Reminders of Unity

Reminders of Unity 

I seldom watch cable news, but this past Wednesday, I had no choice. I was stuck for way too long in a waiting room where the TV was tuned to one of the channels offering a mix of partisan political commentary and reports from correspondents in different locations. This happened to be a particularly big and difficult news day. President Trump had refused to guarantee a peaceful transfer of power, and a Kentucky grand jury declined to charge any of the officers for the death of Breonna Taylor, the young woman who, during a police raid, was shot five times and killed while she slept in her apartment. (One officer was charged with “wanton endangerment” for endangering a neighbor with his gunfire.) Over the hour or so I was waiting, I became painfully aware of the repetition – the same images, the same music, the same talking points – over and over, again and again. I could feel my anxiety rising. And I found myself thinking that our country is so very broken, more disunited than ever. 

Eventually, I was mercifully sprung from the waiting room. My anxiety slowly dropped back down to a manageable level, and I began to think more clearly. I remembered that, while we are most definitely in very real trouble, we are actually not as divided as some in the media and politics claim, or, perhaps, would like. 

We hear lots of talk about red states and blue states, but, in fact, each state is some shade of purple – containing people with a mix of conservative and progressive views. Contrary to what we may see on TV or hear from some politicians, I am convinced that most people want pretty much the same things: decent housing, good jobs, safe communities, affordable and quality health care, and a better life for their children. Most people are at least troubled (and many are heartbroken and infuriated) that the police killed Breonna Taylor and have abused and killed so many other Black people and other people of color. Most people know that, at long last, we need to face and root out the persistent racism that poisons the hearts of so many white people – the racism that infects our society, the racism that causes untold suffering. At the same time, most people support good police officers – those who honor their heavy responsibilities, treat everyone with respect, and would risk their lives to save any of us. 

Over the years, I have shared my firm belief that our beautifully diverse church – St. Paul and Incarnation – has a particular vocation. We have been given the gift and privilege of showing our little corner of the world that it really is possible for a group of people, from many different walks of life and all sorts of backgrounds, to come together and not only get along but to truly love one another. Even – especially - during these long months of separation, we have stuck together, caring for each other, in ways even deeper than before. By God’s grace, we are a symbol of unity, doing our best to be an answer to Jesus’ prayer that we be one, just as he and the Father are one. 

And, this Sunday, we will receive a powerful reminder that our unity extends far beyond our congregation. It will be a joy to welcome the Rt. Rev. Carlye Hughes as she makes her first official visitation to our congregation. Bishop Hughes will preside and preach at our 10:00 AM service (on Zoom), and will lead a conversation during a virtual “coffee hour.” Later, she will meet with the wardens, vestry, and me. Of course, we all would have preferred an in-person celebration, with Bishop Hughes seated in the chair that always symbolizes her leadership and our unity. There would have been lots of gorgeous music and the tables in Carr Hall would have sagged under the weight of so much delicious food! But, our ability to adapt and still move forward reveals the faithfulness and resilience of our community. Sunday will still be a glorious celebration – and a timely reminder that not only are we one with our fellow parishioners, but we are also united with our Bishop, our diocese, the Episcopal Church – united with all people of goodwill who faithfully and stubbornly resist the many cynical and destructive attempts to divide us.

God's Economy is Generous

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

September 20, 2020

Year A, Proper 20: The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Exodus 16:2-15

Psalm 105: 1-6, 37-45

Philippians 1:21-30

Matthew 20:1-16

God’s Economy is Generous

            A couple of weeks ago I was invited to a meeting with some people who are looking to help the men and women who are homeless and spend much of their time in Journal Square.

            When I agreed to attend this meeting, I had assumed that it was going to be on Zoom, like almost everything else these days. But, to my surprise, it was an in-person meeting, my first one since March! Although I’m generally pretty cautious, and I did hesitate, in the end I still decided to go.

            I have to tell you that it felt weird to be with others in person, to not be just looking at everyone stuck in little boxes on my computer screen.

            A couple of people tried to shake my hand – sorry not in a pandemic! But, aside from that, it was fine.

            Anyway, about the meeting.

            I’m no expert on homelessness but I’ve been on the board of Garden State Episcopal CDC long enough to know that this is a complicated challenge. If it were easy, we would have found a solution a long time ago.

            Helping people who are homeless often requires a “multi-pronged approach.” There needs to be affordable housing, of course, but also quality health care for mind and body. Often people need help with addiction, and, last but not least, people who can work need jobs – jobs to pay the bills and jobs to restore a sense of dignity and self-respect.

            And, maybe most of all, we – all of us – need to care about the poorest among us.

            So, sitting at that meeting, I felt a little overwhelmed.

            And, I also thought about all the hot air that has been expended during this long, long presidential campaign, with candidates talking about issues that most of us made up our minds about long ago, and now with the death of Justice Ginsburg, attention has turned to the Supreme Court, which is definitely important.

            But, unless I’ve missed it, there has been very little attention given to poverty, very little concern for people who are poor and struggling – very few plans for helping the many people who were already on the edge before the pandemic, and are now losing jobs, getting evicted from their homes, and falling deeper into poverty.

            As the line at our Triangle Park food pantry gets longer each month, and as the lines at food pantries all across the country grow longer, it seems to be business as usual.

            Most seem not to care, or, even worse, in our usual American way, we blame the victims for getting into this mess and we expect them to somehow figure a way out.

            But, we – you and I - should be different, because God’s way is different.

            God’s economy is generous.

           

            In our first lesson, from the Book of Exodus, the people of Israel are well into their wilderness journey. It isn’t going so well – there’s not enough food, for one thing - and the people are complaining to their leaders, Moses and his brother Aaron. The people have already grown nostalgic for life back in Egypt, where, yes, they were enslaved and were being worked to death, but at least there was enough to eat.

            Well, God hears the complaints, and God responds by giving the people quail in the evening, and in the morning, manna, the mysterious bread from heaven.

            Each morning, God generously gives the people enough manna to satisfy them for the day – or two days in the case of the Sabbath.

            One interesting thing about manna, though, that today’s excerpt just hints at, is that the Israelites learn that there’s no point in taking more than they need for the day. If they try to hoard extra manna – and being human beings afraid of not having enough or wanting to have more than the other guy - of course they try to hoard manna – it quickly rots and is no good.

            Just like many of us, the Israelites were haunted by a sense of scarcity – take as much as you possibly can now because who knows if there will be anything tomorrow?

            But, out in the wilderness, the Israelites are required to trust God’s generosity – recognizing and appreciating that God has been generous today - and God will be generous tomorrow.

            Now, let’s get to the gospel.

            I just want to say upfront that I love this parable.

            It’s interesting that, unlike many other parables, it doesn’t have a famous title.

            What should we call it?

            The Parable of the Day Laborers?

            The Parable of the Generous Employer?

            Well, by whatever we call it, it’s one of my favorite parables because unlike some of the others, where the meaning seems unclear or we’re not sure how people back in the first century would have understood it, in this case people two thousand years ago and people today hear this story and respond in exactly the same way:

            Not fair!

            And, I also want to mention that this parable probably reveals something about the state of the economy in Jesus’ day. There sure seem to be a lot of idle men, men who apparently have experience working in vineyards, which is delicate work, requiring a good bit of skill. Is it possible that they used to have their own land and have lost it? Or, that they used to have regular employment that they could count on? In any case, now they are day laborers, at the mercy of people like the landowner, who might hire them for a full day of work, or just a few hours., or not at all.

            In the economy of the day, just like in our economy today, day laborers begin each day not knowing if they would earn enough to feed themselves and their families.

            But, as we discover, God’s way is different.

            God’s economy is generous.

            Jesus tells us that the kingdom is like a landowner who hires laborers for his vineyard, promising them the usual daily wage, which, by the way, was one denarius.

            The first group started work at 6:00 AM and then, as we heard, over the course of the day, the landowner went back out and hired more and more workers for his vineyard, vaguely promising to pay them “what is right.”

            Desperate people don’t quibble over the details. They’re just grateful to have any work, any pay.

            The last group was hired, quite late in the day, long after they had likely given up hope, but were still hanging around, maybe because they couldn’t face going home empty handed. This last group is hired at 5:00 PM, meaning that they worked for only an hour.

            So, when quitting time comes at 6:00, everybody in this story and everybody hearing this story all make the same assumption: the crew that worked the whole day will get paid a denarius, while everybody else will receive a wage that is prorated, depending on how much, or how little they worked.

            But, of course, that’s not what happens.

            In God’s downside-up kingdom, where the last come first, those who worked only an hour get paid first and they received the full daily wage – and it’s the same for everybody who worked more hours – including, to their dismay, those who had been working since 6:00 AM.

            They all receive the same payment.

            And the audience in the first century, and the audience in the twenty-first century, all cry out in one voice:

            “Not fair!”

            God’s way is different.

            Last week, we talked about one of the most challenging pieces of the Christian life, forgiveness. In the week since, I heard back from more of you than usual, everybody talking about how hard forgiveness sometimes is.

            And, all I can say is, you’re right – and it’s hard for me, too – and often it’s only possible with God’s help.

            And now, generosity – God’s kind of generosity - is not much easier, is it?

            Especially in the frightening time we live in, very often we are like the Israelites in the wilderness, not sure if there will be enough for tomorrow, so we better try to grab some extra manna just in case – and, if we give anything, it’s usually not very much, and only if we have something left over, or something we don’t want or need.

            And, it’s so easy for us to buy into the way of the world, which says, actually, there really is not enough for everybody, or it’s every man for himself, or if you would just work harder you would be fine, or greed is good, or your need is not my problem.

            But, God’s way is different.

            God’s economy is generous.

            God is generous – not content to just give us what we think we’ve earned, but eager to pour out upon us all kinds of blessings, way more than we expect – blessings on us and on other people, including those who we might think haven’t done enough to earn it, who don’t really deserve to be blessed.

            So, if we want to live in God’s downside-up kingdom, then we should aim to be like God.

            With God’s help, we are expected to forgive – a lot – and we are expected to be generous, too – especially generous to the people who maybe have only been working for an hour, or the people who, for whatever reason, are not able to work at all – like the people who are hanging out at Journal Square, probably right this minute.

            The world sees God’s economy and cries, “Not fair!”  

            But, we are meant to be different.

            God’s economy is generous.

            Amen.

            

"Mystics in the World"

“Mystics in the World” 

During these difficult days, when I catch myself thinking about all of the people and events that are being missed, and the hardships we are enduring, I try to bend my thoughts toward the many blessings that we are still receiving, the grace keeping us going, despite it all. For many of us, our daily “Church By Phone” services have been a holy lifeline, holding us together while we are apart. As I’ve written before, I love hearing all of your voices as we exchange greetings and offer prayers. I’ve also appreciated sharing so much scripture, including much that we never hear on Sundays. And, it’s been wonderful to honor the “saint of the day,” to remember the holy women and men who serve as examples of faith and courage, especially in times of trouble. 

In seminary, one of my professors encouraged us to get to know the saints, making them our friends. I’m not sure if I’ve managed to do that exactly, but I try to learn about them, hoping to learn from them. 

On Thursday, the church celebrated Hildegard of Bingen, born in 1098 in the Rhineland Valley. Apparently, from a very early age Hildegard began having mystical experiences. As the tenth child in her family, she was tithed to the church (it was a very different time, indeed). Eventually, Hildegard and some other women formed a convent. Her visions continued, but Hildegard was understandably reluctant to share them with others until the age of 43, when a voice told her, “See and speak! Hear and write!” And so she compiled descriptions of her visions along with her interpretations in three books. 

Then, as now, the church hierarchy was skeptical of those claiming mystical experiences. Hildegard, however, had a powerful patron in another holy person, Bernard of Clairvaux, who, it just so happens, had the ear of the pope. So, Hildegard’s mystical writings received approval from the highest level, and Hildegard and her work became famous across Europe. She conducted four preaching tours and offered her advice and direction to the political and religious leaders. She practiced medicine with a particular focus on women’s health. She wrote about natural science and philosophy. In her spare time, she wrote a liturgical drama, The Play of Virtues, in which women sing the parts of the virtues, and the lone man in the cast plays the part of the devil (who, by the way, is unable to sing). And, she composed large amounts of otherworldly and gorgeous music. 

After her death in 1179, there was a movement to canonize her, using the Roman church’s newly created procedure to make new saints, but it never quite came together. Then, this remarkable holy woman was forgotten, until the 1970s when thanks to the new interest in the great Christian women, the world rediscovered and celebrated Hildegard (especially her music). Finally, in 2012, her sainthood was made official. 

It’s quite a story, but I wonder about Hildegard the mystic. And, I wonder about mystical experiences, about seeing visions and hearing voices. What are we modern Christians to make of all this? Should we just dismiss it all as mental illness or overactive imaginations? Do mystics past and present have anything of value to say to us? Can we be mystics? 

In the Christian tradition, mystical experiences are not given for our enjoyment or edification, but instead, they call us to action right here in our flesh and blood world. The Jesuit scholar Robert J. Eagan notes that mystical experiences are liberating – they remind us that things do not have to be this way. Being a mystic doesn’t mean going off on a mountain to spend a lifetime lost in prayer. Instead, it means translating the mystical vision into a physical reality. Jesus offers us a mystical vision of the downside-up Kingdom, where it’s the poor and the mournful who are truly blessed, where the last come first. And Jesus calls us to live in a way that makes that Kingdom a reality. Just a few decades ago, the 20th Century mystic Martin Luther King shared his dream, a mystical vision of a world where Black and white children grew up loving one another, where people are judged on the content of their character, not the color of their skin. And, then Dr. King called us to live in a way that makes that dream a reality. 

In the Christian tradition, mysticism calls us to action in the world. And this connection is obvious in the visions of Hildegard. For all their mystery and power, her visions usually have a very concrete, here and now, message. 

For example, there is Hildegard’s vision of God enthroned. She writes: “I saw a great mountain of the color of iron, and enthroned on it One of such great glory that it blinded my sight.” And then God speaks to Hildegard and says: “O human, who are fragile dust of the earth and ashes of ashes! Cry out and speak of the origin of pure salvation until those people are instructed, who, though they see the inmost contents of the Scriptures, do not wish to tell them or preach them, because they are lukewarm and sluggish in serving God’s justice. Unlock for them the enclosure of mysteries that they, timid as they are, conceal in a hidden and fruitless field. Burst forth into a fountain of abundance and overflow with mystical knowledge, until they who now think you contemptible because of Eve’s transgression are stirred up by the flood of your irrigation. And then the voice of God concludes: “Arise, therefore, cry out and tell what is shown to you by the strong power of God’s help, for He who rules every creature in might and kindness floods those who fear him and serve him in sweet love and humility with the glory of heavenly enlightenment and leads those who persevere in the ways of justice to the joys of the eternal vision.” 

The mystics – and you and I – are called to arise and cry out. Mystical experiences, maybe even something as seemingly simple as a vision of unity and love we experience when we pray together on the phone, are not given for our own enjoyment or spiritual enrichment, but rather to provide us with the strength and courage to speak out, to stand up for the oppressed, to speak truth to power. Hildegard bravely involved herself in the world – challenging those in authority, a medieval woman emboldened by her mystical experience. 

So, we give thanks for Hildegard, whose mysticism gave her the confidence and the courage to live and proclaim the Christian faith. May we be open to the reality that God continues to speak to us. May we take the time and establish the quiet so we might have our own mystical experiences. And, in our way, in this troubled time and place, like Hildegard and so many other holy women and men, let us be mystics in the world.

The Power of Forgiveness

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

September 13, 2020

Year A, Proper 19: The Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Exodus 14:19-31

Psalm 114

Romans 14:1-12

Matthew 18:21-25

The Power of Forgiveness

            As you can tell from the gospel lesson I just read and from the title accompanying the service, today’s theme is forgiveness.

            But, before I get into that, I want to begin with a disclaimer.

            Forgiveness is very important – but it’s not the most important thing – and it’s definitely not as important as wellbeing, as personal safety.

            It is a tragic fact of life that many people suffer from physical, psychological, sexual abuse. The odds are that includes some of you.

            If it does, I hope you will reach out for help from someone you trust.

And, please know that Jesus’ call to forgiveness is not a call to tolerate an abusive situation.

            As Jesus says elsewhere, “I came that you may have life, and may have it abundantly.”

            Amen.

           

I’m going to let you in on a little-known fact about the Episcopal Church: just like Roman Catholics, we offer sacramental confession.

            It’s true!

 And, if you don’t believe me, you can look up the service in the Prayer Book. It’s called “Reconciliation of a Penitent” and it starts on page 447.

            For Roman Catholics, there was a time not so long ago when many people went to confession very regularly, in many cases they went once a week, making sure they were in a state of grace, which was necessary to receive Communion at mass.

            In the Episcopal Church the attitude toward confession can probably best be summed up as “all may, none must, some should.”

            I don’t know how many Catholics make confessions these days, not too many, I’m guessing. But, I can tell you that, based on my experience, almost no Episcopalians ask to make a confession – which is not surprising, but also too bad, because I know that a lot of us carry around some pretty heavy guilt, guilt that may require something a little more personal than the general confession and absolution that we offer here each week.

            Anyway, in my almost thirteen years of priesthood, I can count on one hand the number of times I have heard a confession. I mean, people tell me lots of stuff, of course, but only rarely do they ask for the formal rite.

            The first time was not long after I had been ordained. I was serving as the assistant at Grace Church in Madison. One day, someone (not a parishioner, not someone I had ever met) called and asked if there was a priest who would be available to hear her confession.

            I said yes and we set up a time to meet.

            Since at Grace a lot of people cut through the church to get from the parking lot to the office, I suggested we meet in my office, where it would be more private.

            As we sat across from each other I explained the service and then asked if she would like to tell me what had been burdening her.

            One of the interesting things about this experience is that I have absolutely no memory of what this person told me. I couldn’t and wouldn’t tell you if I did remember, but I actually don’t.

            And, for me that forgetfulness is a little taste of what God promises – not only to forgive our sins, but to forget them.

            Once this woman was done unburdening herself, we said the prayers and she made her formal confession and then…as I said the words of absolution and made the sign of the cross, something remarkable happened that I will never forget.

            It was like all of the muscles in her face suddenly relaxed.

            It was like her eyes suddenly came alive.

            It was like the light around her suddenly grew brighter.

            Somehow the lifting of shame and guilt didn’t just have a spiritual or an emotional effect, but it actually changed her physically.

            The person who left my office was not the same as the person who had entered.

            The power of forgiveness.

            If you were here last week, you may remember that we heard Jesus lay out a procedure for what to do when one person in the church sins against us.

Jesus says, first, go and speak to the person alone.

If that doesn’t work, take one or two others with you.

If that doesn’t work, tell the church.

And, if that doesn’t work, Jesus says, “Let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector.”

Which sounds a lot like this unrepentant person is to be cast out of the church forever – except that we know that Jesus has a special love for the outcasts of the world – and that we are commanded to share the Good News with absolutely everybody, to the ends of the earth – very much including the people the world sees – and sometimes we see - as not worth the trouble.

And now, we pick up right where we left off last time.

And, interestingly enough it’s Peter – who, as we know has a kind of hit-or-miss record – it’s Peter who realizes the implication of the plan that Jesus has laid out.

Peter realizes that Jesus’ plan is going to require a whole lot of forgiveness – and so he wants to have a better idea of just how much forgiveness he will be required to give.

Peter asks Jesus, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?”

Now, let’s be honest, depending on the person and depending on the offense, forgiving someone seven times already sounds kind of above and beyond the call of duty, doesn’t it?

But, for Jews, the number of seven carried a sense of abundance and fullness. So, it seems that Peter has almost gotten it right, realizing that he and we are called to lots of forgiveness.

Which is hard enough. So, we can imagine Peter’s surprise and maybe even dismay when Jesus gives his answer, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.”

Which can also be translated as seventy times seven times – and in Judaism the number seventy embodied infinity.

We are called to an infinite amount of forgiveness.

We are called to forgive because God forgives us.

In fact, we are called to forgive the way God forgives – over and over and, though it’s challenging, maybe even forgetting the particulars of how we’ve been wronged.

 And, the final little kicker from Jesus is that if we choose not to use the awesome power of forgiveness then God will not forgive us – which is truly something dreadful to contemplate, isn’t it?

And, just in case we still don’t get the point, Jesus offers a parable about an unforgiving slave.

We’re told that the slave owed his master ten thousand talents – that doesn’t mean anything to us today but back then it was an almost comically huge amount of money – kind of like saying he owed a gazillion dollars. Obviously, the slave has no hope of ever paying that back and so the master is ready to sell him and his family and his possessions but after the slave begs for forgiveness, the master relents and releases him from his enormous debt.

But then, in such a disappointing but so very human twist, this same slave who has received such great forgiveness refused to offer forgiveness to those with much smaller debts to him. And, when word of this un-forgiveness gets back to the master, he throws the formerly forgiven slave into jail where he will remain until his debt is paid, very bad news for the slave, since it will take forever.

And, Jesus issues one last, kind of chilling, warning: “So, my heavenly father will also do to everyone of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from the heart.”

            The power of forgiveness.

            I want to tell you that I’ve had a hard time with today’s sermon.

            It’s not just the disclaimer I had to issue at the start.

            Today, more than usual, I’m preaching to myself at least as much as I’m preaching to all of you.

            Because, the truth is, I’m not really in a forgiving mood.

            Maybe you can relate.

            I’m finding it hard to forgive leaders who clearly do not have our best interests in mind.

            I’m finding it hard to forgive so many in our country who have ignored decades of loud and clear warnings about the damage we were doing to our planet – and now, look, the West is burning. And, what is yet to come?

            I’m finding it hard to forgive the people I see every day who stubbornly refuse to wear a mask, who won’t social distance, who still think Covid is a hoax, and now, look, we’re still losing on average somewhere between 800 to 1,000 people every day, and so many of our teachers and students are stuck trying to teach and learn through screens, and we know that, as usual, it’s the most vulnerable who will suffer the most, falling even farther behind.

            And, maybe because now I spend more time than usual by myself with more time to think about the past, I find it hard to forgive myself for my own mistakes and poor decisions.

            So, the other day I was stewing about all of this – wanting to think about almost anything other than forgiveness - when the news broke about Bob Woodward’s new book on President Trump.

            Woodward, of course, became famous nearly 50 years ago for his investigative reporting on Watergate, the scandal that led to the President Nixon’s resignation.

            Anyway, thinking about Woodward got me thinking back to that scandal. And, I remembered Nixon’s farewell talk to members of his administration, just before he left the White House.

            Understandably, considering the occasion, it’s kind of a rambling stream of consciousness, a mix of gratitude, defensiveness, and self-pity – but there was one haunting, very revealing, line in there.

You may remember that Nixon was notoriously unforgiving and vindictive, famous for keeping an enemies list.

But, as he ended his presidency in disgrace he said, “…always remember, others may hate you, but those who hate you don’t win unless you hate them, and then you destroy yourself.”

It’s up to us to use the power of forgiveness – or not.

If not, Jesus says that God won’t forgive us – which is certainly bad enough.

But, it’s not only that.

If we choose not to forgive, the power of forgiveness doesn’t just somehow evaporate inside us. No, instead, it curdles into resentment, bitterness, hatred, maybe even cruelty – and, ultimately, self-destruction.

Just think of the ungrateful slave in today’s parable, locked up forever, paying a debt that can never be paid – think of Richard Nixon, losing the most powerful job in the world, forever stained by disgrace.

Think of so many unforgiving people we have encountered – maybe even ourselves, sometimes.

So, whether we’re in a forgiving mood or not, the stakes are very high.

God has given us the power of forgiveness - may we use it wisely.

Amen.

"Holy Ground"

“Holy Ground”

As the summer draws to a close, I find myself thinking back to all that we have missed during these long months of the pandemic. It has been such a strange, challenging, and frightening time. We have endured the sadness of being apart and somehow survived the anguish of losing loved ones without the chance to say goodbye in our usual way. Some of us have lost jobs and some are on the edge of eviction. At the same time, we have remained close to one another through frequent and fervent prayer, united in heart and faith.

I have missed gathering with you in our beautiful sacred space, praying and singing together, exchanging the peace, sharing Communion, enjoying coffee hour, and all of the many other activities that we took for granted. Out of all our special events, the Good Friday Stations of the Cross Procession has been the hardest to give up. I believe it’s our most important event of the year, drawing together the suffering of Jesus long ago and the suffering that occurs daily on the streets of Jersey City. If you have walked with us, you know that at each station we pray, we hammer a nail into a battered wooden cross, and, in one last gesture, we sprinkle Holy Water, symbolizing that God has restored holiness to the ground that had been profaned by our hatred and violence.

Holy ground.

Throughout history, people have sensed that certain locations are particularly holy – special places like islands, rivers, or mountains – places where God seems to be so present that we can almost step through the usual boundary between now and eternity. For example, two Sundays ago we heard the story of God appearing to Moses on Horeb, “the mountain of God.” It’s there on that holy ground that God reveals God’s name and announces that the cries of the longsuffering people have been heard, and liberation is about to begin.  

And then there are places constructed by human hands that have been made holy by what has happened there. After twenty years of deep connection, our old wood-frame Victorian church is my holy ground. When I’m in there, surrounded by walls washed by over 150 years of prayers, I feel close to the many who have gone before us. It’s there that I feel closest to God.

Today, on the nineteenth anniversary of the September 11 attacks, our minds turn to the holy ground of Lower Manhattan. In just a few horrific minutes, what had been a marvel of human ingenuity and engineering, a transportation hub, and a place of business, was transformed into an inferno of terror and heroism. Today it is holy ground where we remember the thousands of people whose lives were cut short by hatred and violence, and where we especially honor the valiant firefighters and police officers who raced into danger and sacrificed so much. For those of us who witnessed this catastrophe, the shock and pain will linger forever. Frankly, I still avoid the World Trade Center. And, even after all these years, on the rare occasions when I take the PATH train over there, I’m still momentarily surprised that the old station with its brown and gold earth tones is gone, replaced by something very different, sleek and white. I’m not sure if this was the architect’s intention, but whenever I walk through the cavernous Oculus with its marble floors and whitewashed walls, it feels like I’m in a mausoleum, walking through holy ground.

Over the past two decades, we have shed precious blood in unending wars and have had livelihoods and hopes upended by economic downturns. We have watched great American cities swamped by “once in a century” storms and, as we saw just a few months ago in Australia and see now in our own West Coast, many millions of acres of land containing innumerable trees, animals, and homes have been lost to wildfires. And, here in Jersey City, and all across our heavily armed country, there is the steady bloodletting of gun violence. Just the other day, a JCPD officer shot a 21-year-old young man. As usual in cases like this, the truth is in dispute. The police say he was pointing a gun at the officer. Community members have doubts and demand proof. This incident took place at the Salem-Lafayette housing complex – a place that our police chief described as “notorious” – a place where several of our parishioners live – and a place where we stop every year on Good Friday, remembering yet another act of violence, mourning yet another victim.

It seems to me that, as fire and rising tides, and poverty, racism, and violence continue to make more and more places nearly unlivable, as many of us refuse to take the steps necessary to stop the spread of Covid, and as we allow partisan politics to tear us apart, we desperately need to widen our vision of holy ground. Yes, we may sense that certain locations are particularly holy, either because of natural beauty or the lasting memory of prayer, suffering, and sacrifice. But, the truth is, the whole earth is holy.  As the psalmist declares:

The earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it,

the world and all who dwell therein.

(Psalm 24:1)

So, California’s magnificent redwood forests and the gleaming white PATH station and, yes, the glass-strewn streets around Salem-Lafayette are all holy ground. If the whole earth belongs to God, then it is all holy. In fact, there are no “bad neighborhoods,” no matter how “notorious” they may be. When we sprinkle Holy Water on places of violence on Good Friday, we’re just washing away a temporary stain on God’s good earth, restoring the holiness that sin had hidden from our eyes.

I don’t need to tell you that we are in big trouble. And I wish I could say that it looks like things will get better soon. But, if we are going to get out of this mess, if we are going to find our way to living the way God has always intended, then we must ask God to give us eyes to see the world as it was always meant to be, as it really is – to see the world and all who dwell therein, as holy and worthy of deep love and great care.

Liberation

The Rev. Thomas M. Murphy

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

September 6, 2020

Year A, Proper 18: The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Exodus 12:1-14

Psalm 149

Romans 13:8-14

Matthew 18:15-20

Liberation

At first glance, today’s Old Testament and Gospel lessons don’t seem to have much to do with each other.

We began with the Passover story, remembering this central event in the history of Israel, when the God of Liberation begins to set the people free from bondage in Egypt.

And in the Gospel of Matthew, we heard Jesus offer a plan for what to do when one member of the church sins against another.

But, hopefully not confusing matters, I want to begin with another story - one of my favorite gospel stories, found in both the Gospels of Mark and Matthew, with a few little differences.

            Since we’ve been reading Matthew, I’ll describe his version of the story.

            Jesus and his disciples are on their way to Jerusalem and for the third time Jesus tells his friends and closest followers what is going to happen to him in the capital city: he will be handed over and condemned to death, he will be mocked and flogged and crucified, and on the third day he will be raised.

            How to react to all of this?

            Like Peter last week, we might miss the essential news about rising to new life on the third day, and instead we would probably focus on the suffering, and, like Peter, we might even try to turn Jesus away from this path, hoping that the Lord would avoid such a terrible fate.     

Out of love and loyalty, we might even pledge to do everything in our power to prevent this prediction from coming true.

Now, a better reaction might be to simply remain silent, trying to absorb, trying to reflect on, everything Jesus has said.

But, I know many of you pretty well, so I doubt that any of us would see this prediction as an opportunity to jockey for a prime position in Jesus’ kingdom.

But, that’s exactly what happens.

Matthew tells us that the mother of James and John kneels before Jesus and says, “Declare that these two sons of mine will sit, one at your right hand and one in your left, in your kingdom.”

Jesus responds that they are asking for a life of suffering but in the end those prominent places in the kingdom are not his to give.

And then comes my favorite part: the other ten disciples hear this little exchange and they get angry with James and John.

I love this. It’s so human, right?

And, so typical of the disciples!

The disciples have been with Jesus for a while now, traveling from place to place, enjoying a front row seat for his teaching and healing, hearing and puzzling over all of the mysterious and challenging parables, and yet they still don’t understand that the ways of the world are not the ways of the kingdom – the ways of the kingdom are not the ways of the world. In the kingdom, it doesn’t matter where you sit – and, in fact, it’s probably better to be in the back.

Jesus calls them together and says, “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. It will not be so among you.”

“It will not be so among you.”

It’s important for us to remember that in the days of Jesus’ earthly lifetime, back during the first century, the Romans lorded it over Israel and the entire Mediterranean world.

There was no real concept of human rights or the inherent dignity of every human being.

Instead, the always-practical Romans preferred to let local leaders remain in place, so long as they collected the hefty taxes that were sent to Rome, and if they kept order. If taxes were not collected and if order was not maintained, everyone knew the Romans were perfectly willing to unleash great cruelty to remind everyone of who was in charge.

Crucifixion was a common occurrence.

So, there was certainly law and order, but not exactly peace.

This was the delicate and dangerous reality for the leaders of Israel and that’s why when they heard people hailing Jesus as “King of the Jews,” they knew they had to put a stop to this right away, or risk the wrath of Rome.

Jesus always offers a way very different from what’s on offer from the world. He says to the disciples and to us:

“It will not be so among you.”

So, how should it be among us?

Among the four evangelists, it’s only Matthew who offers us a detailed and practical map to show us how we are to follow the way of Jesus together as community, as the church.

As we heard, Jesus lays out a plan for what to do when one member of the church sins against another.

First, go and speak to the person alone.

If that doesn’t work, take one or two others with you.

If that doesn’t work, tell the church.

And, if that doesn’t work, Jesus says, “Let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector.”

Jesus liberates us from the world’s hard way of shame and quick judgment and cruelty.

Jesus, who is with us whenever we gather, liberates us – offers us a way that is patient and slow and kind, always ready to offer forgiveness, always holding out for reconciliation and healing.

And, even the business at the end about the offender being “as a Gentile and a tax collector” – on the one hand it sounds like they are to be cast out, but on the other hand at the end of the Gospel of Matthew, the Risen Christ sends out his disciples to the ends of the earth, charged with sharing the Good News with everybody, including, yes Gentiles and tax collectors and all the outsiders who are especially loved by Jesus.

Today, the Roman Empire is long gone.

And, fortunately, especially over the last century, people all around the world have agreed upon a clear vision of universal human rights, though, as you can see by just glancing at the news, we continue to fall far short of those lofty ideals.

Far too often the way of the world – the way of our country – the way of our state – is the way of shame and quick judgment and cruelty.

I was glad that so many of our parishioners – along with something like 2,000 other people - attended the New Jersey Together action on Zoom on Monday evening.

I thought it was very well done with a lot of information presented clearly and effectively, and some of our state’s most powerful elected officials at least saying all the right things.

Probably at least some people went into the action thinking that, you know, New Jersey, it’s a northeastern state, it must be a pretty progressive place – especially in comparison to more “backward” parts of the country.

And yet, it turns out that we have incredibly deep and cruel inequities here in supposedly progressive New Jersey.

For example, the median wealth for white families in New Jersey is $352,000 – the highest in the country, while median Black wealth is $6,100 and median Hispanic wealth is $7,300.

In New Jersey, currently 300,000 eligible drivers have their licenses suspended for failure to pay a fine or failure to appear in court – and we know that a license suspension often plunges people into a downward spiral of debt, unemployment, and worse.

And, I don’t even have to tell you about the wide racial disparities when it comes to who gets arrested and imprisoned in our state.

We’re not quite the Roman Empire, but still, even after all this time, so often the way of the world is the way of shame and quick judgment and cruelty.

But, just as in the days of old, the God of Liberation is at work – opening our eyes to see the many injustices all around us – helping us to recognize the many ways that people are virtually enslaved today - and calling us to be part of the great liberation.

So, maybe today’s Old Testament and Gospel lessons do share a common theme, after all.

Liberation

Jesus gives us a roadmap to making the church a place of forgiveness and reconciliation, a place where, as St. Paul writes, we owe nothing but love.

The church should be liberated from the ways of the world.

But, that’s not all.

 Jesus also sends out his disciples, sends us out, giving us the responsibility of helping with God’s holy work of liberation, to offer the world a different way, to use tools like New Jersey Together to set people free from what enslaves them today, doing our part to make the world a place of forgiveness and reconciliation and love.

May it be so.