying on all the time and scaring the wits out of everyone else in town.

We’re told that he is possessed by a “legion” of demons. In the Roman army, a legion was made up of anywhere from four to six thousand soldiers, so this man is possessed by many, many demons.

            Luke doesn’t say it, but this man is often described as an outcast, but that’s not quite true. In fact, we’re told that his neighbors had at least tried to do something - to protect themselves and to protect him from himself - keeping him under guard and in shackles, but it was no use – the demons were just too powerful for human efforts.

            And near the end of the story, we’re given the little detail that this wreck of a man had a home and it makes me wonder if he also had a family – people who loved him and missed the person he used to be - people who must have been horrified and heartbroken and even ashamed to see what had become of him.

Anyway, as usual, while Jesus’ closest friends are generally unable to figure out who Jesus is, the demons always recognize Jesus right away. They know exactly who Jesus is - and they respect his power.

            The poor possessed man shouts at the top of his voice, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God?”

            Interestingly, even the demons do not want to be sent into “the abyss,” so Jesus gives them permission to enter the herd of pigs, the pigs who then promptly throw themselves into the sea.

            But, the conclusion of the story is not as neat and clean as we might expect.

            The poor man now freed of his demons becomes a disciple and shares the good news of what Jesus has done for him.

            But, his neighbors in the land of the Gerasenes are not so enthusiastic about the miraculous work of Jesus of Nazareth.

            The swineherds must be understandably unhappy about suddenly losing their livelihood, but the other people in town are afraid and ask Jesus to leave them.

            Perhaps seeing the power of God at work right in front of them in their own town made them uncomfortable, raising difficult questions about how the world really works – raising difficult challenges about how they should live their lives.

            At the start of my sermon I mentioned how this gospel story as been troubling me all week.

            It’s been troubling me because the poor man possessed by the legion of demons reminds me of someone – someone I’ve seen many times and someone who, if you’ve spent any time on Bergen Avenue over the last couple of years, you’ve seen, too.

            He’s a man possessed by his own demons, the demons of mental illness and addiction. For a while now, he’s been on Bergen Avenue and around McGinley Square, wearing rags, compulsively drinking and smoking, bobbing and weaving in perpetual motion, ranting in a language that I think is probably English but the snippets I’ve heard are incomprehensible to me.

            Everyone, even the other alcoholics and drug addicts, give him a wide berth. I’ve never seen him interact with another human being.

            I’ve seen him early in the morning and late at night – and it’s always the same except when he’s overcome with exhaustion or intoxication (or, probably both) and passes out flat on his back, sometimes right in the middle of the sidewalk - his demons seemingly silent, at least for a time.

            I’ve seen him for years but just this past week I realized that I haven’t seen him lately and I’m afraid that his story didn’t end as happily as the story of a similar man possessed by demons long ago, a man healed by Jesus.

            Because the truth is, unlike the people in the land of the Gerasenes, I certainly didn’t make any attempt to try to help him, no attempt to protect him from himself, or to even offer him the small kindness of a dollar or a bite to eat.

            Instead, I tried to steer out of his way.

            Just like pretty much everybody else.

            But, there’s something else.

            Despite the strength of their chains, the Gerasenes were not able to help their poor neighbor on their own. Only God, working in and through Jesus, could unbind the man – only God, working in and through Jesus, could cast out the demons, freeing the man from the spiritual chains that bound him.

            And, so when I think about my neighbor – our neighbor – out there on Bergen Avenue, not only did I shy away from him, not only did I decline to offer him kindness or help, but I’m also pretty sure I never even prayed for him.

            It didn’t occur to me that God might just be powerful enough to free the poor wreck of a man so many of us passed by on the street.

            At least the Gerasenes had a good excuse – they didn’t know God, at least not yet.

            But, I spend my life in or next door to church so I have no good excuse.

            And, neither do you!

            Maybe praying for the man on Bergen Avenue didn’t occur to me because, just like for the Gerasenes, it raises some difficult questions about how the world really works – difficult challenges about how we should live our lives: questions and challenges so difficult that, like the Gerasenes, we may get so disturbed and frightened that we simply want Jesus to go away.

            In today’s second lesson from the Letter to the Galatians, St. Paul makes one of his key points: that there should be no divisions among us – that in Christ “there is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female.”

We are all one in Christ Jesus.

            And we are the Body of Christ in the world.

            And that truth comes with many blessings, blessings we experience each time we gather together here.

But, if we really are the Body of Christ in the world, then we have more power and responsibility than we might like to think.

            So, as much as we might prefer to look away from and give up on the human wrecks like the man who cried out to Jesus long ago and the man ranting and raving on Bergen Avenue in our own time, we are called to offer healing – maybe through a small kindness but especially by remembering them in our prayers, trusting in the power of God who can cast out every evil spirit, then and now.

            Amen.

           

           

           

           

            

Speaking Through Love

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

June 16, 2019

Year C: The First Sunday after Pentecost – Trinity Sunday

Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31

Psalm 8

Romans 5:1-5

John 16:12-15

Speaking Through Love

            Last Sunday we celebrated the gift of the Holy Spirit and it sure was a joyful Pentecost here – with so many parishioners wearing red - and the kids processing in with their streamers - and Dee Dee leading the parade with the dove - and great Holy Spirit music - and, yes, a wonderful barbecue and picnic outside on what was a picture-perfect day.

            Happy Pentecost!

            And, now here we are on the First Sunday after Pentecost. But, if you were listening to that Gospel passage I just read you might think it’s still Pentecost – or, maybe, not yet even Pentecost.

            At the Last Supper, according to the Gospel of John, Jesus says to his disciples:

            “I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth…”

            And then Jesus goes on to describe some of the complex interplay of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit – and that’s our signal that today we’re widening our scope – today we’re reflecting on God’s inner life – today is Trinity Sunday.

            The Holy Trinity – our belief that God is One in three Persons – is notoriously difficult to talk about and, in fact, reminds us that our human language is so very limited when it comes to talking about God.

            The other day I came across a quote from a writer from the last century named Evelyn Underhill. She said:

            “If God were small enough to be understood, He would not be big enough to be worshiped.”

            And, that’s certainly true, right?

            We do the best we can but the language and the images that we come up with for the Trinity – the three interlocking rings, the triangle, the three-leaf clover – none of them really come close to capturing the inner life of God.

            The Trinity is so notoriously difficult to talk about that there’s a running joke among clergy that this is a very good Sunday for vacation or to invite a guest preacher.

            Either I wasn’t quick enough to find a substitute or I am of great courage because here we are and you’re stuck with me!

            And, I think we have to start with the fact that God did not have to create anything.

From before the beginning, God was already a community of love – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – a perfect community of love that some theologians and poets have described as a divine dance – a dance of love for all eternity.

            But, for reasons known to God alone, God did choose to create.

Who knows, maybe there was just so much love within God that God could hardly contain God’s Self – so much love that God decided to share that love with all of us – to invite all of us to the dance.

            But, since God is big and mysterious, since God is completely “other,” the challenge for God and for us has been communication.

            But, God likes a good challenge and God never gives up.

            So, in fact, the whole story of God and us is the story of God speaking to us – not so much with words, though there’s some of that, but speaking to us most of all through love.

            Since the beginning, the Holy Trinity has been speaking to us through love.

God speaks through love by offering us this beautiful creation. You know, the world really didn’t have to be as beautiful as it is, it could have all been black and white and straight lines but even in a paved-over and polluted place like Jersey City, it’s still awfully beautiful. For me, it’s that season again: I’ve been taking my long morning walks and each day I’m struck by how much beauty there is on even some of the toughest blocks – there’s always at least one house where people are caring for flowers and plants – each day when I make my way around Lincoln Park I’m just amazed that I get to live near such a beautiful place.

God speaks through love.

God speaks through love by giving us one another – giving us one another to relish the good times together – to enjoy the simple feeling of a hug or holding the hand of another – on this Father’s Day I think of the experience of a father seeing the face of his child for the first time. God gives us one another to laugh at jokes or to celebrate successes and milestones – and God gives us one another to be there for each other during the tough times, to help us somehow endure what seems to be unbearable.

Just in the last week or two, it was so moving to see some of us travel out to the suburbs to celebrate with our fellow parishioners who were being honored – so moving to see some of you provide such loving support for our parishioners Ursula and Bill as dear Ursula faces the end of her life – so moving to see Jeremy and Patrice read the lessons on Friday at the funeral of Chesley Bowers, providing such a loving support for their lifelong friend Kadeem – so moving to see some of our parishioners quickly organize a repast after the funeral with good food and drink, providing a welcoming environment for people to mourn, to reminisce, and to celebrate.

God speaks through love.

God speaks through love by sending us Jesus – Jesus who shows us what God is really like – Jesus who shows us what we are really like – Jesus who gives away his life in loving service to others, especially the poor and the outcast.

God speaks through love by sending us the Holy Spirit – the Holy Spirit who comforts us when we’re sorrowful – the Holy Spirit who emboldens us when we’re afraid – the Holy Spirit who reveals the truth so we can never really get lost, no matter how hard we may try.

God speaks through love.

And, God longs for us to speak through love, too.

We speak through love in our prayers – in the words we say out loud and the words in the quiet of our hearts.

We speak through love when we care for our family and friends and especially when we care for strangers and the people we don’t much like and even the people we just don’t trust one bit.

We speak through love when we offer loving service to others, making sandwiches with the Squad, serving lunch to the homeless, giving up a night of sleep in our own bed to support Family Promise – we speak through love when we give to people who can never pay us back, people who may never even know who we are.

We speak through love when we resist the temptation to judge other people because of how they look or talk or love, when we resist the temptation to judge other people on their mistakes, on the worst thing they’ve ever done.

God speaks through love and God longs for us to speak through love, too.

So, today is Trinity Sunday.

It’s a day when we’re challenged to reflect on and celebrate a God who is way too big to fully understand – a God for whom words just don’t cut it – a God who, for whatever reason, invites us to be part of the divine dance – a God who wants to be known by us – a God who speaks to us through love.

Amen.

The Spirit of Courage

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

June 9, 2019

Year C: The Day of Pentecost

Acts 2:1-21

Psalm 104:25-35, 37

Romans 8:14-17

John 14:8-17, 25-27

The Spirit of Courage

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            One of the pleasures and honors of my job is when I am asked to offer a prayer at a public event for some civic occasion.

            As you know, these days most people never go to church – and many are turned off by church, often for good reason, frankly – so my hope for these public events – and for weddings, too - is that I can say something appropriate and meaningful, and, who knows, maybe one person will say, “You know, what, maybe I’ll give church another try…”

            (I don’t know if that ever happens, but I choose to believe that it might happen!)

            Anyway, last week I was asked to offer a prayer at a ceremony in Pershing Field, commemorating the 75^th anniversary of D-Day.

            It was a small event, with just a handful of veterans and politicians and onlookers present, along with the Jersey City Police Department honor guard, which was impressive, I have to say.

            Our little ceremony was poignant in its own way but it could hardly do justice to the men who stormed the beaches of Normandy three quarters of a century ago, beginning the final great and bloody push to liberate Western Europe and bring down the monstrously evil Nazi regime.

            I’m sure most, if not all, of you saw news coverage looking back at those incredible days and reporting on the commemorations in England and France, especially the one in England where the D-Day veterans, now all in their 90s, were saluted and thanked by one from their own generation, the unstoppable 93 year-old Queen Elizabeth II.

            In our fast-paced time when we seem to remember very little history, it’s amazing that the D-Day anniversary received so much attention, but even today – maybe especially today – we are in awe of courage – in this case the courage of men who charged beaches to take on heavily armed and well-fortified German soldiers -the courage of moving forward despite the terrifying likelihood of injury or death.

            We honor those men, in part, because, most of the time, courage seems to be in short supply.

            But, we’re in good company.

            The Gospels are very clear – embarrassingly clear – that the first disciples of Jesus usually didn’t “get it.”

            In today’s gospel lesson, during the Last Supper as Jesus prepares his closest friends for his death and his absence, Philip makes a not very good request:

            “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.”

            And, we can hear the frustration and exasperation in Jesus’ reply: “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me?

            It’s not only that the disciples usually don’t “get it.” Even worse than that, the disciples are often cowards, never more so than when they abandon Jesus in his time of suffering and death - fleeing and even, in the case of Peter, denying him, all to save their own skin.

            The disciples, at least so far, have not exactly been profiles in courage.

            In fact, I always wonder if mixed in with their joy in seeing the Risen Lord there wasn’t also a good bit of shame and regret about their cowardly behavior.

            I don’t know, but you’d think that seeing the Risen Jesus would embolden the disciples – would give them the courage they need. I mean, what more do you need, right?

But, surprisingly it seems like something more is still required.

            So, at the start of today’s first lesson from the Acts of the Apostles, we’re told that fifty days after Easter the disciples are all gathered in one place, implying that they’re still hiding out or at least keeping a low profile, and certainly not out in the streets proclaiming the best news of all time, that Jesus has been raised by the dead.

            And then, suddenly, the disciples finally get that last missing ingredient - they receive the gift of the Holy Spirit – and we can hear the author of Acts struggling to describe this incredible experience – a sound like rushing wind – divided tongues like flame among them – the ability to speak so that people from all around the world understood.

            And now, they were no longer afraid, no longer hiding out, no longer just sticking with each other, but instead they go out into Jerusalem, out into the city still led by the men who not very long ago had killed Jesus, they go out into the streets, risking it all to proclaim the Good News.

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            It was all so strange, so unusual that some people thought that the disciples had indulged in some early morning “liquid courage, “ but, no it wasn’t the power of alcohol, it was the power of the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of Courage!

            But, now, here we are, two thousand years later and, let’s face it, that Pentecost courage has long since faded – I doubt that anyone thinks we must be drunk because we share the love of Jesus so openly and generously!

            Here we are, two thousand years later, and, in fact, fear is all around.

            One of the reasons the D-Day commemorations were so meaningful was that there is real fear that the international order built after World War II – the order that prevented a third world war – is being threatened as we speak.

            Fear is all around as leaders here and abroad appeal to our worst instincts.

            Fear is all around as we worry what kind of planet we will pass on to our children.

            Fear is all around as we struggle to pay our bills.
            Fear is all around as we face serious illness.

            Fear is all around even in the church, as so many have gotten turned off and left, as so many really don’t see the point, as so many have never really heard the Good News, as we face the real possibility that we won’t hand off our church – our faith - to the next generation.

            Last week a few of us attended a symposium on the future of the Black Episcopal Church. This is no knock on the organizers and presenters, who did a fine job, but it was a depressing experience, a story of decline and collapse. Looking around, I knew we were in trouble because I was one of the youngest people in the room!

            (I mean, I’m young. But, I’m not THAT young!)

            So, yes, fear is all around and we may be tempted to be like the first disciples, tempted to hunker down, to hide, to stick only with the people we know and trust.

            But, just like on that first Pentecost, the Holy Spirit – the Spirit of Courage – is being poured out upon us, if only we are open to receive it.

            And I don’t have to believe that because I’ve seen it!

            And, you have, too.

            A couple of months ago, at the acolyte festival, I had the chance to have a short one-on-one conversation with our bishop.

            She asked how things were going here and I filled her in.

            And, she startled me a little when she said we need to get the story of St. Paul and Incarnation out to the diocese – that they need to know how we have come together and are flourishing.

            You know when you’re right in the middle of something you don’t really see it – kind of like not seeing the forest because of the trees – but since that conversation I’ve been thinking more about our story and the more I think about it I realize it’s a story of the Holy Spirit – the Spirit of Courage.

            I think of the courage of the Church of the Incarnation, making the hard choice to come over to Duncan Avenue, not knowing how they – you – would be received, not knowing if they – you – could find a spiritual home in a church that, at best, for most of our history, had been a frosty neighbor and, at worst, a rival.

            Not quite storming the beaches of Normandy, obviously, …but not nothing, either.

            And, I think of the courage of St. Paul’s, risking the rocking of a pretty happy boat by opening their – your – doors to a big group of people who have a different history, and somewhat different ways of doing church.

            Not quite suddenly speaking different languages, ...but not nothing, either.

            And now, I think about the times when we’re all mixed together – I think about coffee hour and choir, about vestry meetings and Good Friday, about the beautiful art show and recital offered by Incarnation kids and St. Paul’s kids together and the barbecue we’ll all enjoy in a little while – I think about all of that and I’m overjoyed and, honestly, I can feel my own fears about the future fade away.

            Not quite being mistaken for being drunk, …but not nothing, either.

            That’s the Holy Spirit – that’s the Spirit of Courage – the Spirit that in a time of fear was poured out upon the disciples two thousand years ago – the Spirit that is being poured out upon us right here and right now.

            And, we don’t have to believe it… because we’ve seen it!

            Amen.