The Light of Christ. Thanks Be To God.

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

December 25

Christmas Day

Isaiah 52:7-10

Psalm 98

Hebrews 1:1-4

John 1:1-14

The Light of Christ. Thanks Be To God

        Merry Christmas, everyone!

This is not exactly the Christmas we would have chosen for ourselves, but this morning, thanks to the wonder of technology, at least we can see some familiar and much-missed faces. 

As I said in my sermon last night, it has been a year, hasn’t it?

And, you know, if we were to make a list of all the things – all the people – we have missed over these many months of the pandemic, well, we would be here all day, wouldn’t we?

Even if we were to just limit our list to church people and church events, it would still take quite a while.

Think of all those Sundays we’ve missed being together for real, not just looking at Sue, Gail, and me on Facebook.

All of those baptisms and weddings, and, yes, funerals.

Confirmation.

All of those coffee hours!

All of those community suppers, and art shows, and our dinner-dance, the Pentecost picnic, the Liberty Park picnic.

We’ve missed a whole lot.

And it’s been hard to not be together for Christmas, to not see some of our littlest kids dressed as sheep in the Pageant, to not see the church in candlelight at the late service last night.

But, as hard as Christmas has been, for me, it was even more difficult to not gather during Holy Week and Easter – the central days of the Christian life.

And, as I’ve been getting ready for this morning, I’ve been especially thinking of the Great Vigil of Easter, the holiest of all of our services.

If you’ve ever attended the vigil, you may remember that we begin with the church in darkness.

In the rear of the church, we light the Paschal Candle and I have the honor of carrying it up the aisle, inviting others to draw light for their own smaller candles.

At three points I stop and chant,

“The Light of Christ.”

And the people respond,

“Thanks be to God.”

The Light of Christ. Thanks be to God.

Just like every Christmas morning, today we heard the Prologue of the Gospel of John.

John’s Christmas story is very different from the others. He doesn’t know about, or isn’t interested in, Mary and Joseph, the manger or the shepherds, or even the angels singing glory to God in the highest.

No, instead, John looks all the way back to the beginning, offering us a cosmic nativity – the Word who was with God from the start, the Word who is God, has come among us, here on earth.

The light coming into the world.

The light shining in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

The Light of Christ. Thanks be to God.

The early Christian community or communities that produced the Gospel of John, and the other texts in the New Testament attributed to John, had a lot of problems – there were many divisions – people battled over leadership of the community – some people even began to waver in their faith in Jesus.

So, it’s always struck me that a community with so much trouble could still produce a document that absolutely insists that the Light has come into the world for all people - and that this Light could not, will not be overcome, no matter what.

The Light of Christ. Thanks be to God.

But, actually, this terrible year, this Christmas when we are forced to be physically apart, has helped me to understand how John’s community could be so sure that the Light of Christ would not be overcome, no matter what.

Months ago, when I began to realize that the pandemic and our separation might go on far longer than any of us could have expected, I wondered about our church.

Would we be able to stick together?

Would we have the resources to keep going, let alone help other people?

Would our bonds of love be strong enough to keep us close even when we are apart?

But, now, on this Christmas morning, despite some really deep shadows in our world, the Light of Christ shines so bright here at St. Paul and Incarnation.

With God’s help, and thanks to the skill of our “tech support,” we’ve persevered, worshiping every Sunday, and three times each weekday, without fail.

With God’s help, we’ve offered assistance to people in trouble, both our own parishioners and neighbors and friends.

With God’s help, the Triangle Park Community Center has continued to serve hundreds of people every month – just in the past week, 25 of the young guys who spend much of their time hanging out around the park received gift bags of hats and socks and homemade cookies, baked by some of you – and 180 families came to the food pantry last Saturday, waiting in line on a bitterly cold day.

With God’s help, we made Christmas happen for so many local children, and some of our artist friends made beautiful cards for parishioners and neighbors who maybe needed just a little extra cheer this year.

With God’s help, we prayed for each other, called each other, sent out cards and notes, asked after people we hadn’t heard from for a while.

It has definitely not been easy, and we have suffered some heartbreaking losses – and this morning we should especially remember our families who are enduring their first Christmas without some cherished loved ones.

The shadows are real.

But, this Christmas, despite our fears and losses, despite our very real separation, after all we’ve been through, like John’s community long ago, we can be absolutely sure that the Light of Christ has come among us.

The Light of Christ has been shining so bright – and our troubles can never and will never overcome it.

The Light of Christ.

Thanks be to God.

Merry Christmas, everybody.

Amen.

Holy Waiting

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

December 24, 2020

Christmas Eve

Isaiah 9:2-7

Psalm 96

Titus 2:11-14

Luke 2:1-20

Holy Waiting

Merry Christmas, everyone!

This is definitely not the kind of Christmas Eve that any of us really wanted or would have chosen for ourselves, but it is still beautiful to be together even in this distant way.

Despite everything, it is Christmas!

Although this is a working holiday for me, I still look forward to Christmas every year - in a grown up sort of way, of course. 

But, when I was a kid, I literally could not wait for Christmas.

I used to get so excited thinking about what presents I might get, really working myself up as I carefully made my list, trying not to be greedy, trying not to go overboard, but also not wanting to sell myself short, either.

Some in my family have even suggested that, in the weeks and days leading up to Christmas, it’s possible that I may have taken a peek or two around the house, looking for a sneak preview of what my parents might have gotten me for Christmas.

I can neither confirm nor deny these claims.

And then early on Christmas morning – so early that it was still dark – so early that it might have been the middle of the night, my sister Karen and I would get up and make our way downstairs, soon joined by my bleary-eyed mom and dad, as we joyfully opened our gifts and started playing with our toys and games.

Maybe some of you were the same way.

Maybe some of your kids or grandchildren are that way now – and you’re looking at very few hours of sleep tonight.

And, actually, in normal times the world literally can’t wait for Christmas – the store decorations go up earlier and earlier – nowadays creating a kind of mash-up with Halloween.

But, this year has been different.

Boy, has this year been different.

In normal times, the season of Advent, the holy time of preparation and waiting gets steamrolled by the world’s Christmas – barely acknowledged except by the churchiest among us.

But, this year, this Advent, we’ve all been forced to wait – forced to wait for a vaccine, forced to wait before we can gather again with many of the people we love, forced to wait for life to get to whatever the new normal is going to be.

Here in church, this Advent we’ve been waiting with John the Baptist who announces that the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit is on the way.

We’ve been waiting with Mary as all that was foretold by the angel begins to unfold, as the holy child grows in her womb.

We’ve been waiting with Joseph as he righteously stands by Mary, at great cost to himself.

This Advent we’ve been forced to wait.

Maybe we have related to Mary and Joseph like we never have before – this couple making their way in an unfamiliar land, doing their best to meet their heavy responsibilities during really tough times - there was no room at the inn, and there were no mothers or grandmothers or neighbors around to midwife their child into the world.

Maybe it’s because of all the suffering, all the loneliness we have experienced these many months, but in my own prayer I keep returning to Mary and Joseph far from home, no one there to help them, relying on their own strength and ingenuity and, of course, on God’s grace.

And then, at last, the wait is over.

The child is born.

The young peasant girl Mary has successfully carried the Son of God into the world – recognized by almost no one, it’s true, just a few shepherds who were tipped off by an angel, and one of these days, there will be some mysterious visitors from the East, following a star, bearing precious gifts.

Tonight, for Mary and Joseph and for us, the waiting – this holy waiting – has come to an end.

It’s Christmas, at last.

But, it’s also true that for Mary and Joseph and for us, the holy waiting will continue.

Like all parents, Mary and Joseph will have to wait to see the child learn about the world, take his first steps, say his first words.

They will have to wait to see what sort of person he will be. Will he be good craftsman like Joseph?  Someday will they work side by side in the shop?

And, most important of all, they will have to wait a while before the child learns about God – finally recognizing who he really is.

Mary and Joseph will have to wait to see if what the angel had foretold will really come to pass. Could this helpless infant really be the Son of God? Will he truly inherit David’s throne and rule forever?

And what will this cost him?

How can these things be?

And, come to think of it, God is going to have to wait, too.

Newborn Jesus would have known his mother’s heartbeat and recognized her voice, and maybe Joseph’s voice, too, but that’s about it.

All the rest will take time.

When I was a kid, I literally could not wait for Christmas but, by around 5:30 in the morning, all the gifts had been opened, and Christmas was pretty much done for me.

And, that’s how it is with the world’s Christmas isn’t it?

In just a day or two, the decorations will start to come down, and discarded trees will start to appear on the sidewalk, stripped of their ornaments, ready to be hauled away.

But, for us, Christmas is ongoing – yes, for twelve days, but longer even than that.

Thanks to Mary’s yes, and the righteousness of Joseph, God has entered the world in and through Jesus.

It’s already happened.

And yet, at the same time, we also wait for it to happen.

The priest and writer Henri Nouwen once wrote, “We can only really wait if what we are waiting for has already begun for us. So waiting is never a movement from nothing to something. It is always a movement from something to something more.”

Today, we are the Body of Christ.

Today, we are called to bear Jesus into the world – into a world that is particularly sad and frightened and angry these days – we are called to bear Jesus into a world that so longs for good news, so needs light to shine in the shadows – a sick world that is being forced to wait like it has never waited before.

This is all going to take some time.

But, our waiting is not like an impatient kid waiting for Christmas to finally get here already, so very eager to tear open the presents and then get on to the next thing.

No, our holy waiting is patient, because we know what began on that holy night in Bethlehem – the teaching and the healing, the dying and the rising again.

Our holy waiting is calm, because we know the love of people like my parents, who were unable to see the future but were still willing to give their all for their children, even when they were really, really tired.

Our holy waiting is confident, because we know the faith of our spiritual ancestors, the faith of the people who built two churches in Jersey City, not knowing how it would all turn out, but trusting that God would make good use of their work.

Our holy waiting is faithful, because we know that the angel‘s promise has been fulfilled, is being fulfilled, will be fulfilled.

Yes, there is more holy waiting ahead for us, as we move from something to something more. 

But, for now, let’s just sit with an exhausted and overjoyed Mary and Joseph, welcoming the holy child into the world.

Merry Christmas to you all.

Amen.

No Place More Holy

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

December 20, 2020

Year B: The Fourth Sunday of Advent

2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16

Canticle 15

Romans 16:25-27

Luke 1:26-38

No Place More Holy

        This morning we began with one of my favorite Scripture passages.

In today’s reading from Second Samuel, King David is sitting in his comfortable palace when he has an epiphany:

Shouldn’t God have a house at least as grand as the king’s?

If you remember David, you know that Israel’s greatest king was not always a faithful, admirable figure, but we have to give him credit for this moment of self-awareness, this commitment to build something beautiful – a house made of precious cedar – for God.

The Prophet Nathan thinks it’s a great idea, too.

I mean, who could be opposed to building a house for God? Who wouldn’t want God to have a temple that reflected and honored God’s glory?

But, then, in God’s usual way of surprise, God flat out rejects the idea – you are going to build me a house?!?

And, let’s face it, when God puts it that way, it does sound a little presumptuous, doesn’t it?

God reminds Nathan and David and all of us that God has been on the move from the beginning – a traveling tent has been sufficient – God doesn’t need to be, doesn’t want to be, can’t be, contained by a temple, no matter how magnificent it may be.

Furthermore, also in God’s usual way of surprise, God turns the tables on David. God says that God will make a house for David – not a house made of wood or stone, but a dynasty, a legacy that will live on forever.

So, the temple building project was shelved, but only temporarily. As you probably know, David’s son and heir King Solomon will in fact build a house for God, constructing the great Temple in Jerusalem.

And later, after Solomon’s Temple was destroyed, the people of Israel built a second Temple, the one that was still standing during Jesus’ earthly lifetime.

The Second Temple was a vast complex of buildings and courtyards, recognized as one of the wonders of the ancient world.

It was the center of Jewish life and worship.

It was the place where God was believed to dwell.

There was no place more holy.

Today is the fourth and final Sunday of Advent, and just in time we turn our attention to the woman at the heart of this holy season: Mary.

As we heard in today’s familiar but always beautiful lesson from the Gospel of Luke, the angel appears to Mary and announces some stunning, hard to believe news.

In God’s usual way of surprise, out of all the people in the world, God has chosen this young peasant woman living not in Jerusalem but in a small town out in the country – out of all the people in the world God has favored this woman to carry the Son of God into the world. 

In God’s usual way of surprise, this child, born in the unlikeliest circumstances, will be David’s legacy. He will continue David’s dynasty not by living in a grand palace or wearing a crown of gold, but by being a very different kind of king – a king who had no home - a king who wore a crown of thorns – a king who calls us to love one another – a king who washes feet – a king who gives away his life for us.

In God’s usual way of surprise, at that moment when Mary says yes to the angel, yes to God, there was no place more holy than that small room in Nazareth.

At that moment, and in the nine months to follow, there was no place more holy than wherever Mary was – Mary who, without fully knowing what she was in for – said yes to our God of surprises – said yes to carrying God into the world in a new and unique way – said yes to beginning a spiritual revolution that will turn the world downside-up, the mighty cast down from their thrones and the lowly uplifted, the hungry fed, the rich turned away.

And when the nine months were completed, Mary gave birth far from home, deprived of the comfort of family and familiar surroundings. She and Joseph placed the child in the manger – and there was no place more holy than that crude and simple feeding trough meant for, and used by, animals.

When the Romans destroyed the Second Temple in the year 70, the Jewish people viewed it as an unspeakable catastrophe.

Of course.

What could it mean that the place where God had dwelled was a pile of rubble? 

The Jewish people wondered if they could survive as a people without the Temple, could they stay in right relationship with God without the sacrifices that happened there?

Well, we know the answer.

The Temple’s destruction did put the priests permanently out of work, but, as God had told David and Nathan long before, God never really needed a house, could never and would never be contained by a temple.

And, sure enough, for our Jewish brothers and sisters, our elder siblings in faith, holiness continues to be found in their eternal covenant with God.

And, especially after the destruction of the Temple, our Christian ancestors came to understand that for us, Christ is the temple – there is no place more holy than wherever Christ is. 

Christ can be found in this temple, of course, but, fortunately, since you can’t come here right now, Christ is also found out there in the world. Christ can be found in and among all of us, most especially in the people who reach out to us for help.

And, giving shelter or food or comfort to anyone who asks for it  - or doesn’t ask for it but needs it - is in fact giving to Christ.

There is no place more holy.

I’ve mentioned to you before that we weren’t sure if we should still do our Christmas giving tree at a time when so many of you, so many of our own families, are under extraordinary financial pressure, scrambling to create a joyful Christmas when money is tight and the future is uncertain.

But, as you know, we decided to try because the need is so great and our friends at Garden State CDC were counting on us.

Providing Christmas gifts for forty children seemed like a tall order but we – you – managed to do it and, not only that, but we have received extra gifts and a bunch of you have given money which we will send over to Garden State so they can care for even more families.

Susan Den Herder managed the logistical challenge of making sure all the gifts have been received and Vanessa Foster has organized all the gifts next door in Carr Hall.

And so right now, Carr Hall is as holy as any temple. It’s a place of love and generosity – Christ is surely there – there is no place more holy.

And in a few days, when those children unwrap gifts and open cards, those modest homes will be as holy as Mary’s simple place back in Nazareth – Christ will surely be there, too – there will be no place more holy.

And tomorrow evening, down at Triangle Park, we will share Christmas gifts with the young men who hang out in and around the park – guys who are usually and, yes, understandably, looked at with suspicion and fear – guys who have grown up with limited opportunities and, like most of us, have probably made a few bad choices along the way.

But, we’re going to give them care packages with warm hats and socks and, maybe best of all, homemade Christmas cookies baked by some of you and our friends down at Grace Church.

I fully expect that the guys will immediately unwrap the cookies and polish them off right then and there.

It will be an early Christmas for them and a kind of holy communion between them and us – Christ will surely be present in our little storefront, on those sometimes dangerous streets – and in that moment there will be no place more holy than Triangle Park. 

In God’s usual way of surprise, out of all the people in the world, God chose a young peasant woman from a small town to carry the Son of God into the world.

Two thousand years ago, there was no place more holy than wherever Christ was. 

And that’s just as true today.

Amen. 

"All the Way to Heaven is Heaven"

“All the Way to Heaven is Heaven”

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

Someone once said to me that he believed the Church’s mission was “to get as many souls as possible into heaven.” I didn’t reply to that, but, no surprise, I would not describe our purpose quite that way. Yes, it’s definitely true that we should never lose sight of our ultimate destination, especially during Advent when we are meant to look ahead to Christ’s return. But, salvation is God’s work, not ours. In fact, throughout history, the Church has gone off the rails when it has become too focused on the next life, turning away from the here and now, the needs and hopes of the people all around us, the flesh and blood world that matters so much to God.

And, it’s because of Christmas that we know for sure that this world really does matter to God. Those of us who grew up in the Church, who know so well the stories of Jesus’ birth, may have lost our sense of wonder at this story, no longer seeing the mind-blowing implications of the transcendent God choosing to join us here on earth, not as a blinding light or a resounding voice, not as some kind of awe-inspiring spiritual being, but as a helpless newborn, completely dependent on a man and woman who were far from home, barely able to find shelter and safety. Perhaps in that moment Mary and Joseph doubted their ability to care for a child in such a harsh world, but they were, of course, the exactly right people for this holiest responsibility. God knows what God is doing.

Although there are plenty of fanciful and charming legends about Jesus’ childhood, we know almost nothing about that long stretch of time between his birth and when he first presented himself to John to be baptized. But, although we are unaware of the details, Jesus grew up among relatives and neighbors, no doubt nurtured and challenged by all of the joys and hardships of family and community life. Maybe people recognized something different and mysterious about this boy, but probably not. After all, later on, the folks in Nazareth had such a hard time wrapping their minds around the notion that this grown-up child of Mary and Joseph could be anything other than a craftsman, never even considering that this hometown boy might be the long-awaited messiah.

During his days of teaching and healing, Jesus used earthy images for the kingdom of God. He said it’s like a tiny mustard seed growing into a shrub large enough for birds to nest. The kingdom is like a father joyfully welcoming home a seemingly good for nothing son. It’s like the most unexpected person, the one who is hated and feared, offering generosity and mercy. Jesus insists that the kingdom of God is among us, here and now. 

In church this Sunday, we will hear the perhaps too-familiar story of the angel appearing to Mary, announcing the most amazing news. Mary could not possibly have known all that would unfold in the years and centuries ahead thanks to her “yes,” but she knows enough to ponder the angel’s message in her heart. Mary would have known that God’s choice of a peasant girl to bear God into the world means that a kind of revolution was about to begin. Mary would have anticipated that if God is going to cast down the mighty from their thrones and lift up the lowly and meek, it will come at a great cost for her and her flesh and blood son. The cross shadows the manger. And, sure enough, on a Friday afternoon in Jerusalem a few decades later, it seemed that the hope born in Bethlehem was dead forever. But, God brings new life out of death. And when the Risen Christ appeared to the frightened disciples, he was transformed for sure, but still embodied. He even invited a doubting apostle to touch his wounds.

The pandemic has taught us just how embodied we are as Church. Back in the “before time,” we gathered together each Sunday, often sitting beside or near people we may not have known too well. We shook hands at the peace, with the more exuberant among us offering joyful hugs. I marvel at how many hands I shook every Sunday! We received the Body of Christ in our hands and drank from a common cup. We squeezed into Carr Hall for food and fellowship. I don’t think I ever realized how much closeness and touch we experienced, always taking it all for granted. That’s why it has been hard during these many months to be a “disembodied church,” mostly limited to looking at images on a screen, hearing voices on conference call prayer services. 

Yet, with God’s help, we have continued our true mission of being the Body of Christ. We managed to provide Christmas gifts to over 40 children in need. Every week parishioners and neighbors drop off donations for the Triangle Park Community Center, our little storefront where people are fed and clothed daily, where the light of hope shines bright. We continue to reach out to each other as best as we can with calls and emails and cards, letting our fellow parishioners, our sisters and brothers, know that they are not forgotten, that we are all loved and missed. 

Salvation is God’s work, but we have our own mission here in the flesh and blood world that matters so much to God. Even during this strange, difficult, and even sad Christmas, with God’s help we can - must - continue to build the beloved community among ourselves and with the many people around us so hungry for love and light. And when we are on our mission, when we are the Body of Christ right here and now, then, in the words of Catherine of Siena, “all the way to heaven is heaven.”

Merry Christmas to you all!

Tom

While We Wait

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

December 13, 2020

Year B: The Third Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11

Psalm 126

1 Thessalonians 5:16-24

John 1:6-8, 19-28

While We Wait

We have now entered what are perhaps the most dangerous, deadliest days of the pandemic that has dragged on now for something like ten months, this time of fear, loss, and sorrow which will not end until most of us get vaccinated, hopefully by the middle of next year.

This terrible pandemic has lasted so long now, it’s sometimes hard to grasp just how much it has changed us – and how much we have learned about ourselves.

During these hard days, we’ve learned, in a way deeper than we understood before, just how much we need each other – how much we miss just being together in the same room – sitting around our table at home or next door in Carr Hall – how much we miss touch – exchanging the peace here in church – giving or receiving a warm hug – the simple but profound feeling of holding the hand of someone we love.

We’ve also learned that we’re stronger and more resilient than we might have suspected – able to withstand fear, sickness, and loss – able to adapt to a new reality – able to find creative ways of being church, even if it’s not quite the same as it was before.

We’ve learned that, unfortunately, a whole lot of people seem to value their individual freedoms over the wellbeing of their neighbors – that a lot of people are suspicious of expertise and authority – that some of us can politicize anything, even the deadliest pandemic in a century.

And, in this time when we’re forced to wait – to wait for the person ahead of on the supermarket checkout line – wait outside stores and businesses that have reached capacity – wait for the end of political disputes - wait for the vaccine to be distributed – during this time when we’ve been forced to wait, we’ve learned that many of us are… not so good at waiting.

Maybe it’s partly because of fast food and microwave ovens and instant communication and next day delivery (or even same day delivery!), but generally we’re not good at waiting. We want the problem solved right this minute – we want the disease eradicated today – we want to go back to the way things used to be, no later than tomorrow – I want the person ahead of me on the checkout line to get a move on already!

We may not like waiting, we may not want to wait, but here in church Advent is the season of waiting – all about watching and preparing.

In fact, our resistance to waiting is one of the reasons why most people usually don’t pay any attention to Advent – we’re impatient to just get Christmas started already.

But, this year is different.

Even if we’ve already put up our tree (and that’s fine), even if we’re already playing Christmas music (and that’s fine, too), this Advent we are being forced to wait.

So, the question is, what are we to do while we wait?

If you were here last Sunday, you may remember that we were reintroduced to one of the main characters of Advent: John the Baptist.

John was a powerful prophet, unafraid to place his total trust in God, courageous enough to point out the wrongdoing he saw going on around him, and bold enough to call people to repent, to change their ways, to be dunked in the River Jordan, washing away their sins, making a fresh start on a different kind of life.

One of the things that I find surprising about John the Baptist is that he was popular. Despite his seemingly harsh message, we’re told that he attracted large and devoted crowds from Jerusalem and the surrounding countryside.

John the Baptist was so popular and powerful that some people, probably quite a few people, wondered if he might be the Messiah, the savior of Israel.

The people had been waiting for a messiah for a long time – and especially now under harsh Roman rule there was much anticipation that this long period of waiting was about to end.

So, maybe it’s my imagination but in today’s gospel lesson I think we can hear some impatience when the priests and Levites are sent to find out who John is exactly.

They cut right to the chase, asking John, “Who are you?”

Well, it turns out that John is not the long-awaited messiah or even the return of Elijah, but he is the one preparing the way for the messiah.

And then John gives them news that still must have been surprising, even though they had been waiting so long. John says,

“Among you stands one whom you do not know, the one who is coming after me.”

What are we to do while we wait?

In today’s second lesson we heard a beautiful snippet from St. Paul’s First Letter to the Thessalonians, what most scholars believe is the oldest text in the New Testament, written just twenty or so years after the days of Jesus’ earthly lifetime.

And, it turns out that the members of the little Thessalonian church have been waiting, too.

They’ve been waiting for the promised return of Jesus – an event that was expected to happen very soon – but now a couple of decades have gone by and the Thessalonians are starting to worry, starting to get impatient.

So, in part, Paul writes to reassure them, to remind them of God’s faithfulness no matter what, even if God’s timetable is not ours.

And then Paul tells the Thessalonians what they are to do while they wait – what we are supposed to do while we wait.

We are to “rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances…hold fast to what is good; abstain from every evil.

Finally, in today’s first lesson from the Prophet Isaiah, we heard the passage that Jesus himself quoted in his hometown synagogue – the passage that serves as a kind of job description for Jesus – words that serve as a kind of job description for us, his followers:

“The spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me; he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and release to the prisoners…”

So, what are we to do while we wait?

Well, with God’s help…

We are to rejoice always.

We are to pray without ceasing.

We are to give thanks, no matter what.

We are to hold fast to what is good and abstain from every evil.

And, we are to bring good news to the people who are hurting, offer freedom to those who are imprisoned.

With God’s help that’s what we are to do while we wait – and, you may not have realized this, but actually that’s what we have been doing during these long months of waiting.

By now, you may be tired of hearing me talk about our Church By Phone services but, my goodness, I’m amazed that so many of you continue to call in day after day – holding each other tight over the phone - rejoicing as we acknowledge the blessings we receive day after day, especially during this hard time – praying without ceasing for one another – praying for the many people who are hurting, all those many people on our prayer list, praying for the doctors and nurses and scientists, for those in positions of great responsibility, for those about to assume positions of great responsibility - asking God for our daily bread and to forgive us our trespasses.

That’s what we do while we wait.

Christmas is going to be a difficult time for many people this year, including many of us here in our congregation.

To be honest, knowing how many of you are facing financial challenges and how hard it is to get around, I wasn’t sure if we should even try to do our usual Christmas giving tree, but finally the staff and I agreed we should try and hope for the best.

The need is so great.

Garden State CDC sent us information for forty children from poor families, whose Christmas joy depended at least in part on us.

To my amazement, despite all of the obstacles, thanks to you, all forty of those children will be getting Christmas gifts (actually we have a few extra!) – bringing a little bit of good news indeed to the oppressed.

That’s what we do while we wait.

Finally, a couple of weeks ago a former student of mine – someone I haven’t seen in probably twenty-five years – sent me a message asking if there was a family in our church who needed help this Christmas.

I said yes, and with incredible generosity this woman and her husband have taken it upon themselves to provide a beautiful Christmas for this family, buying gifts for people they don’t know and will probably never meet, even ordering them a tree with ornaments.

I still can’t get over this kindness and sacrifice – this binding up of the brokenhearted.

That’s what we do while we wait.

Today is the Third Sunday of Advent.

We’ve switched the liturgical color from blue to rose (not pink!), reminding us to rejoice, because Christmas is not so far off.

Christmas really is coming, and thanks to some amazingly generous people it will be even more joyful than it might have been. 

But, after Christmas we’ll have weeks and months of more waiting ahead of us.

That’s tough to take.

But, with God’s help we’ll manage, because we know what to do, while we wait.

Amen.

"Be the Kind of Church That..."

“Be the Kind of Church That…”

Dear Sisters and Brothers,

Our Minister of Music, Gail Blache-Gill, brings many gifts to her work, including her exceptional musicianship, of course, and the rich and lasting relationships she has built with other talented and devoted people all around our area and beyond. Here at St. Paul and Incarnation, we’ve benefitted from those connections since Gail has invited many guest singers and musicians from other churches to sing and play at our worship services and special programs. So, over the years, maybe without even realizing it, we have formed bonds with other congregations, perhaps none more than with the Middle Collegiate Church in Manhattan’s East Village, a congregation founded all the way back in 1628.

As many of you know, Middle Church’s sanctuary was destroyed by fire early Saturday morning, leaving just a stone shell that may not be structurally sound -another heartbreaking loss in a year that’s been full of them. Watching the video of the inferno engulfing that familiar landmark, I felt as sickened as I did in April of 2019 when the world looked on in shock as the old timbers of Notre-Dame de Paris were turned to ash. On both occasions, I felt sorrow for the people losing their spiritual home, for losing so much history. I was reminded yet again of just how fragile everything – everyone - is. And, yes, I couldn’t help thinking about our own beautiful, but vulnerable, sanctuary, the holy place that means so much to us, the place where the walls have been bathed by prayer, our prayers and the prayers of those who have gone before us, for more than a century and a half.  What if?

It’s a sickening thought for sure, but it might be a worthwhile question for us to consider. In the aftermath of the Middle Church fire, it wasn’t just congregants who were devastated. All across the city and beyond, so many people expressed shock and grief and pledged to help with the rebuilding effort. Only partly about the loss of a historic building, this wave of love and care truly arose out of deep gratitude and admiration for Middle Church’s commitment to serving the poor and the outcast, its relentless work for justice, its sincere welcome of anybody and everybody who walked through the door. As Amanda Meisenheimer, a minister at The Riverside Church (yet another great NYC church with Gail Blache-Gill connections), wrote, “Be the kind of church that if your building burned down, everyone in the city would mourn and Facebook would be flooded with both lament and hope.”

Those strong words (a command, in fact) have been haunting me, making me wonder how Jersey City would react if we were struck by tragedy, if we suddenly disappeared. I like to think that people would remember us as a welcoming place, where lots of good food was served at our community suppers, and at our arts and music events, and, most of all, each time we gathered at the Lord’s Table. Perhaps they would recall our partnerships with Garden State Episcopal CDC, Jersey City Together, and Family Promise. Probably more than a few parents would lament the loss of our safe and affordable summer camp. Maybe the people who worked at their sobriety week after week in Carr Hall would miss us, remembering our building as “an icon of my recovery,” as one AA member once told me. Yes, no doubt at least some would regret our disappearance, but I’m sure that many others would hardly even notice. After all, there are plenty of other churches in town, some at least as welcoming, at least as closely woven into the community, as St. Paul and Incarnation.

Advent is the time when we are meant to get ready for the joy of Christmas, and it’s a season when we’re also called to prepare for the end, for Christ’s return, for the day when we will be judged on how we used the many gifts we have been given. We are commanded to stay awake, to be alert. So, maybe the dreadful “What if?”  prompted by the Middle Church fire is the perfect reflection for this season. Maybe the command to “be the kind of church that if you’re building burned down, everyone in the city would mourn and Facebook would be flooded with both lament and hope” is the best resolution for the new year.   

Your brother in Christ,

Tom

Click here if you would like to help Middle Church rebuild: www.middlechurch.org/rising

“The Church is Never More the Church Than When…”

“The Church is Never More the Church Than When…”

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

To better understand the history of the Diocese of Newark, some of my clergy colleagues and I have spent time studying the journals of each diocesan convention, stretching all the way back to 1875. I really lucked out because I was assigned 1948 to 1971, a particularly fascinating and eventful period in history, both diocesan and American. During the late 1940s and early 1950s the Church began to face the enormous changes wrought by World War II and the postwar economic and population boom. There was a lot of attention given to the menace of communism and also the excesses of the Red Scare. There was a flurry of fundraising and construction, as the Church rushed to expand older churches and build new ones in the rapidly growing suburbs. There was concern about the decline of many urban congregations, emptied by changing demographics. And, thankfully, during the turbulent 1960s, there was increasing awareness and acknowledgment that our country, state, and diocese were all falling far short of offering equal opportunity to Black people.

Back then, just like today, some people thought the Church should stay out of politics and not concern itself with the issues of the day. Several bishops pushed back against that point of view, but none more powerfully or eloquently than The Rt. Rev. George Rath, who served the Diocese of Newark as Suffragan Bishop from 1964 to 1970, Bishop Coadjutor from 1970 to 1974, and then finally as Bishop from 1974 to his retirement in 1978. Until I started digging in the archives, Bishop Rath was just a name to me, but now I’ve added him to my pantheon of spiritual heroes. I bet you’ll feel the same way after you read this, from his address to the 1965 Diocesan Convention:

“A Church that is founded upon the faith that God sent his own Son into the world to redeem the world cannot refrain from entering into the politics, and the economy, and the social mores of the age in which it finds itself. To some, the saying, ‘Let the Church be the Church,’ means, ‘Let the Church look after its services of worship, run its Sunday Schools, minister to the sick, and the dying, the poor and the bereaved, but let it keep its nose out of the realms of business, industry, commerce, and politics.’ On the other hand, the Church is never more the Church than when it acts as the conscience of the nation. The Church is never more the Church than when it acts in protest against injustice or the miscarriage of justice. The Church is never more the Church than when it speaks for the unorganized and voiceless poor. The Church is never more the Church than when it takes its stand beside the American Negro in his protest against his economic oppression, his educational deprivation, his political disenfranchisement, his social disadvantage. The Church is never more the Church than when it seeks to act as mediator between hostile groups and hostile nations.  The Church is never more the Church than when it stands ready to spend its life for the sake of the world, imitating the Lord’s example.”

These are such powerful, wise, and challenging words from Bishop Rath. Now here we are, 55 years later, in our own turbulent time, when a deadly virus lurks in the air around us, when so many have lost their jobs or worry that they’re next out the door, when political differences seem to have driven an unbridgeable chasm between us. Plus, the Church is much smaller and weaker than it was during Bishop Rath’s day, and thanks to these long months of exile from our sanctuaries, the Church is likely to shrink even more. So, given all that, today it is tempting for the Church to merely look after itself, to think somehow that all we should do – or, all we can do right now, anyway – is care for our own people, avoiding controversy at all cost, doing our best to keep the institution going during these most difficult days. 

Yet, as Bishop Rath understood well and expressed so clearly, the Church is never more the Church than when we link arms with the poor and the oppressed, when we speak truth to power, especially when power really doesn’t want to hear it. And, the Church is never more the Church than when we roll up our sleeves and get to work, doing our part to heal the world so loved by God, building a world more like what God has always intended for us all.

Your brother in Christ,

Tom