Falling Backwards

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

June 28, 2020

Year A, Proper 8: The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 22:1-14

Psalm 13

Romans 6:12-23

Matthew 10:40-42

Falling Backwards

            When I was a junior at St. Peter’s Prep, I participated in my first real religious retreat.

            Along with twenty or so of my classmates and some of our teachers, I spent several days in a great big old yellow Victorian house in Sea Bright, just across the street from the beach and the ocean.

            I had heard a little bit from others who had already attended earlier retreats but it was hard to know if all of that information was legit or if there was some misinformation mixed in, so I didn’t really know what to expect. When we pulled into the driveway of the old yellow house, I remember feeling nervous and curious, and also glad that some of my best friends were there with me.

            Over the next few days there would be a lot of fun and learning and praying and reflecting, and some pretty serious sharing, with many of us talking about some difficult personal experiences. It was probably the first time we had said a lot of these things out loud.

            But, before we could be open and honest with each other, we needed to develop trust.

            So, at the start of the retreat, we were asked to participate in a little exercise.

We were all paired off and each one of us was asked to fall backwards into the waiting arms of our partner.

            For some of us, it was no problem to close our eyes, stretch out arms, and let ourselves fall backwards, trusting that our classmate was paying attention and was strong and quick enough to catch us before we went crashing down to the floor.

            Others had a hard time, hesitant to lean back, only able to tilt back so far, before stopping and trying over again, usually with laughter and words of encouragement from the rest of us.

            It was a trust exercise.

For some of us Prep students back then, even at our young age, trust was not so easy.

And, as we get older and discover that other people or not always trustworthy – or that we ourselves are not always trustworthy – trust often gets even harder.

It’s hard to trust, hard to let go and fall backwards into the unknown.

A couple of weeks ago, we heard the story of God promising a child to Abraham and Sarah in their childless old age, a promise that seemed so ridiculous that Sarah could only laugh.

But, God kept God’s promise and Sarah gave birth to a son, Isaac.

Most parents love their children, of course, but, as we’ve seen here in our own parish, there is an extra-special love for a child born despite seemingly impossible odds.

The great love of old Abraham and old Sarah for Isaac is part of why today’s first lesson – what our Jewish brothers and sisters call “the Binding” – is so shocking.

God calls Abraham once again, saying, “Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering one of the mountains that I shall show you.”

Even if we’re already familiar with this story, it’s still startling that Abraham offers no protest, not asking to hear that again because it seemed just too crazy, too cruel, too painful, to be true, too hard to believe that God would ask Abraham to sacrifice what was so precious to him and Sarah.

But, apparently without a word of protest or even a second thought, Abraham simply does what he’s told – though it’s interesting that Sarah doesn’t appear in the story. Did Abraham mention to his wife that the Lord had asked him to sacrifice their son? Knowing the fierceness of a mother’s love, perhaps not. Maybe Abraham didn’t want to risk Sarah talking him out of it or finding some other way to stop him from following God’s call.

So, Abraham takes his miracle child, along with two servants, up to the mountain for the sacrifice.

In an almost unbearably poignant moment, Isaac realizes that something isn’t right and asks his father, “The fire and wood are here, but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?” – not realizing that he was going to be the burnt offering.

Abraham reassures Isaac that God will provide a lamb for the sacrifice.

The text doesn’t say, but Isaac must have been beyond confused and terrified when Abraham binds him, places him on the altar on top of the wood, and then takes the knife, about to sacrifice his beloved son.

Abraham was about to fall backwards, trusting God, no matter what.

And, at the last moment, an angel of the Lord stops Abraham and spares Isaac.

Abraham has passed this most intense trust exercise.

What a story.

It’s a vivid story and, let’s be honest, it’s a disturbing story, too, right?

It’s a story that only makes sense if we remember that this is not Abraham’s first encounter with God – not the first time that God had asked Abraham for his trust, not the first time that Abraham was asked to fall backwards into the arms of a God who would never let him fall.

There’s the miraculous birth of Isaac, as I already mentioned, but long before that, when Abraham lived far away in Mesopotamia, in a place called Ur, God called him to get up and leave his homeland, to journey to a new land, promising that he would be the father of a nation more numerous than the stars in heaven.

It all must have seemed not very likely, but still Abraham trusted in God, and left behind all that was familiar. He and Sarah had lots of adventures and all kinds of trouble along the way, but through it all God was trustworthy, so trustworthy that, when asked, Abraham was willing to sacrifice his son.

And, because of his great trust in God, Jews, Christians, and Muslims all look to Abraham as a father figure.

Falling backwards.

The power of trust.

Abraham is an icon of trusting God but for us Christians it’s Jesus who is our greatest sign of trust.

We often talk about us having faith in Jesus – and that’s definitely important – but we don’t talk enough about the faith of Jesus – that Jesus trusted in the Father enough to leave behind small-town Nazareth, risking the confusion and disapproval of his family and neighbors – trusted God enough to step into the unknown, teaching and healing, sharing his vision of a very different kind of kingdom where it’s the poor and the mournful who are blessed.

Jesus trusted in the Father, trusted enough to fall backwards into a journey that led to a different binding – a binding with no last-second reprieve – a binding to a hard wooden cross, offering the sacrifice that opened the door to new life for us all.

Falling backwards.

The power of trust.

And, as we heard last week, Jesus sends out his disciples to continue and expand his work.

Jesus sends out his disciples – sends us out – into a world that is broken and often dangerous, to preach a message that a lot of people are not going to want to hear, to take a stand that may strain and even break our closest relationships.

Falling backwards, indeed.

In last week’s passage, Jesus knows that it’s not so easy to trust other people but he insists that, no matter how rough things get, we can always trust God, the God who loves us so deeply, who values each of us so much that every hair on our head is counted.

And, in what we heard today, Jesus concludes with a little more consolation, saying that some people, at least, will welcome us and offer kindness, like giving us a cold cup of water to quench our thirst.

But, there is never any promise that the way of God is an easy way.

It wasn’t easy for Abraham to bring his beloved miracle child up to the mountain.

And, it wasn’t easy for Jesus to face the rejection of so many and the abandonment of even his closest friends. It wasn’t easy to feel, for a time, forsaken even by God.

But, for Abraham and Jesus, falling backwards - the power of trust - changed everything.

And the same is true for us in our time of trouble. I have no doubt that the days ahead are going to be difficult, and yet our trustworthy God is with us, inviting us to fall backwards, trusting that God will not let go of us, no matter what.

My first retreat back when I was a junior at St. Peter’s Prep was a life-changing experience.

Those days at the Jersey Shore were when I first really began thinking seriously about God, and God’s place in my life.

It was the first time that I began to think of my life as a journey – not as dramatic as Abraham being called to leave Ur – but a journey of my own, a journey when I would encounter Christ at the most unexpected times, in the unlikeliest places, among loving and generous people I learned to trust.

And, as I look back now, I realize that I might never have started out on this journey if, on that long-ago day in Sea Bright, I hadn’t closed my eyes and let myself fall backwards into the unknown.

The power of trust.

Amen.

"Swimming in Privilege"

June 26, 2020

“Swimming in Privilege”

Since the weather has been so good lately, most mornings I have been able to take long walks through Lincoln Park. Especially during the pandemic, these (socially distant) walks have become an important time for me to care for my body, mind, and spirit. Since I try to walk about five miles, it’s a pretty good workout for a middle-aged guy like me! And, I find that this time is helpful for prayer, and also just thinking through whatever happens to be on my mind. Many of my sermons and weekly messages - including this one – are born in the park.

I try to walk mindfully, looking at (and sometimes taking pictures of) the sky and the trees and the flowering plants along the way. This time of year, it’s a special pleasure to watch the birds, including an energetic family of red-tailed hawks, go about their business. Usually I don’t spend too much time looking into the murky and polluted water that flows in and out of the Hackensack River, but over the past few days I’ve noticed lots of little air bubbles sent to the surface by the fish who manage to make this less than pristine waterway their home.

It’s said that fish do not realize that they spend their whole lives swimming in water. I suppose that’s true. But, I imagine that the rush of currents and the churning of storms give fish at least some sense that they are subject to mostly unseen, yet very powerful, forces. And, I’m willing to bet that when unlucky fish are suddenly hooked and pulled up from the sea and into our environment, they know enough to recognize that they have unwillingly entered a very different world.

In the same way, although we know that we live our lives surrounded by air, we don’t usually give it much thought - unless there is a strong wind, or if our lungs are so diseased that we struggle for breath, or when we watch the unbearable video of George Floyd suffocating under the knee of a police officer. Like fish swimming in the sea, we make our way through the air, largely oblivious to our reality - until we are snapped to attention.

Like a lot of other White people I know, over the past few weeks, after learning of the killings of Ahmaud Arbery, George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Elijah McClain, and far too many others – after the protests across the country and around the world – after the renewed insistence that “Black Lives Matter” and the call to redistribute resources from law enforcement – after words of division and hate from some of our leaders - after all of that and more, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to my own White privilege.

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve shared with you memories from my teaching days: realizing that I was able to begin my classroom career by walking through a door that probably would not have been open to a young Black person with a resume as thin as mine. I recalled the Black teenage girls at St. Vincent Academy shocking me with stories of being followed by suspicious security guards as they shopped in Macy’s. And, I remembered a long-ago encounter on Market Street in Newark when a Black woman looked me over with disdain and said, “Well, here comes the White man!” – giving me just the tiniest, but still very uncomfortable, taste of what it’s like to be judged because of the color of my skin.

During this time of trouble in our country, when powerful storms are churning the waters, when a strong wind is bringing change that seemed nearly impossible just a few weeks ago, I can recognize more clearly than ever that all along I’ve been swimming in the polluted water of White privilege. It’s like I’ve been hooked and pulled out of my complacency, finally able to see more clearly truths that I’ve known all along:

I’ve always been able to assume that most people will give me the benefit of the doubt.

My mistakes are my own and are never thought to reflect the supposed weaknesses of my race.

Suspicious security guards never follow me around a department store. And, while my interactions with the police may not always be pleasant, I’ve never worried that I’d be treated unfairly, and certainly never feared for my life.

Because I’ve always assumed that people would automatically recognize and respect my position and authority, I’ve had the luxury of informality, telling people they can just call me by my name rather than by my title.

More than seven years ago, I was chosen to minister to our congregation – a beautifully diverse church with many Black members and other people of color. Meanwhile, I think it’s safe to say that Black clergy are rarely given the opportunity to lead diverse churches, and are almost never chosen by churches that are predominately White.

I could go on… but the point is that I have lived my life swimming in privilege, carried along by powerful though largely unseen forces. Since those forces are now on full view, White people like me have little choice but to see them and then decide what to do with this cleared-up vision. I think the best way forward is to listen and talk to each other, to hear and share our stories. But, that’s not enough. So, I hope that even more of us will work with groups like Jersey City Together to help build a society where all people can get a fair shake, a country that finally lives up to its highest ideals of liberty and equality.

We have a long way to go, so there’s no time to waste. That’s why I hope you (especially our White parishioners) will attend an interdenominational panel discussion about racism, White privilege and power on Monday evening at 7:00. Rev. Laurie and I will join with The Rev. Dr. Stanley Hearst II of Mt. Pisgah AME Church and The Rev. Dr. Alonzo Perry, Sr. of New Hope Missionary Baptist Church for what I’m sure will be a thoughtful discussion, moderated by The Rev. Shyrone Richardson of the World Outreach Christian Center. Log onto facebook.com/woccnj or visit www.woccnj.com.

Many of us have been suddenly pulled out of the waters of complacency, finally able to see that we have been swimming in the polluted waters of privilege. When a fish is caught and pulled up out of the water, its fate is usually sealed. But, we’re different. In our case, I believe God is using this shocking time to open our hearts and eyes, calling us to change our ways, and giving us all the tools we need to build something better, a world more like what God has intended from the start. As always, the rest is up to us.

A Great Uncovering

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

June 21, 2020

Year A: Proper 7

Genesis 21:8-21

Psalm 86:1-10, 16-17

Romans 6:1b-11

Matthew 10:24-39

A Great Uncovering

            During my morning walks through Lincoln Park, I cross a small bridge that spans an inlet through which water flows in and out of the Hackensack River.

            I cross that bridge almost every day but I’m often amazed at how different the inlet looks, depending on the tide.

            Sometimes, the pull of the moon and the churning of storms can raise the waters so high that it almost looks like the bridge might be washed out.

            And, other times, those same forces pull out most of the water, uncovering rocks and vegetation, uncovering much of what had been hidden beneath the surface.

            I thought about this ebb and flow of the tides when I began to reflect on the stark words of Jesus in today’s gospel lesson:

            Jesus says, “…nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known.”

            Jesus describes a great uncovering.

            The other day, someone called me to ask a difficult question.

            She asked if I thought that God had sent Covid-19 in order to punish us.

            I don’t know, maybe you have wondered the same thing.

            It’s a difficult question because we can’t really know the mind of God and we get ourselves in trouble when we say more than what we can know about God.

But, the truth is that you don’t have to look too hard in the Bible to find examples of people believing that God sent plagues as punishment – I mean, just think of the Egyptians at the start of the Exodus story, right?

On the other hand, God is the God of love, the God who loved Hagar and her child, and I just can’t accept that God would inflict so much suffering on anyone, especially on the people we know who have endured - and even died from - this virus.

Frankly, if that were how God operates, I would hang up my collar, find something else to do with my life, and enjoy a socially distant Sunday morning brunch with everybody else.

So, I told the person who called me that, no, I don’t believe God sent us this terrible virus.

But.

But, I also said that God never misses an opportunity – and I think that this virus has given God an opportunity for a great uncovering – an opportunity for us to see the injustices and inequalities and challenges that, for some of us anyway, had been mostly just under the surface.

It seems to me that God is using the virus and all of the other tragedies we are enduring – God is using all of that as an opportunity for a great uncovering, helping us to see what’s been there – helping us to see what’s been here – all along.

             Jesus says, “…nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known.”

            So, during this great uncovering, we’ve all seen the wide disparities in health and health care between white people and people of color, between the rich and the poor.

            Because of our unjust system, because of food deserts and environmental racism and substandard hospitals and nursing homes, because of the stress, the crushing stress, of just getting through the day as a black person in America, because of all these pre-existing conditions, this virus struck our African-American sisters and brothers with a devastatingly destructive force.

            A great uncovering.

            And, just as that tragic state of affairs was uncovered, we all got to see the killing of George Floyd, crushed under the knee of a Minneapolis police officer, reminding everyone in the most heartbreaking and infuriating way of the terrible history between law enforcement and black people.

One of the things that has been uncovered for me is that even the most highly respected black citizens are wary of the police.

            As a well-known local black pastor – a pastor - one of the finest people I know – recently said about the police, “When I see them, I try to head the other way.”
            Of course, right?

            A great uncovering.

           

And, how much we care or don’t care about one another has been uncovered, too.

            In the days after George Floyd’s killing, people all across our country, and even around the world, rose up in protest. White people stood beside, linked arms with, black people and with people of all different colors and backgrounds, demanding change, insisting that we can’t go on like this any longer.

            We are capable of great compassion.

            At the same time, unfortunately, many people in our country seem to have gotten tired of Covid-19 - or just decided that we have to accept that many more thousands of people are going to die and, sorry, but that’s just the way it is - or we’ve fooled ourselves into thinking that the danger has passed, and we can just go back to normal – or maybe we indulge in a little magical thinking, assuming that bad consequences are for other people, but not us.

            So, it never fails - each morning when I take my walks through Lincoln Park, crossing the little bridge over the inlet, people go by me running or biking, breathing hard, exhaling through their open mouths with either no mask in sight, or just dangling uselessly around their neck.

            And, of course, since apparently everything in our country has to be politicized, mask-wearing – or deciding to not wearing a mask – has become a political statement, as if Covid-19 cares if we’re Democrats or Republicans.

            A great uncovering, indeed.

And, God’s great uncovering is not just happening “out there.”

It’s happening in our own lives and in our own hearts.

Maybe some of you read this week’s message that I sent out to the parish and posted on Facebook.

I took a little trip down memory lane, writing about how, right out of college, I was hired for my first teaching job despite the fact that I had no experience and no real qualifications.

 And, I wrote about how the experience of constantly running into my students and their parents all over town – including in the supermarket where they could never resist taking a peek at what was in my cart – made me realize that I wasn’t just a teacher in the classroom or in school but that, in a sense, I was on duty all the time.

And, the same is – or should be – true of us as Christians – and that we mess up in small and big ways when we think that we can squeeze our faith into a little compartment, that we only really have to be Christians when we’re at church.

So, that was point I wanted to make.

But, as I was remembering and writing about my long-ago job interview, I realized something that had never occurred to me:

If I had been black person with the same lack of experience and credentials, I would have never been hired.

In fact, if I had been a black person with even more experience or credentials, I probably wouldn’t have been hired!

In a way, that job – that opportunity - from 30 years ago set in motion the rest of my life, but I had never recognized the white privilege that got me in the door, hadn’t seen it until it was uncovered right now.

And, it makes me wonder how many other times I have benefited from white privilege without giving it a thought.

A great uncovering.

In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus is speaking to his disciples – speaking to us - about a time of trouble, about a time of decision.

 It’s a time of trouble when we will need to take a stand – a time of decision when being a disciple might actually cost us something – a time of trouble that may threaten some of our closest relationships – a time of decision when there can be no real peace while so many are oppressed – a time of trouble when we are called to put everything on the line for Jesus and for the poor and suffering, the people he tells us are blessed in the Kingdom.

So, no, I don’t think God sent us this virus as a punishment for our many sins, but I do believe God never misses an opportunity – and this virus has given God an opportunity for a great uncovering – helping us to see the injustices and inequalities and challenges that, for some of us anyway, had always been just under the surface.

The journey ahead is challenging and it’s natural to be frightened and it sure is tempting to look away from what has been uncovered, to close our eyes, to wait for the tide to flow back in, and try to get back to “normal.”

Next Monday evening, Rev. Laurie and I will be part of a panel discussion on white privilege and I confess to be being nervous about it, concerned that my words won’t capture what I really want to say, worried that I’ll end up doing more harm than good.

I sure wish they had asked some other white guy!

But, in the midst of his stark words to us disciples in our time of trouble and decision, Jesus reminds us of the great truth that, no matter what, God loves us so much – God is so close to us that every hair on our head has been counted – each one of us is of infinite value to God.

So, my prayer is that this great love will comfort and strengthen us as together we face - and respond to – all that God has uncovered.

Amen.