Bent, But Not Broken

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

August 25, 2019

Year C, Proper 16: The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 1:4-10

Psalm 71:1-6

Hebrews 12:18-29

Luke 13: 10-17

Bent, But Not Broken

            Even if you don’t recognize the gospel lesson I just read, it probably feels kind of familiar to you.

            In this story of Jesus healing a woman who had been bent for eighteen years there are elements and themes that we find elsewhere:

            Jesus teaches in the synagogue.

            Jesus heals on the Sabbath.

            The religious establishment gets unhappy with Jesus while the people rejoice at the good work he is doing.

            Although the elements are familiar, this story is found only in Luke – Luke,  a masterful writer who in just a few words paints a vivid scene for us.

            We begin with Jesus teaching in the synagogue on the Sabbath, which is presented as an unremarkable event, when suddenly a woman who has been bent for eighteen years appears.

            No one remarks on her suddenly showing up.

            It doesn’t seem that she even knew that Jesus was teaching that day.

            She doesn’t seem to come to the synagogue hoping for a miraculous healing.

            Instead, it’s the Sabbath and so as a faithful Jew this bent woman does what Jews did then and do to this day: gather for worship and prayer.

            Notice that even if the woman was already aware of Jesus’ reputation as a miracle-worker, the woman does not ask Jesus to heal her.

            No, this time Jesus doesn’t wait to be asked.

Jesus takes the initiative, calls her over, and says, “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.”

            He lays his hands on her and, for the first time in eighteen long years she is able to stand up straight.

            And, we’re told she immediately begins praising God.

            Which seems like the perfect response, right?

            But, not everybody is happy.

            The leader of the synagogue objects to Jesus healing on the Sabbath, the day of rest, the day when no work is supposed to be performed.

            Now, it has to be said that the synagogue leader has a point.

            The Law was clear that Jews were allowed to save a life during the Sabbath – in fact, they were required to do so – but that’s not what happened here.

            This woman, who had been bent for so long, could surely have hung in there a little while longer - until sunset when Jesus could have healed her without any objection.

            But, what we know and what the synagogue leader doesn’t, is that Jesus is not just an amazing teacher and powerful healer. He is the Son of God, and God is not bound by Sabbath rules, as important as they are.

            God is always free to heal and to bless as God chooses.

            Amen.

            But, as I’ve reflected on this passage, I keep thinking about the woman bent for eighteen years.

            I’ve mentioned to you before that I’ve been trying to get out for a long walk most mornings, following a route around the neighborhood that includes a loop around Lincoln Park.

            And, during my walks I’ve been trying to pay close attention to what’s going on around me and to also trying to remember to look up, to see the vastness and beauty of the sky, the grandeur of creation.

            While I’m in the park, I’ve been looking carefully at the many trees.

            In my ignorance, I can’t name many of them but I can appreciate their shapes, their height, the colors of their leaves, their apparent health or disease.

            And there are a few trees that are quite bent – they remind me of the woman in today’s story – they’re quite bent - but they don’t break – they don’t break because they have deep roots.

            Like all good writers, Luke tells us only what is necessary to make his point.

            So, we’re never even told the name of the woman bent for eighteen years and, in fact, she never even speaks in the story.

            But, we’re given just enough information to get a sense of her.

            Even today, osteoporosis and other spinal ailments are painful and present many challenges for the people afflicted by them.

Getting around or even sitting comfortably becomes increasingly difficult.

It becomes a challenge to make eye contact with others.

There’s the risk of falling and making a bad situation even worse.

And, perhaps, people like the bent woman have to endure the pity of others or even people turning away in fear, too afraid to face their own possible future.

But, this bent woman of the ancient world, bent for eighteen long years, she doesn’t give up – she doesn’t stay at home curled up as safe and as comfortable as possible.

No, instead, she drags herself out and to the synagogue, not expecting a miracle but simply to gather with her Jewish sisters and brothers, to hear the Scripture, to pray to the God who knew her just as well as God knew the Prophet Jeremiah – the God who knew her even before she was formed in the womb.

It seems her appearance in the synagogue that day was routine.

No one shouts out something like, “Hey! Look who’s here!” or the dreaded “Long time, no see!”

No, she’s probably a regular at the synagogue.

Bent, but not broken.

Deeply rooted.

Later this afternoon, many of us will gather outside to remember and commemorate the 400^th anniversary of the arrival of the first enslaved Africans in English North America.

We will remember and honor them and the millions more who followed, people who were uprooted in the cruelest and most violent ways imaginable.

Those who survived the horrific voyage were sentenced to lives bent over fields, and stoves and tables – sentenced to a life where every effort was made to strip away their dignity.

And, yet.

And, yet, what we also remember is that these same people were able to put down roots here, able to put down roots in the most inhospitable soil imaginable, and not just survive but, in a truly miraculous un-bending, somehow create a new, rich, and beautiful culture that is the most American of all.

The enslaved people were able to put down roots in God, the God who knew them before they were formed in the womb, the God who never forgot their human dignity, the God who hates injustice and has a special love for all the bent people of the world.

Today we live in an uprooted world.

Not only do people ignore the Sabbath, they – we – no longer know who we are and whose we are.

We’ve forgotten the old stories.

We no longer sing the old songs.

We are uprooted.

It’s one of the reasons why false prophets and hucksters are able to lead so many astray.

And, so on this day when we remember a bent but not broken woman, rooted in her tradition - today, when we remember those first bent but not broken enslaved people - today when so many of us are uprooted, I challenge myself and I challenge you to put down deep roots, to put down roots in our community here, to put down roots in the God who knew us before we were formed in the womb.

Put down deep roots so that no matter how strong the storm, with God’s help, we may be bent, but we will never be broken.

Amen.

God Doesn't Accept the Status Quo

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

August 18, 2019

Year C, Proper 15: The Tenth Sunday after Pentecost

Isaiah 5:1-7

Psalm 80:1-2, 8-18

Hebrews 11:29-12:2

Luke 12:49-56

God Doesn’t Accept the Status Quo

            Over the years, one thing I’ve learned – and continue to learn over and over – is how strong people are – how people are able to endure so much suffering and so many setbacks – how people are able to stand back up, dust themselves off, and somehow continue on with their lives.

            And the extraordinary resilience of some people is so amazing that I remember them, and continue to be inspired by them, many years later.

            For example, as part of my ordination preparation, I spent a summer working as a chaplain-trainee at Christ Hospital.

            In a lot of ways it was a kind of baptism by fire, an opportunity to encounter real and terrifying and heartbreaking suffering.

            I vividly remember many of the patients and family members I met that summer, especially a woman named Paula who was about my age, a single mother of three kids, and whose body was just being ravaged cancer.

            By the time I had met her she had been sick for a while, in and out of hospitals, used to being hooked up to IVs, used to having a port in her chest, used to being constantly poked and prodded and injected with toxins meant to heal her, and used to being asked the same questions over and over, by medical professionals and even by rookie chaplains who really didn’t know what they were doing.

            After I had gotten to know Paula, I asked her where she found the strength to endure so much pain and I’ll never forget what she said to me:

            “When I first got sick, I asked, ‘Why me?’ But, then I saw all of the other sick people and I asked, ‘Why not me?’”

            Amazing, right?

            And, over the years I’ve seen that same strength and forbearance among so many parishioners, neighbors, and friends.

            Just the other day, a friend whose son requires a lot of medical attention told me that their insurance company had suddenly and without warning dropped their coverage.

            She went to the insurance office and didn’t get any satisfaction.

            While on the outside I was trying to maintain my “non-anxious presence” on the inside I was (and still am) alarmed! I asked her what she was going to do, and she calmly replied that she would go back to the office on Monday and that eventually everything would work out.

            People are strong and are able to endure so many setbacks, somehow able to get used to so much suffering.

            But, you know, our greatest strengths can sometimes also be our greatest weaknesses.

            Because we are able to handle so much, able to absorb so much pain, we often just choose to cope with things as they are, we often just accept the status quo, not even daring to dream of a more humane and beautiful world.

            Just think of all the things we’ve gotten used to:

            Like what happened to my friend: adults and children needing medical care suddenly dropped by their insurance and forced to beg to get the help they need.

            A country awash in guns where mass shootings occur every couple of days and where the sound of gunfire can be heard nearly every night in many of our neighborhoods.

            (As one New York Times columnist recently wrote, “…we have decided to live with periodic human sacrifices.”)

            We’ve gotten used to a to a government that each day comes up with new ways to hurt the most vulnerable among us – and they also make time to also hurt the environment, leading me to wonder if they need air and water like the rest of us.

            We’ve gotten used to jobs that pay so little – rising rents driving people out of the city - schools that are crumbling – lines of people panhandling on Bergen Avenue and then spending the night sleeping on the porch of Old Bergen Church.

            I could go on.

            But, the truth is that most of us have simply gotten used to all of this and more.

It’s human nature.

It’s a coping mechanism so that we can still get through the day, taking care of our responsibilities, holding on to what’s left of our sanity.

But, it’s different for God.

God doesn’t need a coping mechanism.

And, God does not get used to – God does not accept – that this is how things have to be.

God has a clear vision of the way things were always meant to be - and it looks a lot like a beautiful garden – or, maybe, a vineyard, as the Prophet Isaiah puts it in today’s first lesson.

It’s a garden or a vineyard that we have seriously messed up.

            So, God uses every tool at God’s disposal to remind us of God’s beautiful vision – speaking through prophets like Isaiah who called God’s people back to faithfulness.

            Most of all, God came among us in and through Jesus of Nazareth.

We often think of Jesus as a meek and mild teacher and healer but, as we heard in today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus brought fire, too – the fire to really shake things up – the fire necessary to combat the status quo of hatred, violence, and greed.

            And, today God sends us the fire Holy Spirit – the fire we need to combat the status quo of today – not the fire of violence but the fire of courage, compassion, and love.

            You know, like everybody else, I’m tempted to look away from all the troubles of our day. But, while there’s certainly a lot of terrible stuff going on, I’ve also discovered amazing stories of Spirit-filled people changing the status quo, in ways big and small.

            It hasn’t gotten the media attention it deserves, but the ongoing protests in Hong Kong have been extraordinary: millions of people risking their lives and standing up to one of the most repressive and powerful regimes in the world, determined to hold on to their freedoms.

            (It’s worth noting that from the start, many of the Hong Kong protesters were inspired by Christian teaching on love and justice.)

           

            And then there’s the beautiful story of Mevan Babakar, now 29 years old, who back in the ‘90s was a refugee from Iraq.

            Along with her mother, Mevan spent part of that time at refugee camp in the Netherlands where a kind and generous man bought this five year-old girl… a bicycle. She said, “I remember feeling so special. I remember thinking that this is such a big thing to receive, am I even worthy of this big thing? This feeling kind of became the basis of my self-worth growing up.”

            Mevan never forgot the kind man and the bicycle and thanks the miracle of the Internet she was recently able to reunite with him.

            No surprise, he was overwhelmed by the attention, only willing to give the media his first name only: Egbert.

            His attitude was that what he did was no big deal, all he did was give this little girl a bike.

            But, that small/not so small act changed a woman’s life forever.

            For the past couple of weeks since the mass shooting at Walmart, the people of El Paso have been enduring funeral after funeral.

            But, you’ve probably heard that the funeral of one of the victims has stood out.

            Margie Reckard was 63 when she was shot and killed that day, leaving behind her grief-stricken husband Antonio Basco, but no other nearby family.

            Not wanting to grieve alone, Antonio sent out an open invitation to Margie’s funeral, hoping that maybe a few people would join him to mourn.

            But, there was such an overwhelming response that they had to move the funeral to a larger location where hundreds and hundreds of people from El Paso and far beyond gathered – at one point there were more than 700 people waiting in line outside, where temperatures were over 100 degrees.

            One of our great gifts is that we can endure so much. But, we can also get used to suffering that we must not get used to.

 God doesn’t get used to – God doesn’t accept – that this is how things have to be.

And, God uses every tool at God’s disposal to remind us of God’s beautiful vision.

A vision we hear in the prophets and see most clearly in Jesus.

A vision we see in courageous people standing up to evil.

A vision we see in a seemingly small kind gesture.

A vision we see when we somehow love people we’ve never even met.

            God doesn’t accept the status quo.

            And, neither should we.

            Amen.

If We Are Alert

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

August 11, 2019

Year C, Proper 14: The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost

Isaiah 1:1, 10-20

Psalm 50:1-8, 23-24

Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16

Luke 12:32-40

If We Are Alert

            It’s no secret that we are living in a time of great anxiety.

            These days it’s almost unbearable to watch or read the news, which is usually some mix of stories that are heartbreaking or terrifying or infuriating – or all three at the same time.

Mass shootings still get coverage for a day or two – though the steady beat of violence in our cities, including our own, barely gets a mention.

Wholesale roundups of undocumented immigrants (and sometimes people who do have the right papers) - many of these people have lived and worked here peacefully for many years – suddenly corralled into buses, leaving weeping children on the sidewalk, wondering if they will see their parents again, wondering who will care for them.

Bitter political divisions, which will surely grow even more bitter during the long months of campaigning ahead.

Worries about soaring temperatures near the North Pole, melting ice caps, and rising seas, all posing a real threat to places like… Hudson County, which is pretty much surrounded by water.

And there are all of our own personal troubles: illness, not enough money to pay the bills, broken relationships, kids choosing the wrong path, and on and on.

As a people we disagree about many things, but I don’t think anyone can deny that we are living in a time of anxiety.

I don’t know if this is much of a consolation but the truth is that there’s nothing new about this. Most, maybe all, people have faced many obstacles – have been very anxious – for a long time – and that very much includes the early followers of Jesus.

And, so today’s gospel lesson begins with Jesus saying to his followers, “Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good will to give you the kingdom.”

And then, Jesus goes on to give instruction on how we are to prepare for the gift of the kingdom:

Sell your possessions and give to the poor.

And, stay alert, looking for Christ who will come at an unexpected hour.

Sell your possessions and give to the poor.

I recently read a fascinating article* on espn.com about Shelly Pennefather, who back in the mid-1980s was one of the most talented women playing basketball.

She was an All-American at Villanova and although the WNBA hadn’t been formed yet there were some high-paying professional opportunities overseas, including in Japan, where Shelly Pennefather went to play and where she realized that God was calling her to make a dramatic and personal change.

Sell your possessions and give to the poor.

In 1991, Shelly informed her family and friends that she was entering the convent – and she was joining not just any women’s religious order but the Poor Clares, one of the strictest of orders.

As the author of the ESPN article writes, “(The nuns) sleep on straw mattresses, in full habit, and wake up every night at 12:30am to pray, never resting more than four hours at a time. They are barefoot 23 hours of the day, except for the one hour in which they walk around the courtyard in sandals.

They are cut off from society.”

Although they can’t leave the convent except for a medical emergency, the nuns can respond to letters and talk with visitors through a see-through screen.

There are only two family visits every year – and once every 25 years the nuns can hug their families.

Shelly Pennefather – now Sister Rose Marie – just celebrated her jubilee and was able to embrace her mother for the first time in 25 years – and, probably, for the last time.

It’s quite a story isn’t it?

And certainly makes my big sacrifice of, um, … having to work on the weekend… seem, uh, not really worth mentioning!

Sister Rose Marie and her sisters have given up everything – they use purses that will never wear out – and they spend their lives in prayer, staying alert, looking for Christ.

And, let’s face it, when it comes to praying and looking for Christ, cloistered nuns have some real advantages: few distractions, nothing but time, lots of practice to become very good pray-ers, a life shaped for attention to Christ.

I marvel at their lives and their sacrifice, I really do.

And, who knows, it just might be the ceaseless prayers of those nuns that keep us from destroying ourselves.

Meanwhile…we’re out in here in the world, with some pretty heavy responsibilities, honestly unable to sell all of our possessions (though most of us could at least de-clutter a bit, and most of us could give more to the poor).

We’re out here in the world with all of its anxieties and its many distractions.

But, you know, our way of life has its spiritual advantages, too.

Today’s gospel lesson is about the return of Christ at the end of time but the truth is that right now Christ is present to us all of the time - in so many ways – through so many people.

If we are alert.

So, on Sunday afternoon many of us, along with lots of guests, gathered right here for the “Just Friends” concert.

I arrived here looking forward to the music, of course, but I’ll admit to not really feeling it – still saddened and angered and frustrated by the mass shootings in El Paso and Dayton, feeling like all of our words and efforts are just useless – plus, 4:00 on Sunday is often my nap time!

But, then Gail and her friends started singing and their vast talent and deep love for each other and their respect for their tradition and their craft - all of that came together here in this beautiful place, and I could feel my heart cracking open, cracked open by Christ who was surely here at that unexpected hour, not with a flash of lightning or a clap of thunder but with harmony and unity.

If we are alert.

So, we’ve been hosting Stone Soup suppers for more than five years now.

And, having had so many suppers, it’s easy to take for granted what happens in Carr Hall on the second Thursday of every month.

I knew this Stone Soup was going to be special because Catherine Marcial, the person who dreamed up these suppers, was going to be the chef.

So, if nothing else, there would be a delicious and healthy meal – and, as an extra bonus, Catherine always leaves the kitchen even cleaner than she found it!

But, this past Thursday I arrived at the hall feeling kind of tired and overwhelmed and not sure how best to respond to everything that’s going on while also fulfilling the basic requirements of my job.

I was looking forward to the supper, but, frankly, I also wouldn’t have said no to a quiet night at home.

But, then the guests started to arrive – a few parishioners, but mostly neighbors and friends, all kinds of people – some here just for the free meal and others here to have some company.

There were a couple of people here who are living o the streets and, yes, they smelled a little bit and I’m sure they made a few of us uncomfortable.

And there were others who had lost everything to addiction and some who’ve been quite sick, but who have somehow clawed their way back to sobriety and health.

One elderly neighbor told Catherine that he loves her cooking because it tastes like what his mother served him long ago.

Once again, I could feel my heart cracking open, cracked open by the crucified and risen Christ who was surely here at that unexpected hour, not with a flash of lightning or a clap of thunder but with deliciousness and community.

If we are alert.

So, yes, we live in a time of great anxiety, with way more problems than can fit on a front page or in a half-hour newscast.

But, Sister Rose Marie and the other Poor Clares have given up everything and are at work, praying really hard.

Meanwhile, here in the world, Christ is appearing at unexpected hours.

And, we can see him, we can really see him, if we are alert.

Amen.

*https://www.espn.com/womens-college-basketball/story/_/id/27297631/happened-villanova-basketball-star-shelly-pennefather-made-deal-god

Only God is Forever

The Church of St. Paul & Incarnation, Jersey City

August 4, 2019

Year C, Proper 13: The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost

Hosea 11:1-11

Psalm 107: 1-9, 43

Colossians 3:1-11

Luke 12:13-21

Only God is Forever

            Most of you know that before I was a priest I was a teacher.

            And, although it’s been a while since I’ve been in the classroom, there’s a lot about that special profession – that vocation – that I miss.

            I miss being surrounded by people nearly all the time.

            I miss watching kids learn about the world and themselves, growing up into young adults.

            I miss having colleagues who are also friends, people to go out with on a Friday afternoon, enjoying each other’s company as we decompress and laugh together before heading our separate ways for the weekend.

            And, yes, I miss being off in the summer.

            I usually did some teaching during the summer to earn a little extra cash, but looking back on it, I’m not totally sure exactly what I did with all of that time off – except, that is, for my very first summer as a teacher – the summer of 1990.

            That summer, some friends and friends of friends and I rented a house down the Shore, in a town called Bradley Beach.

            It was a very memorable summer living in a house that was exactly one door in from the beach.

            My friends and the friends of friends would come down each weekend and we’d all hang out and have a good time together but then, since they all had to go to work, they would head back north on Sunday night or early Monday morning.

            But, not me!

            Once my friends and friends of friends would clear out, for the most part I had the house to myself.

            I’ve always been an early riser, so I’d get up early and go to the beach before the crowds arrived, sometimes early enough to see the sunrise.

            I went to daily Mass at the local Roman Catholic church where I could tell that the kind Irish priest wanted to ask me where I had come from and what I was doing there and, probably, did I want to be a priest.

            But, since I didn’t want to talk about any of that, I managed to use evasive maneuvers: shaking his hand and get by him without breaking my stride.

            Or, even better: if someone engaged the priest in a few words of conversation, I would quickly just step around them and be on my way.

            (I sometimes see people here use those techniques to avoid me, too!)  

            Since I was down there all summer, I became really familiar with the houses around ours - and the people who sat out on their porches day after day.

            It felt kind of timeless – this is how it’s always been and how it will be forever.

            I never rented a Shore house again, and though I’ve been back every once in a while, it had been a few years – it had been a few years since I was in Bradley Beach, until Monday when I took advantage of a day off with good weather and took the train down the Shore and once again walked those same streets and the boardwalk.

            And, looking around, I was amazed that there has been so much change since that lazy summer I lived down there.

            Many houses, including the one we lived in, have either been demolished or refurbished beyond recognition.

            Most of the little businesses along Main Street and the Boardwalk are either gone or are operating under a different name.

            And, as I walked our old street I looked at the people sitting comfortably on their porches – and didn’t see one person I recognized.

            And, it was as I was walking that I realized that the summer of 1990 was nearly thirty years ago!

So, of course a lot has changed!

So, of course the faces were different.

I had a good day down there on Monday but I admit to feeling a little melancholy, too – reminded of how quickly time goes and how eventually everything passes.

Only God is forever.

That’s why most, if not all, of the great spiritual guides warn us against getting overly attached to places and things.

And, that very much includes Jesus of Nazareth who over and over – and especially in today’s parable about “the Rich Fool” – Jesus warns us to get our priorities straight – to not put our ultimate trust in wealth or in things or even in other people.

Only God is forever.

Today’s gospel lesson begins with someone telling Jesus to get involved in a family dispute – kind of like a couple of weeks ago when we heard Martha ask Jesus to tell her sister to get up and help with the hospitality.

But, just like in the Martha and Mary story, Jesus wisely declines to get involved in these family matters, but instead uses this opportunity to teach – to teach about the danger of greed – the danger of materialism – the danger of putting any thing in the place of God.

The rich man in the parable is an extreme case, but we know the type.

He’s done very well – so well that he’s run out of room to store his crops and his goods.

So, while today we might consider renting a storage unit, he makes the decision to tear down his barns and build bigger ones where he can stash everything away. And, then, then, he can finally be content and happy and “relax, eat, drink, and be merry.”

Just like us, ancient people would have probably known where this story was going: the rich man’s plan was not going to work.

Sure enough, God suddenly enters the picture and says to the rich man, “You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?”

Only God is forever.

A couple of thoughts about this story:

First, aside from being foolish, and apparently greedy, the rich man is also apparently very alone – alone with his wealth and his fantasy of security.

He never mentions inviting family and friends to relax, eat, drink, and be merry with him.

And, he certainly never considers sharing his abundance with those less fortunate.

He only talks to himself.

It seems there’s not even anyone to inherit his wealth.

And, so, if this story had gone in a different direction and he had managed to build his new barns and settled in for all of that pleasure and security, I think he quickly would have discovered that in fact he wasn’t very merry at all.

Greed doesn’t make us happy.

And, neither does loneliness.

And, you know, this week as I’ve thought about the summer of 1990, I’ve remembered it a little more clearly.

I remember being happy to get the house to myself, at least for a day or two, but I also remember getting lonely and eager for other friends to come down and visit.

I remember seeing all of those people on their porches but I also remember never really acknowledging them and certainly never stopping to talk with them, to get to know them and allow them to get to know me.

And, I wonder why I was so determined to use evasive maneuvers to avoid that kind Irish priest – to avoid the questions I could sense he wanted to ask – to avoid the questions I probably wanted to ask myself.

Since nothing lasts forever, those opportunities are forever lost to me.

The story of the rich fool is a good reminder to not get attached to our stuff, to not think that somehow our bank account or our full closet is somehow going to save us.

But, along with my summer of ’90 memories, the story of the rich fool is also a reminder that we can’t go it alone.

It’s a reminder to be open to one another, to share what we have, to take the time to get to know each other, because it’s right there, right here in the human heart, where we meet the God who is forever.

Amen.