Restoring the Garden

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

January 31, 2021

Year B: The Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany

Deuteronomy 18:15-20

Psalm 111

1 Corinthians 8:1-13

Mark 1:21-28

Restoring the Garden

You may remember that in a sermon a couple of weeks ago I took us all the way back to the beginning of the Bible, back to the garden, back to the first humans. 

Those first humans did one of the most human things of all: they did the exact thing they were told not to do.

When I look out at our seriously messed up world, I often think back to that story – a story, which, even if not factual, is most definitely true.

We have made things way more difficult than God intended.

God offered us the world and invited us to work together in harmony, shaping and tending the garden – to be, in a way, co-creators with God.

But, by creating a real life, free, flesh and blood, world, God must have known that there was a good chance, even a likelihood, maybe even a certainty, that things would go horribly wrong.

God must have known that we would turn away from God and instead worship the false gods of selfishness and violence.

God must have known that unclean spirits would enter the garden, in and through us.

To be honest, it amazes me that, despite knowing the great risk, God still went through with creation – and that when we messed up – when we continue to mess up – God doesn’t give up on us – God doesn’t just move on to the creation in the solar system next door, hoping for a better result over there.

No, despite the risks, and for reasons known to God alone, God sticks with us, working to cast out the unclean spirits from the garden – inviting us still to be co-creators, to restore the garden back to what was intended from the beginning.

Here in church, this year we are reading a lot from the Gospel of Mark.

Most scholars agree that Mark is the earliest of the gospels, completed right around the year 70.

It’s also the shortest, most barebones of the gospels.  

And, because it’s so quick and to the point, Mark always sounds so urgent. It’s like the evangelist just couldn’t wait to tell the story.

And, because Mark is so spare, it’s easy to recognize what he thinks is most important about the story of Jesus.

And, high on that list is the fact that Jesus is a miracle-worker, and, in particular, Jesus is an exorcist. He casts out unclean spirits.

For the past couple of Sundays, we’ve heard Jesus calling his disciples – Philip and Nathanael and the two sets of fishermen brothers – Jesus has been assembling his team, but now that’s done and Jesus is ready to get to work.

And, for Mark, Jesus’ work begins with the passage I read for us today.

Jesus teaches with authority, wowing everyone in the synagogue.

Suddenly, a man with an unclean spirit appears and cries out, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.”

Now, let’s stop right there for a minute and look at this a little more closely.

It’s interesting that the man with the unclean spirit appears in the synagogue. On the one hand, this might be a reminder, as if we needed one, that there are indeed unclean spirits in the church.

But it could also be a sign that the man with the unclean spirit knows that he needs help and so he goes to the one place, to the one person, who can help him.

I’m reminded of Pope Francis’ vision of the church as a field hospital, the place where the spiritually sick and wounded come for healing.

And the other thing about this scene is that, while the disciples often struggle to figure out exactly who Jesus is, and his own family worries that he has lost his mind, the unclean spirits – the demons – they know exactly who Jesus is:

The Holy One of God.

And so, Jesus performs his first sign in the Gospel of Mark. To everyone’s amazement, Jesus “rebukes” the unclean spirit, “Be silent, and come out of him!”

And this poor suffering man was restored to health.

I realize that all this talk of unclean spirits and exorcisms might make “modern, enlightened” people like us skeptical or nervous.

I feel the same way.

It’s true that people in ancient times had a much different understanding of illness.

  And it’s also true that we are in the middle of not just a Covid pandemic but also a mental health crisis, all requiring professional medical attention.

At the same time, I think we can all agree that there are certainly evil powers on the loose in the world - powers that tempt us to look away from our common humanity, to forget that we are sisters and brothers, meant to nurture God’s beautiful garden together.  

There are evil powers on the loose in the world – powers that drive us to selfishness, complacency, fear, and even violence.

And, unfortunately, because of movies and TV shows, we might think that we need some special training or that we need to use some kind of magic words and hand gestures or in order to cast out these demons.

But that’s not so.

Jesus was able to cast out the demons not because he knew the right words, but because of who he is: pure light, pure love.

It’s light and love that that cast out shadows and evil.

As St. Paul wrote to the Corinthians, “Love builds up.”

And, today, through us, the light and love of Jesus is still casting out unclean spirits, right here and right now.

For example, Triangle Park.

I have lived most of my life here in Jersey City, so by now, as they say, I go back quite a ways.

And, for as long as I can remember, Ferris Triangle Park, tucked away in the middle of Greenville, has been neglected – forgotten, really – seen as a problem, as a place beyond repair and redemption. For many years, the park and much of the neighborhood around it, was seen as the kind of place you should avoid if at all possible.

And all the many good people who lived around there were on their own, struggling to eke out a decent life for themselves and their families.

The park itself could barely be called a park, more like a paved-over patch of land, usually occupied by young guys dealing drugs not because it made them rich but because there really weren’t any better opportunities available. 

It’s an ongoing challenge for us to build relationships with those guys, to see if we might be able to help them find a better way of life.

But, despite the mess we made of Triangle Park, for reasons known to God alone, God sticks with us, working to cast out the unclean spirits from the garden – to cast out the unclean spirits from our hearts - inviting us still to be co-creators, to build the garden that was intended from the beginning.

As most of you know, a couple of years ago the Episcopalians of Jersey City took a risk and opened a storefront community center, right across the street from the park.

After a while, the center became a beacon of light and love in that long neglected place, and, almost without us realizing it, the restoration of the garden was underway.

Today the center is busy every weekday, providing food and diapers and formula, sharing needed information, and much more. It’s a place where all are welcomed as brothers and sisters, just as it was always meant to be.

Lately, I’ve been at Triangle Park several times a week delivering all sorts of donations that you, our parishioners, have given.

But, it’s not just parishioners.

The other day, Amy Wilson, a local artist and community leader, got in touch with me, asking if I knew anyone who needed diapers.

I said, I sure do. And, I’d be happy to come by and pick them up and take them to the center.

Well, she then asked me to meet her at a warehouse, which should have been my first clue that this was not going to be a typical donation.

She brought me to a storage unit, which contained a pallet of diapers, a pile of donations that she had collected from lots of generous people. My first thought was that my vintage Honda Fit was not going to be able to handle all of this. She asked for help from one of the workers who brought the machine that lifted the pallet, moved it to the freight elevator, and down to my car.

We loaded boxes of diapers into just about every square inch of the Fit except the driver’s seat, managing to get most, but not all, of them in.

When I got to the center, all of the men were elsewhere so two women and I carried the diapers from my car, and, you know, despite the cops in the squad car watching over this place where there has been so much violence and suffering, despite all of the sadness of our city and so many of its people, the three of us were so joyful, making all of those trips back and forth across Old Bergen Road, dodging cars and buses, carrying diapers, shining light and love.

When we were done, I took a minute to look at Triangle Park.

Largely thanks to the tireless advocacy of Grace parishioner, Episcopal Jersey City leader, and unstoppable force of nature, Joyce Davison, Triangle Park is being reborn.

A couple of weeks ago, the city erected a chain-link fence around the park, and removed all the old broken concrete and the scraggly half-dead trees. By now, everything is gone except the beautiful monument to the war dead.

This little triangle-shaped plot of God’s garden is about to be transformed into something beautiful – into land the whole community can use and be proud of – closer to what God has always intended.

The unclean spirits of fear and despair are being cast out – we are restoring the garden - not because of some kind of magical words, but thanks to the light and love of Joyce and the people at our center and others in the community.

Just like two thousand years ago, the unclean spirits are being cast out by the light and love of Jesus.

Amen.

Calendar Connections

Calendar Connections

 

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

About fourteen years ago, as my days of seminary preparation were drawing to a close, I turned my attention to finding my first job in the Church.  Here in the Diocese of Newark at that time, there was one full-time position open: curate (assistant priest) at Grace Church in Madison. 

I remember well the day I drove out to Madison for my interview with Grace’s then-rector, the Rev. Lauren Ackland. I was nervous and uncertain, not knowing what to expect. But after a few hours of talking with Lauren and several parishioners who would soon become dear friends, any concerns I had about fitting in at this vibrant suburban parish quickly evaporated. When it was almost time to go back home, dazzled by Grace's many ministries and its robust health, I asked Lauren, "Why do you think there is so much happening here?"

Looking back now, I'm a little embarrassed by that question. Just what did I expect Lauren to say? But, without giving it a moment's thought, she replied, "It's because of the weekday worship." I hoped my face didn't give away my surprise and even skepticism. Yes, sure, daily worship was the heartbeat of the seminary, designed in part to help train future "religious professionals." Could and would daily worship truly shape a parish's life? Surely there must be some other explanation!

During my years at Grace, I realized that Lauren was right (as usual). True, the vast majority of parishioners never attended a weekday service. Yet, there was a difficult to describe spiritual effect caused by worship occurring in that place every day of the year. Nearly always led by laypeople, these services bathed the church in prayer and helped to keep us connected to God between Sundays. 

When I arrived here at St. Paul's, we quickly created a weekday worship schedule, nowhere near as ambitious as at Grace, but still life-giving for our hearty band of lay leaders and worshippers. And I believe that, just like at Grace, this prayer rhythm touched all of us, keeping us connected to God and each other. Our weekday worship has somehow shaped us as a community: a people meant to be Christians every day of the week, not just on Sunday.

I had always hoped that someday we would expand our worship schedule to every day of the year. That hasn't happened. But during the pandemic, we have unexpectedly and wonderfully become a community of weekday worshippers, dialing in and praying together three times each weekday.

Now we get to hear way more Scripture than we ever have. I know that some of us take the time to learn about the holy women and men commemorated on the church calendar.  Maybe some of us reflect on how their lives and witness might inspire us to even greater faithfulness. Perhaps this sounds weird, but sometimes I find that even the church calendar itself - the schedule of feast days – helps me to connect the dots of the Christian life. For example, we began this week with a major feast, the Conversion of St. Paul. The Acts of the Apostles provides a vivid account of Paul's dramatic conversion on the road to Damascus, while the apostle himself is more circumspect about what was surely the most important event of his life.  However it happened, God was able to convert Paul from an oppressor of the Church to the most zealous of apostles, a man who spent the rest of his life urgently and courageously sharing the Good News.

The next day we commemorated two of St. Paul's companions, Timothy and Titus, giving us an important reminder that even the most devoted and capable Christians need company; God intends us to work together. Finally, on Wednesday, we celebrated Lydia, Dorcas, and Phoebe. These three holy women receive just passing mentions in the New Testament yet still offer us powerful models of Christian discipleship.  

I particularly love Lydia’s story. She was a Gentile, an apparently prosperous dealer of purple cloth. Perhaps because material wealth did not fully satisfy her, Lydia sought a relationship with Israel's God. One Sabbath, that search led to a riverbank where she encountered St. Paul. After God opened Lydia's heart to hear the apostle's message, she asked Paul to baptize her and her household right then and there. Tellingly, just after her Baptism, Lydia began her Christian life by extending hospitality to Paul and his companions, inviting them into her home.

This week the church calendar has connected so many dots of the Christian life. God calls us to conversion in ways that are usually subtle but sometimes quite dramatic. We are meant to be companions, to be people who break bread together, who share the joys and challenges of life. We are expected to proclaim the Good News to others, sometimes with words, but always through example and service. And, we are called to be hospitable, knowing that when we welcome others, especially people in need, we open the door to Jesus himself.

Call and Response

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

January 24, 2021

Year B: The Third Sunday after the Epiphany

Jonah 3:1-5, 10

Psalm 62:6-14

1 Corinthians 7:29-31

Mark 1:14-20

Call and Response

        If you were here last week, you may remember that we heard the story of God calling the boy Samuel, and the story of Jesus calling two of his disciples, Philip and Nathanael.

I talked about how God never gives up on seeking us out, calling to us, determined to find us, eager for our hearts to be one, which was God’s intention from the start.

God calls us to us until we are found.

And now today we continue that theme in our lessons from the Old Testament and the Gospel of Mark.

We continue that theme, but this week we shift our focus a little from God’s call - to our response.

I don’t know how familiar you are with the Book of Jonah, one of the most vivid and entertaining of all Bible stories, though one that often gets lumped in the children’s section, I guess because there’s an animal involved.

Anyway, a quick summary.

God calls to Jonah, giving him the mission to go to the great city of Nineveh, announcing that the city faces destruction unless the people change their ways.

Jonah hears God’s call just fine, but decides he really doesn’t want to do what God is calling him to do, thank you very much.

Maybe some of us can relate to that.

And, when you learn that Nineveh was the capital city of the Assyrian Empire, longtime foes of Israel, Jonah’s reluctance makes sense – and you also realize just how remarkable it is that this story is in Israel’s holy book.

Anyway, instead of going to Nineveh, Jonah heads in the exact opposite direction, trying to escape God’s call.

Maybe some of us can relate to that, too.

In Jonah’s case, he ends up on a boat, heading for as far away from Nineveh as he can get.

But God is nothing if not persistent.

God sends a storm. God really rocks the boat, terrifying Jonah’s shipmates.

Finally, Jonah admits that he is the cause of this terror and he tells his shipmates that they can calm the storm by to throwing him overboard. To their credit, the shipmates don’t really want to do that, but eventually the terror of the storm leaves them no choice.

So, Jonah is thrown overboard, where he spends three days and three nights in the belly of a big fish, giving him plenty of time to pray and, perhaps, to reflect on his life choices.

And that’s where we pick up today.

Jonah has been, um, released, by the fish, and now God sort of says to Jonah, “Let’s try this again, shall we?”

Although his heart isn’t really in it, this time Jonah does go to Nineveh and calls on the people of that great city to repent. And, surprisingly enough, and, frankly, to Jonah’s disappointment, the people from the king on down, they hear Jonah’s call – they hear God’s call to repentance - and they decide to change their ways.

And, we’re told that God changes God’s mind, and spares the city.

Among other things, the story of Jonah is a wonderful illustration of God’s persistence – yes, three days and nights in the belly of a fish does seem somewhat extreme, but God will use whatever tools are at hand to get through to us.

And the story of Jonah is also a reminder that we get to decide how we respond to God’s call – not just once, but again and again.

Call and response.

And then in today’s gospel lesson we heard the story of Jesus calling four more of his disciples, the two pairs of fishermen brothers – Peter and Andrew, and James and John.

Just like what we heard last week with Philip and Nathanael, the call and response seem to happen so very quickly. Somehow, these men – regular, hardworking men – are able to hear something in Jesus’ call that inspires them to change the course of their lives – no longer fishing for fish but now fishing for people.

I should mention that we do get a hint about the cost of answering that call. For a moment, stop and imagine poor Zebedee, watching with, what – shock, confusion, anger, devastation – as his sons James and John walk away from him, the future of his family and his fishing business suddenly much different than anyone had expected.

The quickness of these call stories bring to mind the great hymn, “I have decided to follow Jesus – no turning back, no turning back.”

And it might easy for us to assume that’s how it was for these first disciples, for Philip and Nathanael and for the fishermen brothers – they decided to follow Jesus and that was that – no turning back, no turning back.

Except, of course, we may not know much about the first disciples but we do know enough to know that, yes, they may have decided to follow Jesus but they messed up all the time – they turned away from Jesus and his message – and sometimes they even ran away from Jesus. 

And, each time they got off track, they had to decide again to follow Jesus.

Just think of James and John, a couple of simple fishermen who had some surprisingly ambitious ideas about where they wanted to sit in the kingdom – they so desired the places of honor – to be at the head of the table – although they must have heard Jesus say a million times that the true place of honor is the place of service.

Just think of Peter who messes up repeatedly and, finally, catastrophically, abandoning Jesus in his moment of need – and, not only that, denying that he even knew Jesus, not once, not twice, but three times.

Imagine the weight of Peter’s betrayal, the shame of his lies.

Yet, despite all of that, Jesus still called to Peter – and Peter decided to follow Jesus, again and again, to the end.

Call and response.

When we look back over our lives, we tend to remember the big moments of decision – perhaps moving to a new place or leaving one job and starting another – maybe finally working up the courage to ask the one we love for the commitment of a lifetime or choosing to end a union that is no longer healthy and life-giving.

After the events of the past few weeks, both destructive and hopeful, it’s hard not to think about the big moments of decision for our country – deciding who will lead us, deciding how we are to live together and among the peoples of the earth, deciding how we will care for the most vulnerable people.

And, yes, those big moments of decision are crucial, for sure, but the truth is that for all of us, and especially us Christians, it’s always decision time.

Every day, Jesus calls us to follow him – when we’re at work or school (or on Zoom while we're at work or school) or in the supermarket or driving down the road or sitting on the bus – when we’re deciding how we spend our time and how we spend our money – when we’re with the people we love or the people who are “Nineveh” for us, the ones we don’t like or trust at all - each moment presents a choice to follow Jesus or perhaps turn back, or maybe even sail in the opposite direction.

It’s always decision time.

Call and response.

Amen.

Found By God

The Church of St. Paul and Incarnation, Jersey City

January 17, 2021

Year B: The Second Sunday after the Epiphany

1 Samuel 3:1-20

Psalm 139:1-5, 12-17

1 Corinthians 6:12-20

John 1:43-51

Found By God

You know, one of my all-time favorite passages of Scripture comes right at the start, in the garden.

The first man and woman have done what’s really the most human thing of all. They have done the exact thing they were told not to do.

Suddenly equipped with unsettling knowledge, Adam and Eve are filled with the new and distressing emotions of shame and fear.

And they do what we do when we’re ashamed or afraid. They hide.  They even try to hide from God. 

And, in the most poignant moment, we’re told that God walks through the garden, looking for his beloved creatures, calling out to Adam and Eve, “Where are you?”

God has never stopped calling out to us, asking, “Where are you?”

And, God won’t give up until we are found.

Now, of course, God knows our precise location. That’s not what we’re talking about.

No, God seeks our hearts.

God wants us to be as close with God as we were always meant to be.

As the Psalmist writes, “Lord, you have searched me out and known me.”

Found by God.

Today’s Old Testament lesson and our Gospel lesson are both about God calling out and finding.

At the start of today’s Old Testament lesson from First Samuel, we are told that “The Word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.”

Perhaps, back in the days of old Eli and the boy Samuel, people were trying to hide from God, or had somehow closed their eyes and ears to God’s presence among them.

But, the boy Samuel, maybe because he was too young to hide or too innocent to shut his ears, the boy Samuel, he has no trouble hearing the voice of the Lord, although at first he mistakes it for the voice of old and blind Eli in the next room.

God calls, and the boy Samuel answers, “Here I am.”

Found by God.

And then, in today’s lesson from the Gospel of John, we have the story of Jesus calling two of his disciples, Philip and Nathanael, who also don’t hide and are willing to listen.

With almost comical brevity, Jesus “found” Philip and said to him, “Follow me.”

And so he does.

Found by God.

And then we’re told that Philip found Nathanael and said to him, “We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote…”

Nathanael is not as quick to follow, though. He’s skeptical of Philip’s claims when he hears that Jesus is from Nazareth.

Nathanael asks, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”

That may sound to us like Nazareth had a bad reputation, but Nathanael probably just meant that it was unlikely that anything great – let alone the long-awaited Messiah – could come from an out of the way, famous for nothing much, town like Nazareth.

Nathanael’s skepticism about Nazareth is a good reminder that God finds goodness and power in some of the most unlikely places, among some of the unlikeliest people.

It’s interesting to me that Philip says that they have found the one spoken about by Moses and the prophets, because, in fact, if you look at the story, it’s Jesus who’s doing the calling. Jesus is the one doing the finding.

The boy Samuel and the disciples Philip and Nathanael and so many others throughout the Bible, all of them were found by God.

Found by God.

And throughout history, there have been people who don’t hide, who hear God’s call, who allow themselves to be found by God.

This weekend we honor the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., someone who had imagined he might live his life in pretty safe places like a seminary or university, might spend his days in the relative ease of a church pulpit

Yet, just like the boy Samuel, and like Philip and Nathanael, a young Martin Luther King, Jr. heard the call of God to step out beyond the safe and the comfortable – to march into the mix – into the mess – of life in the America of the 1950s.

Found by God.

Dr. King heard God’s voice, following a call that took him from the relative obscurity of a church pulpit into the civil rights movement, stirring people’s imaginations and hopes, worrying lots of white people who felt he was moving too fast and causing too much trouble, while also frustrating some Black people who felt he was moving too slow.

Dr. King heard God’s voice, following a call that took him to embrace non-violence even in the face hatred and brutality, a journey that led him to oppose the war in Vietnam, and to embrace the plight of all poor people, no matter the color of their skin.

Dr. King heard God’s voice, following a call that took him to martyrdom, a fate he fully anticipated as a disciple of the crucified – and risen - Messiah.

Found by God.

And now here we are today, still somewhere in the middle of a deadly pandemic, the economy straining under unprecedented pressure, and most of our teachers expected to teach and our kids expected to learn by looking at screens all day.

Here we are today, coming to the end of four tumultuous years, less than two weeks after insurrectionists stormed the U.S. Capitol – some carrying crosses and singing Christian songs – some carrying “Blue Lives Matter” flags – some of those same people attacking law enforcement, even killing one officer – some of these same people seemingly determined to kidnap or kill our elected representatives, committed to overthrowing our government.

Here we are today, with our capital city heavily fortified ahead of Wednesday’s inauguration, and all across the country, governments and other institutions, including churches, prepare for the worst.

We could talk all day about how we got to this point. It’s a tragic story that stretches at least as far back to the arrival of the first enslaved Africans in this land in 1619 – the original sin of racism that should make all of us white people feel at least as ashamed as Adam and Eve.

What’s been happening over the past few years has been a great uncovering, a revelation of the ugliness we would have preferred to keep hidden, buried, not spoken about in polite company.

But, here we are today, and I don’t know about you, but it feels like we’re living back in the days of old Eli and the boy Samuel, when the Word of the Lord was rare and visions were not widespread.

Perhaps today, as in the days of Eli and Samuel, many are trying to hide from God, or somehow closing their eyes to God’s presence, closing their ears to God’s call – or maybe we’re just too exhausted and depressed to see and hear God at work.

But, just like the boy Samuel long ago, at least some of today's children have no trouble hearing the voice of the Lord.

In my weekly message, I wrote about the decision made by our Girl Scout troop to boycott this year’s cookie sale because they learned that the cookies are made with palm oil, which is often collected using child labor in faraway places like Malaysia and Indonesia.

We all know it’s cookie money that keeps Girl Scout troops going, and especially during a time when most organizations are cutting budgets and scrounging for every penny, this was a risky and courageous move by the girls and their leaders.

Something good has come out of Jersey City!

These girls followed God’s call to set aside safety and self-interest, and instead offer compassion, and insist on justice, even for people they don’t know and will probably never meet.

Found by God.

So, I don’t know what the future will bring, but I suspect there’s quite a lot of trouble ahead.

But, I know that God is still calling to us, “Where are you?”

And I know that God will not give up until God finds us.

Just like God found the boy Samuel, and Philip and Nathanael, and Martin Luther King, and, yes, a Girl Scout troop from Jersey City.

Amen.

Trust Renewed: The Cookie Boycott

Trust Renewed: The Cookie Boycott

 

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

 

Last Wednesday, after the violent storming of the U.S. Capitol, some of us gathered for an expanded "Church By Phone" service. Many of us were on the conference call as usual, and some joined us through Zoom. On that terrifying day, we included a couple of additional prayers, including the much-loved Prayer Attributed to St. Francis, and the less familiar Prayer for Our Country (found in the Book of Common Prayer on page 820). In the days since, we have continued to say both prayers and, even over the phone, I can tell that these words are touching our hearts.

 

In the Prayer for Our Country, we make a most timely request for God to "save us from violence, discord, and confusion; from pride and arrogance, and from every evil way." And, at the close of the prayer, we ask, "in the day of trouble, suffer not our trust in thee to fail." 

 

I admit that after all we have seen and endured in just the last week and a half, and fearing what is yet to come, my trust in God has sometimes faltered. Maybe the same is true for you. We ask, how much longer, Lord? And yet, in God's usual subtle way, there are small but powerful signs that God is still at work, shining light into the shadows, renewing our hope for a just and peaceful future.

 

For example, some of you know that we have been glad to host a Girl Scout troop for five or six years now, renewing an old tradition from both St. Paul's and Incarnation. Thanks to the dedication and persistence of leaders Gina Verdibello and Kellie Lewis, the troop has grown in size and scope. Like scouts throughout the decades, the girls have gained new skills and learned about their community and beyond. It has been so gratifying to see this program flourish.

 

Over just the last few days, many more people have learned about our Girl Scout troop. As you may have read in the Jersey Journal or seen on the news or on Facebook, our scouts have taken a strong and sacrificial stand for compassion and justice. It turns out that many of those delicious (and mildly addictive) Girl Scout cookies are made with palm oil. And palm oil is often produced by child labor in places like Malaysia and Indonesia. 

 

In a time with so much trouble and suffering, we might be inclined to simply regret this reality – just another sorrow in a world full of despair. And, since this wonderful program's financial health depends on the sale of cookies made with palm oil, we might be tempted just to look the other way or maybe try to rationalize the cookie sale. It is a good cause, after all.

 

Our scouts and their leaders chose the more challenging way, the faithful way, the way of compassion and justice. As one of the girls said, "There is no excuse for using child labor when you can pay legal adults to do the same work. Children should be in classrooms and not working on plantations." Recognizing a terrible injustice, our troop has joined a cookie boycott begun by one scout in Tennessee and now spreading through the country. What may have seemed at first to be a small and futile effort will no doubt lead to changes by the Girl Scouts and their cookie vendors, and might even lead to better lives for faraway children we will likely never meet, but who are our sisters and brothers.

 

Thinking about the sacrifice made by our Girl Scouts has renewed my trust that God is still at work in sometimes subtle but always powerful ways. And the stand taken by these girls, and the positive attention it’s attracted, has also made me more hopeful about the future. Like so many young people across the country, our kids envision a better world and are already speaking up and creating real change. So, no matter what happens in the days and weeks ahead, I'm not going to forget the cookie boycott. And, I'm going to keep my trust in our God who is hard at work, shining light into deep shadows, renewing our hope for a just and peaceful future.

Your brother in Christ,

 

Tom

Remembering Who We Are, Who We Are Meant To Be

The Church of St. Paul and Incarnation

January 10, 2021

Year B: The First Sunday after the Epiphany – Baptism of Our Lord

Genesis 1:1-5

Psalm 29

Acts 19:1-7

Mark 1:4-11

Remembering Who We Are, Who We Are Meant To Be

So, a number of years ago, I was born, born just about a mile east from where I am standing right now, born at the Margaret Hague Maternity Hospital.

A couple of things about that:

I don’t remember my birth, of course, but I know it happened because, well, I’m here. And, fortunately, there are a few people around who do remember my birth. And there is also a very official looking government document that records and affirms all the details of my birth.

Now, no offense to those of you who were born elsewhere, but Jersey City people know that being born in the Margaret Hague gives one a special kind of Jersey City credibility – no matter what I may do in my life, no matter where I may go, I’m really and truly from here.

This is who and what I am, no matter what.

Oh, and one other thing about my birth: through no choice of my own, through no merit of my own, at the moment of my birth, simply by being born where I was, I automatically became a citizen of the United States.

This is also who I am.

Then, a few months after my birth, I was baptized, baptized at St. Boniface Roman Catholic Church in Downtown Jersey City.

A couple of things about that:

I don’t remember my baptism but I know it happened because, well, I’m here. And, fortunately, there are a few people around who do remember my Baptism. And, there is also a very official looking church document that records and affirms all the details of my Baptism.

Just like for all of us, in the moment of my Baptism, God made a bond with me, a bond that cannot be broken no matter what I may or may not do, no matter where life takes me.

Oh, and one other thing about my Baptism: I had no say in it – as usual my parents knew what was best for me – but simply by being enrolled in this community of faith, through no effort or merit of my own, I became a citizen of the Kingdom of God.

This is also who I am.

As most of you Jersey City people know, the Margaret Hague Maternity Hospital later closed and was looted, sitting vacant and derelict for a long time. But, just a few years ago, it was restored and transformed into a fancy apartment building.

And, a while back, St. Boniface Church also closed and was also transformed into a fancy apartment building.

So, although I can stand outside the place of my birth and the place of my second birth, I can’t actually visit the precise locations, at least not without having some awkward conversations with people about why I’d like to see the inside of their apartments.

(“Yes, hi, I’m pretty sure that I was baptized in your kitchen…”)

Of course, fortunately, I don’t have to visit those exact locations in order to remember my two citizenships.

But, especially during these shocking and frightening days, it does take some effort to remember who I really am – who I am meant to be.

Remembering who we are – who we are meant to be.

After all we’ve been through, it may feel life a few months ago, but it was just a couple of weeks ago that we celebrated the birth of Jesus – and it was just last Sunday when we recounted the story of the wise men from the East following the star all the way to Bethlehem, where they found the newborn King in a most unlikely place.

As we talked about last week, there is danger lurking in this seemingly charming story, because King Herod was determined to snuff out this young royal life, this newborn rival, as quickly as possible.

And after he learned that the wise men had tricked him, Herod went on a murderous rampage, killing the children of Bethlehem, forcing the Holy Family to flee to Egypt, where they waited until it was safe to return home.

Eventually they do make it back to Nazareth, and then the New Testament is silent on all those years of Jesus’ youth and young adulthood, with the one notable exception of a story in the Gospel of Luke about the twelve year-old Jesus in the Jerusalem Temple.

Remember that one?

We’re told that after the Passover celebrations in Jerusalem, Jesus got separated from his family – or probably separated himself from his family - sending them into a panic, until after what must have been three days of frantic searching, they finally find him in the Temple, happily talking with the teachers. After he’s found, Jesus tells the people who love him so much, “Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?”

I always think that it’s probably for the best that Mary and Joseph’s response to that is left unrecorded.

This one story of Jesus’ childhood suggests that he had at least some idea of his special identity, but I think he probably grew up like most of the Jewish boys and young men of his time, following the Law of Moses, contributing toward the wellbeing of his family as soon as he was able.

Finally, after all those years that are lost to us, the story of Jesus resumes with what I read for us today: the Baptism of Jesus by John in the River Jordan.

Whatever he might have sensed or discovered before, it’s here in the baptismal water that Jesus knows for sure who he really is.

The Spirit descends on him like a dove and the voice from heaven declares, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

Like anyone baptized as an adult, Jesus has something of an advantage over those of us baptized as infants. He can actually remember his Baptism. But, I bet even for people baptized as adults, it’s still a challenge to remember, to hold on to the reality of that unbreakable bond with God, especially when times get tough.

For example, the Gospels of Mark, Matthew, and Luke all agree that right after his Baptism, Jesus endures the forty days and nights in the wilderness, where Satan will tempt Jesus to use his power – to use his identity – for his own benefit, and not for the wellbeing of the world.  

And, isn’t that always Satan’s temptation?

And then, after successfully resisting temptation, Jesus begins his ministry. He makes his way around Galilee and beyond, gathering a ragtag and often clueless band of disciples, teaching and healing, convincing some that the Kingdom of God was at hand, but failing to make the case to most people.

Throughout his ministry, I’m sure there were many times when Jesus had to remind himself – or had to be reminded - of his Baptism, remembering the voice from heaven:

“You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

And, at the end, or at what sure seemed like the end, after he was arrested like a common criminal, after he was abandoned by just about everybody, after he was tortured, and as he hung on the cross, feeling life drain away, I hope Jesus remembered his Baptism:

“You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

But, in those final moments of pain and despair, even if Jesus couldn’t remember, well, we know for sure that the Father did not forget.

Remembering who we are – who we are meant to be.

Last Wednesday was the worst day of our national life since September 11, 2001.

To repeat the metaphor from my weekly message, some toxic streams of our history – white supremacy, Anti-Semitism, a love of violence, profound ignorance – those terrible old streams crested at the United States Capitol.

You know, looking back at the last few years, something like the storming of the Capitol was probably inevitable.

For years now, not just one leader, but many of our leaders, have refused to use their power and responsibility for the wellbeing of all, especially the most vulnerable among us.

Instead, for years now, not just one leader, but many of our leaders, have sought to divide us – Red and Blue, Republicans and Democrats, whites and everybody else, citizens and those who desperately want to join us for freedom and a chance at a better life, just like my ancestors did just a few generations ago – making journeys that made possible a citizenship that I did nothing to earn.

  Many of our leaders, not just one leader, have sought to divide us for their own cynical reasons – insatiable greed and lust for power, wealth, and attention.

And they’ve also sought to divide us for reasons that they would be loathe to admit, and maybe even for reasons they can’t recognize  – fear and insecurity, a haunting sense of inadequacy and failure.

And, tragically, people all across our country – let’s be honest: white people, mostly - have been caught up in the frenzy, pinning the blame for all their troubles on the usual scapegoats: immigrants, Jews, the press – they’ve chosen to believe the most outlandish conspiracies, placing their trust in the least trustworthy people among us. 

Much of the Church has not distinguished itself during this time. Instead of siding with the poor and oppressed and despised – you know, Jesus’ people - much of the Church has given into the old temptation of worldly power, trying to justify, or turning a blind eye to, so much cruelty and suffering.

Every week here we pray for the children and parents separated at the border but the hard truth is that some of them will never be reunited.

Well, after years of this poison, thousands descended on Washington this past week – some looking like they just wanted to take selfies in the Capitol, while others were clearly equipped and willing to kidnap or kill. 

Some well-meaning people say this is not who we are.

        But, unfortunately, that’s just not true.

No, this is who some of us are, at least right now – but what we saw on Wednesday: the anger, hate, violence, and gleeful destruction - that’s not our true identity.

We need to remember who we are – who we are meant to be. 

It took us a long time to get into this mess, and there are no easy fixes for our predicament.

Today, as we are overshadowed by a cresting wave of fear and hate, the long and difficult way back to the Light is going to require courage and accountability and justice and repentance.

The long and difficult way back to the Light begins by remembering – by remembering who we are, who we are meant to be.

The long and difficult way back to the Light begins by remembering that no matter where we were born, we are human beings who all screw up, yes, some more than others, but for the most part we all need and want the same things – love, security, respect – though sometimes we are prevented from having those things, or we don’t know how to get them, or we go about getting them in destructive and self-destructive ways.

The long and difficult way back to the Light begins by remembering the words of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, “In a free society, some are guilty, but all responsible.” 

The long way back to the Light begins by remembering that we are all so deeply loved by God, loved by the God who makes an unbreakable, indissoluble, bond with us in the water of Baptism, the God who gives us Jesus, the Beloved, the Light that always shines, guiding us out of even the deepest shadows.

So, no matter what happens in the days and weeks ahead, remember who you are – remember who you are meant to be.

Amen.

Streams of History

Streams of History

 

When I taught history at St. Peter’s Prep in Downtown Jersey City, each year I took my U.S. History I classes on a field trip to an American Revolutionary War battle site. I’m sure that when my students first heard “field trip” they imagined that I’d hand out permission slips to be signed by their parents, and, someday soon, we would board a bus that would take us away from school for a day. So, there was perhaps some disappointment when I told them that they would need no permission slip because our “field trip” would take us… all of one city block.

 

When the big day arrived, we made our way over to the intersection of Washington and Grand Streets. An obelisk stands in the small park there, commemorating the Battle of Paulus Hook, where Redcoats and Patriots skirmished in 1779. We carried with us reproductions of old maps, helping us to situate the long-gone fortifications. The exercise required a lot of imagination because the landscape is so different from what it was in colonial times. Over the years, industrious people hungry for more land extended the shoreline to the east and filled in what had been marshland, burying all the many streams that flowed throughout the area.

 

Today those underground streams are invisible on the street level, but, as many homeowners in the Paulus Hook neighborhood know only too well, they are not gone. The streams continue to run below the surface, occasionally rising back up and doing considerable damage.

 

Now that we live during a time that historians will study closely,  I often find myself thinking back to my classroom days and reconsidering how I went about teaching the past. Thanks to textbooks and, really, our usual way of thinking, it’s almost unavoidable to think of history as having “chapters” with beginnings and endings. For example, each year in U.S. History I, I had the daunting challenge of teaching our country’s history from the “Age of Discovery” to the end of the Civil War. And I aimed to tell that long story in a way that was not just a meaningless list of names and dates, all the while encouraging my students to think critically. It was often fun, but it was a lot to cover! And, the last marking period was usually a mad dash to the finish line. Surrender at Appomattox! The Civil War is over! Lincoln is assassinated! Exam review! Have a good summer and good luck in U.S. History II!

 

Each year it sure seemed that one chapter had come to an end. Other chapters were about to begin. The only problem is that this is not how history works. It’s not how life works. Rather than a collection of chapters with beginnings and endings, history is more like a stream, or a collection of streams. At certain times, some streams flow stronger than others. Some streams may dry up. And, maybe most dangerous of all, some streams may be forced underground, but only for a time. Eventually, the pressure increases enough that, just like in Downtown Jersey City, the streams rise to the surface, wreaking havoc.

 

On Wednesday, it was shocking and frightening to watch insurrectionists, some carrying Confederate flags or wearing shirts bearing Anti-Semitic messages, storm the United States Capitol. Some of those people were buffoonish while others were serious and skilled, equipped for kidnapping and killing. The seeming ease by which they all entered what should be one of the most secure places on the planet raises many disturbing questions. The fact they were cheered on, at least for a time, by the President of the United States, would have been unthinkable to our country’s founders and all the presidents who have gone before. Yet, none of it should have surprised us, really.

 

The Civil War “ended” in 1865, but we all know that the toxic stream of racism and white privilege has continued to course through our land ever since, diverted into “Lost Cause” mythology, Jim Crow, the Ku Klux Klan, voter suppression, and all the rest. Maybe sometimes the stream has been mostly underground, collecting in places like the cesspools of the Internet, but it’s never been far below the surface.  And, sometimes, cynical politicians craving power have been eager to draw from this foulness, convinced that they would be able to cap it again when it’s no longer useful to them. Any student of history knows this is a serious, and potentially deadly, error.

 

It’s convenient for us to forget that many Americans of the 1930s, including some prominent and influential people, admired the Nazis, envying the exaltation of the “strongman,” pinning their troubles on the usual scapegoats, and supporting the oppression of Jews and other minority groups. When the U.S. entered World War II, and when the horrors of the Holocaust were exposed, that toxic stream may have seemed to dry up, but, in fact, it just seeped below the surface. For a while now, this contaminated water has bubbled back up, and it finally flowed into our capital city this week.

 

We know from nature, and maybe from our basements, the destructive force of water. But, at the same time, all life depends on water. And our Christian lives depend on water, too. This Sunday, we will celebrate the Baptism of Our Lord, recalling the day long ago at the River Jordan when God announced to Jesus, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” When we remember the Baptism of Jesus, we are called to remember also our own Baptism, the moment when we began to swim in the holy waters of love, faithfulness, service, and forgiveness.

 

These are grim days. While new leadership will undoubtedly bring some change, it will not be the end of one chapter and the start of another. No, the streams of history will continue to flow, some stronger than others, some more visible than others. So, especially in such a frightening time, when much ugliness that had been hidden has been exposed, I hope we will remember that we have been washed in the water of Baptism. There is no stream strong enough – there is nothing strong enough - to break the bond between God and us.

 

I have often said that the people of St. Paul and Incarnation have a special vocation. We are called by God to show the world that all different kinds of people can not only tolerate each other, not only live together in peace, but stand up for each other, truly love one another, no matter what. Our vocation has never been more important, more needed, than right now. And when we are faithful to our calling and when we join hands with other people of faith and goodwill, then together, with God's help, we can unleash a flood of goodness, making real the vision of the Prophet Amos:

 

 “But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”

Journeys of Faith and Hope

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

January 3, 2021

Year B: The Second Sunday after Christmas

Jeremiah 31:7-14

Psalm 84

Ephesians 1:3-6, 15-19a

Matthew 2:1-12

Journeys of Faith and Hope

        Happy New Year!

I don’t need to tell you that most of us were glad to see the old year finally come to an end. It was a hard year, and true to form, as many of you know by now, 2020 handed us one last loss.

On Christmas Eve, former longtime St. Paul’s parishioner Joyce Thorpe died.

I’m sure you St. Paul’s old-timers will agree that Joyce was just the loveliest person.

Joyce spoke with the most beautiful Barbadian lilt. She radiated love and kindness, and was especially concerned for the well-being of our church children – children who are by now all grown up, but no doubt changed forever by her care and interest.

When I remember Joyce, in addition to her goodness, I think back to how she could walk only with great difficulty, and, I assume, a lot of pain.

And, yet, week after week, she came to church, dragging herself up the short flight of steps into the sanctuary – and, later, pulling herself again, up the stairs to the altar rail where she reached out to receive the Body and Blood of Christ. 

Each week, Joyce made a journey – it may not have been very far by our standards – but, for her, it was an arduous journey – a journey she wouldn’t have missed for anything – a journey of faith and hope.

Journeys of faith and hope.

Peter Gomes, a preacher and theologian who was longtime minister at Harvard University, once wrote, “The land we seek is not behind us. It is before us, and that is the secret the Bible has always been willing to impart to those who would seek it.”

The story of the Bible, the story of God and us, is a story of journeys.

Over and over, God calls us to move from one place to another.

Sometimes, like when Abraham and Sarah are called to leave their home, trusting in God’s promise that they would produce multitudes, or when Moses is called to lead his people home, the journeys are far indeed.

And sometimes, like for our beloved Joyce, the journey is a short distance, at least in the eyes of the world.

And sometimes, the journey covers no physical space at all, like when people at odds finally reconcile, or when people turn away from self-destruction and choose healing and wholeness for themselves and those who love them.

Journeys of faith and hope.

Today as we approach the end of the Christmas Season, we heard about another journey – another journey of faith and hope - a famous journey – the journey of the mysterious wise men from the East, following a star, bearing gifts that they hope to present to the child who has been born king of the Jews.

In today’s Gospel lesson we hard the story of the Epiphany – when the good news of Jesus begins to spread beyond a small group of Jews, the first sign that Jesus is a gift for the whole world. 

Journeys of faith and hope often take us to unexpected places, and that’s definitely true for the wise men.

Looking for a newborn king of the Jews, they do the logical thing and head to the capital city, to Jerusalem. And there’s a king there, but he’s been around for a while, and whatever he might say out loud, he’s none too pleased to hear about the birth of a potential rival.

Journeys of faith and hope often take us to unexpected places, and the wise men end up in Bethlehem, discovering a scene that must not have looked very royal at all – just a seemingly ordinary woman and man and child, living in simple, if not primitive circumstances, and yet, despite this unlikely scene, they trust that the star has indeed led them to the right spot and present their gifts.

Journeys of faith and hope can be sometimes dangerous – dangerous for the wise men, who take another way home to avoid the furious Herod – and dangerous for Mary, Joseph, and the child, who will flee to Egypt, desperate to escape the same Herod who is definitely not interested in paying homage to the newborn king.

And, actually, if you stop and think about it, the whole Christmas story is a journey of faith and hope.

The journey began with Mary saying “yes” to the angel, and Joseph choosing to stand behind her, despite what must have been a great cost to himself.

The journey continues from Nazareth to Bethlehem, the journey from promise to fulfillment – there really is a newborn child – and if he really is who the angel said he would be, well, then everything is about to change.

And, I may be stepping out onto theological thin ice here, but isn’t this a journey of faith and hope for God, too?

Entering into our flesh and blood world in a way different than what God had ever done before – trusting that Mary and Joseph would nurture this holy but completely dependent life – hoping that someday people would hear the message that the kingdom was near – anticipating the day when heaven and earth would be reconciled at last.

Journeys of faith and hope.

“The land we seek is not behind us. It is before us…”

And, you know, come to think of it, we here at St. Paul and Incarnation have been on a journey of faith and hope these past few years, haven’t we?

In some ways it feels like we’ve been together forever, but it’s good for us to remember that, in fact, we’ve come a long way in a pretty short time.

It was just a few years ago that we were two churches, separated by a few blocks and quite a bit of not so good history – two churches beginning to celebrate together a little more – holy days and picnics in the park – two churches that, maybe without quite realizing it, embarked on a journey of faith and hope.

It was a journey that had some dangers. Would we be welcomed? Would we be welcoming? Would we manage to hold onto our individual histories and identities while at the same time creating something new, and possibly even more beautiful than what was before?

And then this past year, our journey took an unexpected turn.

Just as we had pretty much gotten used to being together, just as we were working on the legalities that would make our union official, our world was turned upside-down by the pandemic, our church was shocked by closed doors, and stunned by the loss of one of our greatest leaders, Sidney King.

Yes, for nearly a year now – with many of us barely leaving our homes – we have been on a journey of faith and hope.

We’ve been using prayer and technology to stick together as close as we can, trusting that God is with us even when – especially when – we can’t see the way forward, knowing that God is not going to let go of us, no matter how unlikely the scene looks, no matter if Herod is on the rampage, no matter if every step pains us so much.

A hard year has finally come to an end, but not before it handed us one last loss.

For our dear sister Joyce Thorpe, the journey has come to an end.

She has returned to the God who dreamed her up in the first place – the God who upheld her throughout her life – the God she loved and served her whole life - the God who fed her right here – the God she journeyed toward every single day.

But, like for the wise men and the Holy Family long ago, for us the journey of faith and hope continues – a journey that will no doubt take us to some unexpected places, with some dangers, and many blessings, along the way.

So, as a new year begins, and not knowing what is yet to come, we head out together, trusting God, and remembering that, “the land we seek is not behind us. It is before us…”

Amen.