No Great Chasm

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

September 29, 2019

Year C, Proper 21: The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 32:1-3a, 6-15

Psalm 91:1-6, 14-16

1 Timothy 6:6-19

Luke 16:19-31

No Great Chasm

            Just as we did last year, for the past few weeks we have changed the language we use at the 10:00 service, employing more contemporary, more gender-neutral, language than what is found in our Prayer Book.

            For some this is a wonderful and long-overdue move that you think should be made permanent, and for others it’s something to be endured until Advent when, yes, we’ll go back to more traditional language.

            And, probably some have barely noticed any difference.

            I think that one of the most striking changes is in the language of the confession that we say together. Listen:

            “We have denied your goodness in each other, in ourselves, and in the world you have created.

            We repent of the evil that enslaves us, the evil we have done, and the evil done on our behalf.”

            Actually, that last line, “the evil done on our behalf” recently sparked a little social media storm among some Episcopal clergy and lay people who wondered and debated if we really can or should ask forgiveness for actions that we have not personally done, but have been done for us, or from which we benefit.

            I get the objection, and while it is a little complicated, I believe that we can and probably should ask forgiveness for evil done on our behalf, for the systems and policies that make us richer and fuller and more comfortable, while others are left out, neglected, hungry, and frightened.

            To say the least, this has been a challenging week – a challenging week for our own church community and a challenging week for our country and the world.

There’s been a lot of news lately, from massive environmental protests all around the world to a terrifying UN report on the state of the world’s oceans to, of course, the start of an official impeachment inquiry.

            There’s been so much going on that you may have missed a news item that deserved to get more attention.

            Every year, the President sets the number of refugees who can be admitted into the United States. This past week the Administration announced that for the next twelve months the U.S. would admit 18,000 refugees. To give that number some context, in 2016 the number was 110,000 refugees.

            No surprise, lots of people are upset about this, including the Episcopal Church, which has condemned this decision

            Keep in mind that it takes years of careful vetting before refugees are able to settle here. We’re not talking about people sneaking into the country. Refugees are people who are fleeing violence and oppression who are using a legal system that was first created after World War II.

            The Administration argues that it must reduce the number of refugees (earlier the word was they were actually considering lowering the number to zero) because of the increase of asylum claims at our Southern border.

            Maybe that’s true and maybe it’s not, but I’ll just say that this is a country of about 300 million people where, except for the poorest among us, we live better and more securely than people in most parts of the world.

            There is a wide divide – a “great chasm,” to use the language of today’s gospel lesson, between most of us and most of them.

            Although as we struggle to pay our bills it may not feel like it, the truth is that most of us live more like the rich man of today’s parable, while so many people around the world are like poor Lazarus, lying hungry, pitiful, and neglected, just outside our gates.

           

            If you were here last week, you may remember that we heard one of Jesus’ most difficult to understand parables, what’s usually called the Parable of the Dishonest Steward or Manager.

            Today’s parable – the Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus – is much easier to grasp but that doesn’t make it any less challenging.

            It’s a parable of great divides.

            It’s a parable of rich and poor living side-by-side and yet living very different lives.

            And, it’s a parable of great reversals: in the next life poor Lazarus is rewarded with the great honor of resting in the “bosom of Abraham” while the rich man is in agony in the place of judgment (though, I do wonder just how bad the agony was since he's still pretty chatty!).

            It’s also a parable about just not “getting it” – after all, even from Hell the rich man thinks he’s in a position to give orders: send Lazarus to bring me a drink – send Lazarus to warn my brothers!

            Some people never learn.

            But, there’s one little detail in this parable that has especially caught my attention.

            Since we’re nice people, we might be inclined to forgive the rich man for living it up while Lazarus was starving and suffering outside his door. We might try to rationalize his selfishness. We might try to let him off the hook by saying, well, maybe he didn’t know that Lazarus was out there.

            After all, we all get caught up in our own stuff and sometimes we no longer see what is right in front of us – no longer see who is right in front of us.

            There’s just one problem with that: in the afterlife we learn that the rich man knew Lazarus’ name. He knew him. And still, he didn’t help.

            And, so, the rich man is condemned.

            Today the world and our country face many big issues.

And, we are always called to follow our faith and our consciences and to do our part.

            But, since the bigness of these problems and our deep political divisions can be overwhelming and depressing, we often choose to ignore the news from faraway places and from Washington, to look away from “the evil done on our behalf.”

We may choose to just keep our mouths shut to keep the peace (Thanksgiving dinner is just around the corner!).

            We may choose to “stay in our lane,” as they say.

            Personally, I don’t think that’s the way to go, but I can understand it, and, honestly, I find it tempting myself.

            But, even if we look away from the world and from Washington, the hard truth is that, just like for the rich man in the parable, right here in our neighborhood, right here in our “lane” there are people hungry for the crumbs that fall from our table.

            And, so, in just a few weeks, from November 3 to November 17, Family Promise will once again send guests to stay right here: parents and children without a home of their own who will live in make Carr Hall and our upstairs rooms.

            And, if you open your heart, if you choose to help with this great effort, you will learn the names of these parents and children.

            And, I am confident that, unlike the rich man in the parable, we won’t look away and ignore the people whose names we know, but instead we will open our gates even wider, and share with them much more than crumbs.

            We’ll make room in our spiritual home.

            We’ll make room at our table.

            We’ll make room in our heart.

            There will be no wide divide – there will be no great chasm – between us.

            Amen.

Clever, Quick, and Strong

The Church of St. Paul & Incarnation, Jersey City

September 22, 2019

Year C, Proper 20: The 15th Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 8:18-9:1

Psalm 79:1-98

1 Timothy 2:1-7

Luke 16:1-13

Clever, Quick, and Strong

            Probably thanks to the recent arrival of our ministry intern, Lorna Woodham, lately I’ve been thinking back to my own preparation for ordained ministry: my studies in seminary and my own field education at two different churches in our diocese.

            In a lot of ways that time and those experiences prepared me pretty well for being a parish priest:

            I learned a lot about the Bible and about Theology and about Church History.

            I learned how to perform a Baptism and celebrate the Eucharist and how to lead the other sacramental rites of the Church.

            I learned how to offer pastoral care to people who are sick or in some other kinds of distress.

            I learned how to run a vestry meeting and how to try to deal with disagreement and conflict in a congregation.

            I even learned how to chant (more or less)!

            But, looking back on it, there was at least one big gap in my preparation: I never really learned very much about church finance.

            Now, I’m sure seminaries could and should do a better job of prepping future priests for the financial issues and challenges (many, many challenges) that they – we - will face.

            But, I should take some responsibility for this myself. Because, I have to admit it, that church finance is just about my least favorite part of this job.

            Although over the years I’ve learned a lot finance and what we might call the “business side” of the church, often I still feel out of my depth and knowing how the high the stakes are it all makes me very anxious.

(That anxiety probably has deep roots in my lifelong struggle with, and even fear of, math!)

            I don’t know whether this is good news or bad news but my sense is that I am not alone in feeling this way – not just among clergy who would rather be praying with people than reviewing a financial statement – but among a lot of people who are not as attentive to financial matters as they should be – probably because it’s complicated and maybe depressing or scary to think about.

            And, while I’m admitting my own weaknesses I’ll say that Sue does nearly all of the financial planning in our family.

            But, when it comes to the church, I have no choice. The wardens, vestry, and I are responsible for the financial health of our church.

            And, as much as I’d like to separate church finance from everything else we do, the truth is that our finances – our church finances and also our personal finances – are a spiritual responsibility, too.

            Our budgets – both our church budget and our own personal budget – are moral documents.

            How we spend our money says a whole lot about what’s important to us – and what’s not so important.

            God has given us so much – just look around – and God expects us to take care of what we’ve been given and to use it to care for God’s people and to share the Good News.

            Our finances are a spiritual responsibility.

            Which brings us to today’s parable.

            If you were here last Sunday you may remember that we heard two parables – they are usually called the Parable of the Lost Sheep and the Parable of the Lost Coin – two parables that along with the Parable of the Prodigal Son have the same, pretty easy to understand theme: lost – found – rejoicing.

            Luke tells us that those parables were told to a larger crowd, not just people who were followers of Jesus, and may have included people who were skeptical of, or even hostile to, Jesus.

            But, today’s parable – usually called the Parable of the Dishonest Steward (or Manager) – this parable is directed to the disciples – so maybe we’re getting some more advanced information from Jesus, more sophisticated and more challenging than what he offered to the general public.

            Even if I’m wrong about that, we can all agree that that this is a very difficult to understand parable. If you were following along you may have been perplexed by - or even disturbed by - some of what you heard.

            Even Luke the Evangelist who retells this story doesn’t seem to know what to make of it.

            There was a rich man who discovered that his manager was apparently stealing from him. Now, generally, in parables when someone is identified as a “rich man” he is not presented favorably but here the “rich man” seems to be OK (though we’re not given much information – no one would be shocked he’s been treating his employees, including the manager, unfairly. That’s a familiar story, right?)

But, in the parable, it’s the manager who comes across as sneaky and hard to like.

            When the rich man confronts the manager about his theft, he’s afraid he’s going to lose his job, afraid he’s going to lose everything, so the frightened but clever manager thinks fast.

            The manager decides to cut the bill for each of the people who supply the rich man, hoping that these people will be so grateful that they will welcome him into their homes after the rich man gives him the axe.

            (He seems pretty sure that this plan will work, though I have my doubts.)

            Now, I have to stop here for a second because it’s not really clear what exactly the manager is doing.

            He may be cutting out his own take (or, let’s be polite, “commission”), which would be fine, right?

            Or, he might be stealing some more from the rich man, which would seem to be not right, right?

            Anyway, the manager hopes that all of this bill cutting will be an insurance policy for the future. Maybe yes, maybe no.

            And, now things get very weird because we’re told that the rich man “commended” – applauded, approved of, what the manager did, because he liked his shrewdness.

            And then Jesus offers some unsettling commentary:

            “…for the children of this age are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light. And, I tell you, make friends of yourselves by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes.”

            Got that?

            The Evangelist Luke then adds some Jesus sayings about wealth, which are all true and important – “whoever is dishonest in a very little is also dishonest in much” – “You cannot serve God and wealth.”

            But, they don’t seem to really connect with today’s parable.

            So, what to make of all of this?

            Recognizing that scholars have long puzzled over this parable and always will, here’s what I think:

            There’s no way that Jesus is approving of the manager’s dishonesty, but he does seem to admire his cleverness and quickness and that he keeps his wits about him even when he’s under a whole lot of stress, even when it seems like his whole life is in real danger of being ruined.

            God has given us good brains that allow us to be quick and clever.

            God has given us strength to keep our cool even when it seems like everything is about to be lost.

            And so, it seems to me, that Jesus wants us to use our cleverness and quickness and strength to take good care of what has been given to us, and to use it to care for God’s people and to share the Good News.

            I hate talking about, or really even thinking about, money – both my own money and the money of the church.

            But, you and I need to think about if how I spend my money really reflects what I say I believe – what I say is truly important.

            Seeing those huge numbers of young people here in our own country and all around the world taking to the streets on Friday as part of the “Climate Strike,” demanding that we all and especially our leaders take immediate steps to stop and turn back the life-threatening damage we are doing to our planet, really gets me thinking about the choices I make and that we make together here.

            We try at least somewhat but there is still some low-hanging fruit, some easy changes we can make. For example, finally, at long last, please, for the love of God, we have to stop using Styrofoam. I know it’s cheaper but we need to be clever like the manager – a few extra bucks won’t help any of us when our oceans are dead.

            Here at church, one of the things I’m proudest of is that we now have a very competent, thoughtful, and devoted Finance Committee – a group of parishioners who are clever, quick, and strong, not for their own benefit but for our common good.

            We have been given so much – both individually and as a community here -and as temporary residents of this beautiful planet – just look around.

            And in today’s parable, Jesus uses the example of the dishonest manager to challenge us to be clever, quick, and strong – not just for ourselves, but for our church, for our world, and for the Kingdom of God.

            Amen.

           

           

            

God Does Not Lose Anyone

The Church of St. Paul & Incarnation, Jersey City

September 18, 2019

Year C, Proper 19: The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 14:11-12, 22-28

Psalm 14

1 Timothy 1:12-17

Luke 15:1-10

God Does Not Lose Anyone

            I guess it comes with the territory of being in what’s called “midlife,” but these days I find myself taking stock of my choices, thinking about roads taken - and roads not taken.

            At most of our Wednesday healing services, I give a short homily on the saint of the day, and very often these are men and women who were so amazingly bold for Christ, people who left behind their old lives, left behind familiar places, and gave everything away for Christ.

            A couple of weeks ago the Church remembered the pacifist bishop Paul Jones. In the early 20^th Century, when he was in seminary in Cambridge, Massachusetts, the bishop of Utah visited and challenged Jones and his fellow seminarians to go on a bold adventure building up the Church in what was still back then a pretty wild West.

            Jones said yes to that invitation.

And that yes changed the course of his life.

            And that story reminded me of my friend and predecessor, the 10^th rector of St. Paul’s, Frank Carr. A few decades after the bishop of Utah visited the seminary and recruited Paul Jones, the bishop of Montana made the very same trip and extended the same invitation and challenge to Frank Carr and his classmates:

Be bold for Christ and go West!

And a young Fr. Carr left behind the comforts of home and went west, starting out on a journey that would eventually led him to, of all places, Jersey City.

Pretty amazing, right?

            And so, speaking as someone who lives and works about a mile from where I was born, I wonder, you know?

            On the other hand…as I get older I appreciate the value of putting down deep roots in a particular place – to be intertwined with people’s lives over the long haul – to witness both the goodness and the horrors of change – growth and decay, life and death.

            Sue and I have been rooted in Jersey City our whole lives and we’ve been associated with St. Paul’s – and now St. Paul and Incarnation - for about twenty years now.

            Like many of you, we’ve seen lots of change over that time.

            We’ve seen people be born and grow up.

            We’ve seen people get sick and die.

            We’ve seen people find their way.

            And, unfortunately, we’ve also seen people lose their way.

            Like, for example, a man named Gary.

            I bet most, if not all, longtime St. Paul’s members won’t remember Gary.

            He wasn’t part of our church for very long, but he did come pretty regularly there for a while during the Fr. Hamilton days.

            Like everybody else, he had his preferred pew, and I can still see him sitting right over there.

            When Gary came to church and when he came to coffee hour he always seemed to enjoy the experience but there was always a kind of distance between him and the rest of us, you know? It was kind of like he was wearing a pleasant-looking mask but behind that there was his real face that he didn’t want to share – there was a lot he wanted to keep private.

            I’m not sure how I found out about this, but at the time Gary was a recovering alcoholic.

            (Fr. Hamilton’s openness about his own addiction and recovery may very well have been what drew him to St. Paul’s.)

            And, as I think back to those days and the way Gary carried himself, and what he said and didn’t say, and that mask that he seemed to wear, I wonder if on some level Gary suspected – or even somehow knew - that he wasn’t going to be able to hold on to his sobriety – that someday he would stray and get lost.

            Anyway, eventually I went off to seminary and was working at other churches and so I wasn’t around at St. Paul’s much anymore – and I don’t think I gave Gary a thought. But, Sue and I still lived in Jersey City. And, I remember one day coming out of the Journal Square PATH station and for the first time in a long time I saw Gary.

            At first I was going to say hi, but when I got closer I realized that he was drunk, really drunk – like so many at Journal Square, then and now.

Rather than coming to church, Gary was now among a different kind of congregation.

            Fast forward a bunch of years and I was back here as Rector.

            In one of my walks, I discovered that Gary was living in a row house over on Jewett, with a bunch of guys who shared his addiction.

            One day when I was walking by, I saw him drinking outside with his buddies, looking pretty disheveled but not unhappy. I worked up the courage to stop and say hi. Not only did he remember me but he knew that I had come back to be rector. We talked for a bit – he was an interesting and knowledgeable guy. As I said goodbye, he made the familiar pledge to come to church someday soon, and as he said it both of us knew that it was not likely to happen.

            And then about five years ago, there was a fire that destroyed Gary’s house and the others attached to it.

            I scanned the news looking for his name, afraid that he was dead, but a day or two later Gary called me at church, sounding very shaken, explaining that he had lost everything, that the Red Cross was putting him up for a couple of days, but he would need some help for a little while until he could scrape together some money.

            Sure enough, somehow Gary landed on his feet, renting a room right around the corner from here on Bergen Avenue.

            Maybe as a way of saying thank you for the help, he even cleaned himself up as best as he could and came to church on Pentecost, seeming to enjoy it, but he was never to return.

            Instead, I’d see him all the time: pretty early in the morning bringing back a newspaper and a cup of coffee or later in the morning on his way to or from Royal Liquors. He came back with a plastic bag looking like it had six or eight big cans of high voltage beer.

            A few times I even saw him sitting at the bar in Carvao, drinking away.

            Once or twice I came outside here to find him examining one of the flyers in the “take one” boxes, keeping up with what was going on at his old church.

            Sometimes we would stop and talk but it was hard (for me, and I think for him) because his decline was so obvious – his hair was greasy and stringy, his clothes absolutely filthy, his vision fading, his skin discolored, all pointing to very bad health.

            For the past couple of weeks I was aware that I hadn’t seen Gary and so when I spotted one of his roommates the other day, I asked after him, and he said with no apparent emotion, “Oh, Gary died. He died three weeks ago.”

            And then he went on his way.

            And that’s the end of the story of Gary.

            I looked online and there was no obituary that I could find.

            It’s all very sad.

            As I’ve thought about Gary and I’m sure as you’ve heard me tell what I know of his story, he sure seems like a lost soul – a bright and interesting guy, but a man lost to his addiction, lost to a very small and unpleasant life, lost to a death noticed by almost nobody.

            But, here’s the thing: God does not lose anyone.

           

            So then, what do we make of today’s parables?

            In today’s gospel lesson we heard Jesus tell two parables that have the same theme: lost – found – rejoicing.

            (There’s a third parable in the set, the famous Parable of the Prodigal Son, which has the same theme, right?)

            Probably ever since Jesus first told his parables, people have tried to turn them into allegories:

            “OK, so in this parable, the lost sheep is a sinner and God is the sheep owner who loses the sheep and then seeks out the lost sheep and celebrates after it’s found and returned to the fold.”

            “And, in this parable, the lost coin is a sinner who is lost and God is the woman who looks for it, finds it, and then invites her women friends over for a party.”

            And, if that’s how you read these parables, you’re in good company. And, if that works for you, great!

But, God does not lose a sheep or misplace a coin.

            God does not lose anything.

And, God certainly doesn’t lose anyone.

            So, maybe the parables are actually about us.

            Maybe we are meant to recognize that everyone counts – whether life takes us to far away places or if we barely leave home.

            We are meant to recognize that everyone counts – whether we conquer our demons or if the battle proves to be too much for us.

            I’m sure the world viewed Gary as just another bedraggled drunk on Bergen Avenue: someone who didn’t count, someone to be pitied and avoided.

Someone who was easily lost and best forgotten.

But, that’s not God’s way and it shouldn’t be our way, either.

God never lost Gary, never forgot Gary – and when he was finally free of his suffering, liberated from the chains of addiction, when Gary finally arrived at his true home, I believe that there was great rejoicing indeed.

Amen.