Jesus Is Praying Beside Us

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

May 12, 2024

Year B: The Seventh Sunday of Easter

Acts 1:15-17, 21-26

Psalm 1

1 John 5:9-13

John 17: 6-10

Jesus Is Praying Beside Us

        Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Here in church, especially when things really click, we get a little glimpse, a small foretaste, of heaven.

Last Sunday’s 10:00 service was one of those times.

We baptized a beautiful and happy baby, radiant little Phoebe, with a church full of people serving as her witnesses, promising to be her spiritual supporters, celebrating as she was grafted onto the True Vine of Jesus, forever.

I mean, a Baptism alone would have been enough, right?

But there were also so many people here, people we’ve known forever, people we only recently met, and people here for the first time.

The music was gorgeous as always.

We acknowledged our impressive young people who are graduating this year.

We celebrated the goodness of creation - yes, even the rainy days that spoil our plans.

We grieved with those who’ve lost a loved one.

We gathered at the Table, receiving the Bread and the Wine, becoming one with Jesus.

We had cake to celebrate our grads – and it was delicious!

And, of course, we prayed.

We prayed a lot, actually.

We prayed for the sick and the dead, and we prayed for peace, peace in our broken and bloodstained world, peace in our own communities and homes.

Last Sunday really gave us a glimpse, a foretaste of heaven - all of us together, singing, one with Jesus, eating dessert, and praying.

Then, a few days after our Sunday celebrations, we had another near-heavenly encounter.

This one was smaller and quieter. It was just five of us gathered in the Old School Building on Thursday morning to celebrate Ascension Day.

According to St. Luke, forty days after the Resurrection, Jesus gathered one last time with his disciples and he was then “lifted up and a cloud took him out of their sight.”

And so, every year, forty days after Easter, the Church remembers and celebrates this mysterious event that is depicted in the beautiful stained glass behind me.

As Jesus vanished from their sight, the still-traumatized disciples must have felt abandoned yet again. 

But it’s not true.  They – we – are not abandoned.

We are given the Holy Spirit to guide us.

But we’ll talk about that next week.

And we’re also not abandoned because we still have Jesus.

        Jesus prayed a lot during his earthly lifetime – we heard one of his most intense prayers in today’s gospel lesson – and Jesus is still praying. 

You know, I’m just like you. I don’t always remember the sermons that I’ve heard.

Sometimes I don’t even remember my own sermons!

But one sermon – or at least one part of a sermon – that I do remember is the one preached by the bishop when I was ordained a deacon.

He spoke directly to the four of us being ordained that day and he said:

“We pay you to pray.”

Honestly, in the moment, I wasn’t sure what I thought about that statement.

“We pay you to pray.”

And all these years later, I’m still not sure.

But obviously, I’ve never forgotten it.

In fact, I’ve thought about those words many times over the years, especially when, probably like a lot of you and, I bet, if they’re being honest, like a lot of other clergy, too, I haven’t carved out enough time to pray – there’s always so much stuff to do! 

        I’ve thought about the bishop’s words – “We pay you to pray” - when my prayers have seemed weak or halfhearted - when I’ve been distracted or anxious, just not paying as much attention as I should.

I think, “They’re really not getting their money’s worth.”

Sometimes, I just throw in the towel and say to myself, oh, I’ll get back to praying later, when things have quieted down – although, in my heart, and as the wardens and church staff and anyone who reads the announcements knows, things around here never seem to really quiet down.

But, fortunately, sometimes I remember that it’s not all about me, it’s not all on me.

        God already knows what’s in my heart, knows me better than I know myself. 

        And, not only that, but Jesus in heaven is praying – praying with more power and honesty and insight than I’ll ever be able to muster.

And so, when my prayers seem to be going nowhere, I try to imagine Jesus praying beside me.

And sometimes, I sort of hand things over to Jesus, asking him to take the prayers that I want to say, that I wish I could say, and offer them on my behalf.

We pray to Jesus.

Jesus prays for us.

And Jesus even prays beside us.

Which is a very good thing because, especially these days, we certainly need prayer, don’t we?

One of the great privileges and heavy responsibilities of being a professional pray-er is that people often share with me their most cherished hopes and deepest fears.

And, yes, of course, I’m often asked to pray - pray for this person I love so much, pray that this estrangement can end, pray that she finds a job, pray that I find the strength to face this awful thing, pray that I make the right decision, pray that the doctors can figure out and fix whatever’s wrong with me, pray that I can forgive, pray that he stops drinking.

        Please pray.

The bishop was right. You really do pay me to pray.

And, lately, the prayer requests have been really pouring in.

It’s a hard time for many of us and, I won’t run down the list, but we all know that it’s a hard time for our land and for the world.

So, as always, but especially in a time of trouble, this is the place to be, the place to belong – this is the place where we get a glimpse, a foretaste, of heaven.

And, whether you’re getting paid for it or not, this is a good time to pray – to pray for new life, pray for the sick and the dying and the dead, pray for the church, pray for peace around the world and in our own communities and homes.

Yes, our prayers may falter, may seem to be just not enough.

        But don’t worry about that.

        Remember that the ascended Jesus is praying for us in heaven.

        Remember that Jesus is praying beside us.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

Holy Weaving

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

May 21, 2023

Rogation Sunday

Deuteronomy 11:10-15

Psalm 147:1-13

Romans 8:18-25

Mark 4:26-32

Holy Weaving

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

This past Thursday morning, a faithful little band of parishioners gathered in the Old School Building for Morning Prayer.

We do this every week, but this particular Thursday was different because, in our modest but beautiful way, we were observing one of the great feasts of the church year: Ascension Day.

Set forty days after Easter, on Ascension Day we remember that the Risen Christ entered heaven.

This is one part of our faith that troubles a lot of modern people – a line in the Creed that many of us try to say without giving it too much thought. After all, unlike people two thousand years ago, we have a pretty good idea of what’s up there.

On the other hand, over and over, science has shown that reality is way more complex and downright weirder than we had thought – in the universe things are not always as they seem, and there’s so much we just don’t know.

Anyway, setting aside our modern skepticism, the Ascension is both beautiful and important:

Our brother Jesus – not just his spirit, but his body – has entered heaven.

Among other things, the Ascension reminds us that the here and now – the physical world, all of it, very much including our flesh and blood, is of infinite and eternal value – beloved by God.

This should not come as news to us because God’s love for the world runs through our entire tradition.

At the beginning, God declared the creation to be good – not just good but very good.

And God sent Jesus into the world not to condemn the world but because God loves the world and wants to save it – all of it.

God wants to restore and renew the world – not just once but over and over again.

Many of us have experienced this holy restoration and renewal in our own lives – times when all hope seems to be lost and yet we find unexpected grace and strength and love.

And if we take the time to look around, we can see that God has woven restoration and renewal right into the fabric of creation.

For example, you may remember that about a month ago there was a frightening and destructive wildfire over at Soldier’s Delight, a nature preserve not far from here. The fire forced neighbors to evacuate their homes for a time, a fire that required the skill and courage of many firefighters to extinguish.

There was a lot of initial sadness and concern about the loss of wildlife, but did you see what happened almost immediately? Native plants and grasses began to sprout. God’s renewal and restoration is now well underway.

Just one example of how God has woven restoration and renewal right into the fabric of creation.

Today we are celebrating Rogation Sunday – the name comes from a Latin word meaning “to ask.” On Rogation days, we ask God to bless our land – and we get reminded that we are called not to rule over the earth but to care for it – to be good stewards of all that has been entrusted to us.

God has woven restoration and renewal right into the fabric of creation.

And God invites us to assist with this holy weaving.

And, even when creation has taken a beating by our pollution and neglect, if we do our part as God’s assistant weavers, well, the results are just astonishing.

Like, just a couple of weeks ago, there was a story in the paper that otters have been seen frolicking in the increasingly clean Jones Falls, near Mt. Washington, within the Baltimore city limits.

Otters!

This wonderful return of the otters didn’t just happen, of course – it’s the result of people – including some of our people - fighting the good fight to clean the streams that flow into the falls, to address toxic runoff, to work as God’s assistant weavers, renewing and restoring creation.

The other day, I read about an amazing park in Berlin, Germany that perfectly illustrates this holy partnership between God and us. 

After a once busy rail yard was abandoned, hundreds of species of plants and animals, including many that were endangered, moved right in. This renewal on what must have been heavily polluted land was totally unplanned, which has made it biologically diverse and amazingly successful.

And now, people care for this spontaneous park. They’ve constructed elevated walkways so that visitors can enjoy the beauty of the park without disturbing the plants and animals that thrive there.

God has woven restoration and renewal right into the fabric of creation. And God invites us to assist with this holy weaving.

In my nearly two years here, I seem to have developed a reputation as someone who likes the church to be busy.

I prefer “active,” but I’ll own that.

But when I first realized all that we had packed into today – Rogation Sunday, the Baptism of young Charles Joseph Worthington, the recognition of our graduates (over 20 of them!), and the opportunity for some of our lay leaders to add their signatures to the book that has been signed by leaders of this church stretching all the way back to the 1700’s, and this evening the choir and I are going to Blakehurst to offer a Vespers service – when I realized all that we had packed into today, well, even I thought that maybe we were overdoing it!

But as I reflected on all this wonderful activity, I thought, you know, there is a whole lot of holy weaving going on here at St. Thomas’.

The people of this church have always cared for this land but in recent years we’ve been even more intentional about looking at our environmental impact and taken steps - like planting trees - toward being better stewards – small steps, maybe, but we know that God specializes in starting as small as a mustard seed and growing something amazing.

Baptism is the sacrament of renewal. The way we do it here is very elegant and refined but make no mistake, in the water of Baptism, Charles will go down to the depths and rise again, starting out on a new life with Christ, invited by God to be an assistant weaver, and guided by all of us along the way.

And, whatever their age and no matter what degree they’ve earned, graduates are meant to use their learning not just to better themselves to but to serve others, doing their part, with God’s help, to weave back together what has been ripped apart by suffering, ignorance, and greed.

And music – does anything renew our hearts better than beautiful music sung by people with faith and love and so much talent?

And our leaders – we are incredibly blessed by generous, dedicated, and wise leaders – our leaders have signed up to do some serious weaving here at St. Thomas’ – weaving together our increasingly diverse strands, helping to create an even stronger fabric, strong enough to endure whatever the future may bring.

My goodness – this is a lot – but I hear God speaking through all of it.

Because God loves the world. 

God has woven restoration and renewal right into the fabric of creation. And God invites Charles, and all of us, to assist with this holy weaving.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

Our Essential Oddness

The Church of St. Paul and Incarnation, Jersey City

May 16, 2021

Year B: The Seventh Sunday of Easter

Acts 1:15-17, 21-26

Psalm 1

1 John: 5:9-13

John 17:6-9

Our Essential Oddness 

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Well, once again we find ourselves living in an in-between time and an in-between place.

As you are well aware, on Thursday, the CDC surprised and also confused a lot of us by loosening many of the Covid restrictions that we have been living with for these many months.

For those of us who have been vaccinated, the CDC declared that we no longer need to wear masks outside and in many cases even inside, although Governor Murphy disagreed about that. And, we’ll be keeping our masks on in church at least for a while.

The CDC announcement came on Thursday, which was also my birthday, and it kind of felt like the whole city was celebrating with me – there were so many people out and about, reveling in the chance to see full faces, and even to hug people we love.

But, we’re not quite there, yet, either – wherever “there “ is. Many of us are understandably cautious, knowing only too well that Covid can come raging back, sending us back behind our masks and into lockdown.

An in-between time and place.

And, here at St. Paul and Incarnation, we’re in an in-between time and place, too.

Some of us are back in church this morning and I’m back in this old familiar pulpit, which means more to me than I can say.

At last, we’re back in our beautiful church able to see each other in person – able to pray together – able to extend a wave of peace to each other – able to receive Holy Communion, at last.

But, things are not as they were in the “before time” – lots of limitations are still in place, and many of our parishioners have chosen to stay home and still participate over Facebook.

An in-between time and place.

And, Sue and I and all of you are in an in-between time, and place too.

Our Sundays together have dwindled to a precious few.

I’m trying to tie up loose-ends here so I can leave the church in the best possible shape for my successor, and I’m also getting ready to move (well, maybe thinking about getting ready to move) and I’m looking ahead to St. Thomas’ and beginning to make some decisions about my next chapter.

Meanwhile, your wardens and vestry are hard at work on the transition, preparing for the first weeks after I’m done, looking ahead to the exciting and challenging next chapter in the story of St. Paul and Incarnation.

Finally, all of us Christians are in an in-between time and place, too.

On Thursday, we celebrated (on the phone, anyway) Ascension Day – the fortieth day after Easter when we recall the ascension of Jesus into heaven.

We’ve begun a ten-day stretch of in-between time – it must have been really strange and unsettling for the first disciples – a strange and unsettling stretch of in-between time after Jesus’ ascension and before the dramatic arrival of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost.

An in-between time and place.

For the past few Sundays our gospel lessons have been taken from a part of the Gospel of John that’s often called the “Farewell Discourse.”

The setting is the Last Supper, but really the Farewell Discourse is a long monologue by Jesus.

It includes teachings, like when Jesus describes himself as the vine and we are the branches.

It includes commands, “Love one another as I have loved you.”

And, it includes a prayer from Jesus to the Father, a prayer that the disciples and we get to overhear.

As you probably noticed, it’s a dense text, but if you pay attention you realize that Jesus is in an in-between time and place, too. In a way, he has already gone to the Father and left us behind, but at the same time he is also still here with us, giving us some final, most important instruction.

And, here’s what I really want to talk about: in today’s selection from the Farewell Discourse, Jesus points out that we his followers are in – you guessed it - an in-between time and place. 

Jesus prays about us, “They do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world. Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth. As you have sent me into the world, so I have sent them into the world.”

That’s the thing about the Christian life: we are very much in the world with all of its beauty and all of its trouble, but we do not belong to the world.

We are in the world but we are not to be of the world.

Or, to put it another way, if we’re living pretty much like everybody else, then we are not faithfully following the way of Jesus.

Which reminds me of one of my favorite books. It’s called Resident Aliens. In it, the authors make the case that the Church has gone off the rails because it has forgotten this key point – we are in the world but we are not of the world – we’re not supposed to live like everybody else.

They argue that we need to recover our essential…oddness.

Here’s what they write, “We believe that many Christians do not fully appreciate the odd way in which the church, when it is most faithful, goes about its business. We want to claim the church’s ‘oddness’ as essential to its faithfulness.”

Our essential oddness.

But, let’s face it, it takes courage to be odd. It’s much easier, far safer, to go along and get along, to keep our heads down, and just live like everybody else.

During this in-between time, some of us have been looking into the history of the Episcopal Church in Jersey City – and you’ll see some of the first fruits of that work next Sunday.

As we’ve talked to longtime parishioners and dug into our records we’ve learned a lot – some of it beautiful and wonderful – the way people found a strong sense of community in our churches – the way the church really was the center of people’s lives – the way clergy and lay leaders offered wisdom and compassion to the congregation.

But, back in the “good old days” the church was very much part of the establishment – it was expected that pretty much everyone went to church – and often the church simply went along with the culture of the time, including racism. Because the church was such a normal part of life, it lost its essential oddness.

So, in the case of Grace Van Vorst, it bears the name of a family that enslaved people, and the church building sits on land donated by that family.

Here at St. Paul’s, Susan has dug into our old registers and seen that parishioners used to be identified by their race – just like they would have been out in the world.

And then, there’s the “original sin” of Jersey City Episcopalianism, the fact that people of color were generally not welcome in our churches, the sin that necessitated the founding of Incarnation, where Black people could worship in peace.

Back then I’m sure there were people who were not happy about this state of affairs, but my sense is most people liked the idea that people had their own churches, or simply accepted it as the way of the world – which, of course, it was.

But, we are meant to be different.

We are meant to be in the world but not of the world.

We are meant to be odd!

Our essential oddness.

And, during this in-between time, when I look back at what we have done together, with God’s help, at our best we’ve been odd.

It is odd to open our doors to anyone who wants to join us, all different kinds of people, some people we like, some we’re not so sure about, some maybe we don’t like at all.

It is odd to invest a lot of time and money into community suppers where we throw open the doors to anyone who is hungry for good food, anyone who longs for community – and it’s even odder that we ended up mostly feeding people who were not our parishioners.

It is odd to walk the streets of Jersey City on Good Friday, praying at places that the world sees as God-forsaken, sprinkling Holy Water to restore God’s good earth that has been stained by violence.

It is odd to put in a ton of work to transform our parish hall into a residence for families who have no other place to live, taking the time to get to know them, to play with the kids, and also to give them the space and privacy that we all crave.

It is odd to invest a ton of money into a community center in a neighborhood that the city has written off for decades as unsalvageable, as not worth the effort. It is odd to dream that a paved-over park occupied by drug dealers could ever be transformed into something beautiful for the neighborhood.

It is odd to open our doors to people from faraway lands, people the world teaches us to fear and despise. It is odd to offer them not a cage but a gorgeous Lighthouse, built by faith and love.

And, it is odd to look into our own past – the good and not so good – acknowledging the failures of our spiritual ancestors and also our own shortcomings, promising to be even more faithful in the future.

Our essential oddness.

So, here we are my fellow “resident aliens,” my odd brothers and sisters.

Here we are, once again in an in-between time, once again in an in-between place.

Like the first disciples we may be feeling uncomfortable, confused, frightened.

But, Jesus is praying for us just as fervently as Jesus prayed for us two thousand years ago – praying that we don’t forget that we are in the world but not of the world – praying that we remember – and even celebrate – our essential oddness.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

God Gives Us Some Space

St. Paul’s Church in Bergen, Jersey City NJ

May 28, 2017

Year A: The Seventh Sunday of Easter

Acts 1:6-14

Psalm 68:1-10, 33-36

1 Peter 4:12-14; 5:6-11

John 17:1-11

God Gives Us Some Space

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            You may remember that a couple of weeks ago I mentioned how my oldest friend’s mom, after years of grueling cancer treatments, decided to enter hospice, where over very difficult days, her life drew to a close.

            Obviously, as many of us know only too well, the death of a loved one is a heartbreaking experience.

            And, it can be particularly hard for children who may never have faced death before and now have to grapple with the reality that our lives here on earth don’t go on forever, that people in our lives will die, no matter how much we wish otherwise, no matter how much we love them.

            Not easy.

            In the case of my friend, he and his wife brought their young daughters to the hospice to see their grandmother one last time.

            Their older girl, about 5 ½ years old seems to have understood just enough of the seriousness of the situation to be frightened by what she saw, choosing to stay in the hallway, sneaking an occasional peek into the room where her grandmother would die.

            I had lunch with my friend last Monday when he told me an amazing follow-up to this story.

            Not long after her visit to the hospice, his daughter asked her parents if she could watch again the movie, Inside Out.

            If you haven’t seen it, you really should.

            It’s an extremely clever and deeply moving (you’ll need tissues) animated movie about a little girl named Riley who has an idyllic childhood until her family moves from Minnesota to San Francisco. After leaving behind almost everything and everyone she knew, Riley struggles to adjust to her strange new surroundings.

            I’m sure quite a few of us can relate to that experience.

            What’s most clever about the movie is that most of it takes place in Riley’s head as five personified emotions – joy, sadness, anger, fear, and disgust – try to help her adjust to her new reality.

            So, a couple of remarkable things: my friend’s daughter remembered seeing the movie months earlier and recognized that she was going through an experience not so different from young Riley in the movie, trying to make sense of a new reality.

            And, here’s the thing: she asked to see the movie alone.

            When I heard that, I wondered what I would have done as a parent. I suspect I would have said, no, no, let’s watch this movie together as a family, thinking that it we’d better keep an eye on our daughter and make sure she’s OK.

            But, my friends wisely and lovingly allowed her to watch alone, gave her some space to face her own powerful emotions, to take a big step toward growing up.

            And, you know, that choice to give a little girl some space to figure it out on her own reminded me of God.

            You’ve heard me talk about God’s presence.

            I firmly believe that God is present all the time in our lives, especially here in this holy place, in Scripture, in our extended hands of peace, in the Bread and the Wine, in the service we offer to others, in all of it.

            God is present, but God isn’t some “helicopter parent” smothering us with anxious love, solving all of our problems for us, preventing us from ever really growing up.

            No, God gives us some space.

            I think that God must have given us space right from the start.

            Mystics have imagined that right at the moment of creation, God had to withdraw a little bit so that a real universe, a real world could develop - a real world where our choices have consequences, a real world where we’re given the opportunity to use our minds and our emotions to make our way through life, a real world where life is so precious and sweet precisely because it doesn’t last forever.

            God gives us some space.

            God gave us some space at the start of creation and God gives us space when the Risen Christ ascended into heaven, leaving his dazzled friends staring up into the sky with, I always imagine, their mouths hanging open.

            No longer seeing the Risen Christ in the flesh the way the first disciples did, gives us some space to grow up and be who we really are – to be the Body of Christ in the world.

            We have some space to be the Body of Christ in the world, pouring out love to one another, especially the people that the world dismisses as having not much value, the people that the world looks at as nobodies, even the people the world teaches us to fear and hate.

            We have some space to be the Body of Christ in the world, offering a different vision than what’s on the news or on the street, offering a downside-up vision of a world where the most blessed are the poor, those who hunger and thirst, those who mourn.

            We have some space to be the Body of Christ in the world, not judging people based on their looks or their bank account or their politics or their religion or lack thereof or even the worst thing they’ve ever done, not judging people at all.

            Yes, like my friends allowing their daughter to watch the movie alone, God gives us some space.

            But, of course, God doesn’t ever abandon us.

            As that little girl watched that movie, her parents were just down the hall.

            And, in the same way, the Holy Spirit, which we will especially celebrate next week, the Holy Spirit is always with us, pouring out grace, giving us strength and wisdom, helping us as we try to make sense of a real world filled with both sadness and joy, and as we try to make sense of our own hearts bubbling with very real and powerful emotions.

            God gives us some space, but the Holy Spirit is with us, as we, no matter how old we are, do the hard but necessary work of growing up.

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Amen.

           

Not Belonging to the World

St. Paul’s Church in Bergen, Jersey City NJ

May 17, 2015

Year B: The Seventh Sunday after Easter

Acts 1:15-17, 21-26

Psalm 1

1 John 5:9-13

John 17:6-19

Not Belonging to the World

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            This past Thursday morning a handful of us gathered here to celebrate Ascension Day, a principal feast of the church that commemorates Jesus’ ascension into heaven forty days after Easter.

            Ascension Day marks a momentous turning point for us Christians.

            Jesus is no longer physically present here in the world.

            Actually…that’s not exactly true.

            Jesus does remain physically present in the world in and through us – in through the Church, the Body of Christ in the world.

            And, of course, Jesus remains physically present in his Body and Blood that we receive each time we gather at the Lord’s Table.

            Today’s passage from the Gospel of John is part of a long section of that gospel called the Farewell Discourse – it’s Jesus’ long good-bye to his disciples at the Last Supper.

            Jesus knows he is about to be arrested and killed and so knowing that time is short he wants to get through to his disciples what’s most important.

            The section we heard today comes from near the end of the Farewell Discourse.

            Jesus prays to God the Father, thanking God for the disciples who have believed that Jesus came from the Father.

            In his prayer it sounds like Jesus is ascending – or has already ascended.

            And, in Jesus’ prayer there is a lot of talk about the world.

            Jesus says that he does not belong to the world – and in fact is no longer in the world.

            Jesus says that the disciples also don’t belong to the world – but, of course, they – and we – are very much still in the world.

            We Christians are in the world but don’t belong to the world.

            Or, at least that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

            If you follow the news, you may know that this past week there was a lot of talk about the state of Christianity here in the United States.

            Christianity has been in decline in Europe for decades but the United States has remained a solidly Christian country, at least in name.

            For a very long time a very high percentage of Americans have identified themselves as Christians and have said they go to church, at least sometimes.

            But, that’s changed – and continues to change.

            According to a report released this past week by the Pew Research Center, 71 percent of American adults identified as Christian, a decline of 5 million adults and 8 percentage points lower than another Pew study in 2007.

            And, let’s be honest, we know that 71 percent is a highly inflated number.

            The Christian decline is happening across the country in most denominations especially among young adults who don’t seem very interested in getting involved with organized religion, especially Christianity.

            Instead, these young people are content to remain unaffiliated – to be spiritual but not religious.

            And, here’s something else to think about: at least a quarter of the people who were raised Christian have left the faith. Nineteen percent of all American adults are ex-Christians.

            Needless to say, this report generated a lot of talk – and anxiety – in church circles.

            So, why are people leaving the church and abandoning the Christian faith?

            It’s complicated – but I think a major factor is that all too often we Christians have failed to be who Jesus says we are – we have failed to be who we are supposed to be – we have failed to be who we really are.

            All too often, we have been in the world and we have belonged to the world.

            The truth is that, all too often there has been little or no difference between the way we Christians behave and the way the world behaves.

            And, I’m not just talking about those so-called Christians with their hateful signs picketing funerals of soldiers and celebrities – and I’m not just talking about the fakes on TV offering to heal and bless in return for a donation – all major credit cards accepted.

            No, I’m not talking about them. I’m taking about us.

            In many ways St. Paul’s is a most amazing church – and you know I love it and I love you – but the sad truth is all too often there’s been very little difference between the way we behave here and the way world behaves out there.

            All too often, we have been in the world and we have belonged to the world.

            And, I’m right there with you.

            If I’m honest, I have to acknowledge that all too often I belong to the world, too – quick to judge and slow to forgive; concerned too much about my own wants, comfort and security; annoyed by and suspicious of people looking for help.           

            All too often you and I have been in the world and we have belonged to the world.

            No wonder people – especially young people who can smell a phony a mile away – no wonder they ask why in the world they should get up early on Sunday and go to church – no wonder that people ask what’s the point of our Christian faith if we live pretty much like everybody else.

            No wonder so many have become unaffiliated – have become ex-Christians.

            But…there’s good news. And the good news is that Jesus hasn’t stopped praying for us – and never will stop praying for us.

            Jesus knows the world is a dangerous place and it’s so easy for us to get seduced by its false and destructive values.

            Jesus hasn’t stopped praying for us – praying that we who are in the world will not belong to the world – praying that we will give generously – that we will finally remember to bring an item for the food pantry - praying that we will welcome the stranger – praying that we will be one as he and the Father are one – praying that we will sacrifice – praying that we’ll quit judging and forgive easily – praying that we will welcome those in need as if they were Jesus himself.

            Jesus has ascended into heaven.

            We are the Body of Christ in the world.

            And, with Jesus praying so hard for us, we Christians can, at last, be in the world but not belong to the world.

            And, then people – including at least some of those ex-Christians and the unaffiliated – just might look at us and say…

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Amen.

The Body of Christ

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
June 5, 2011

Year A: The Seventh Sunday of Easter
Acts 1:6-14
Psalm 68:1-10, 33-36
1 Peter 4:12-14, 5:6-11
John 17:1-11

The Body of Christ

Each year the Church invites us to celebrate and reflect on the story of Jesus’ Ascension. But, we can’t really talk about the Ascension without talking about Easter and without looking ahead a little bit to the great feast we’ll celebrate next week, Pentecost.

First of all, by passing through death into life, Jesus has been transformed in powerful and mysterious ways.

For example, Luke tells us that the disciples on the road to Emmaus didn’t recognize the resurrected Jesus until the breaking of the bread – followed immediately by Jesus vanishing from their sight.

But, Luke, along with Matthew and John, insists that although different and transformed, the resurrected Jesus was still the same Jesus that the disciples had known in life.

The evangelists insist the tomb was empty because Jesus had risen in the same body that had previously contained his spirit, the same body that had blessed the bread and the wine just a few days before, the same body that had been nailed to a piece of wood.

After the Emmaus story, Luke tells us that the resurrected Jesus appeared to the frightened disciples in Jerusalem saying, “Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.”

And then to underline the point, Luke tells us that the resurrected Jesus asks his disciples if they have anything to eat. Luke writes, “They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate it in their presence.”

Now, obviously, it would have been much easier and much more plausible for the first Christians to claim that beginning on Easter they began to experience the “spirit of Jesus” – that although he had died horribly on the cross, Jesus was still very much alive in their hearts.

Most people, I think, could and would buy that kind of claim.

But, Christians claimed and proclaimed something much more amazing – and much more difficult for people then and now to believe – Jesus had risen in the flesh and had appeared to his disciples.

In Luke’s sequel, the Acts of the Apostles, he tells us that the appearances of the resurrected Jesus continued for forty days – a very biblical number.

The appearances of the risen Jesus continued until, as we heard in today’s first lesson, Jesus was lifted up and vanished from sight.

Luke adds the very poignant touch of the disciples gazing up to heaven – with, I would imagine, with their mouths hanging open.

Then the two men in white robes tell the disciples to quit looking for Jesus up in the sky, adding, “This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.”

Now, if you’re looking for an explanation of how exactly all of this happened, I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong preacher. And, anyway, I’d be suspicious of anyone who claimed to understand or explain the Resurrection and the Ascension.

But, the point is that at the Ascension Jesus’ body has vanished from our sight so we could receive the Holy Spirit.

Jesus’ body has vanished from our sight so we can see who we really are.

Jesus’ body has vanished from our sight so we can be who we really are.

Jesus’ body has vanished so we can be the Body of Christ in the world.

St. Paul may have been the first to think in these terms – to recognize that the Church is the Body of Christ in the world. In his first letter to the Corinthians Paul wrote,
“Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it.”

But, for my money, the best expression of the awesome gift, responsibility and challenge of being the Body of Christ in the world comes from the 16th Century Spanish mystic, Teresa of Avila. She wrote,

Christ has no body now but yours
No hands, no feet on earth but yours
Yours are the eyes through which He looks
compassion on this world
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.

The wounded and resurrected body of Jesus has vanished from our sight.

And so that means, through the power of the Holy Spirit, we are the Body of Christ in the world.

That’s one of the reasons we come here - to be reminded that we are the Body of Christ in the world.

Every time we see the baptismal font – or even better every time we witness and celebrate a baptism – we are reminded that in the water of baptism we become part of the Body of Christ.

The most powerful reminder that we are the Body of Christ in the world comes every time we gather at the table and take the bread of life and the cup of salvation into our bodies – each receiving the same portion, each becoming more deeply woven into the Body of Christ in the world.

What happens here, though, is meant to strengthen us for the work of being the Body of Christ out there in a suffering and broken world.

As St. Paul recognized so clearly, each of us has our own unique part to play as a member of the Body of Christ in the world.

On Friday at our (St. Michael’s) potluck supper I was so moved when Susan talked about seeing her work combating pests that threaten crops as her vocation – particularly her goal of finding solutions affordable by poor farmers around the Caribbean, not just by a handful of wealthy international conglomerates.

Whether we’re protecting our food supply or feeding the poor downtown or donating money or simply praying for people who have no one to pray for them, we each have our own unique part to play in the Body of Christ.

But, Teresa of Avila gives us the most important general description of what it means for each of us to be members of the Body of Christ in the world.

She tells us that ours “are the eyes through which Christ looks compassion on this world.”

Ours “are the eyes through which Christ looks compassion on this world.”

“Looks compassion.” That’s a mysterious and beautiful expression, isn’t it?

During his earthly lifetime, Jesus didn’t solve every problem, didn’t fix everything and everyone that was broken.

But, Jesus “looked compassion” through love - by loving especially the outcasts, the nobodies, the hopeless, the disposable people of the First Century – the lepers, the women, the tax collectors, the children.

Instead of looking up to the sky for Jesus, we are to “look compassion” on the outcasts, the nobodies, the hopeless and disposable people of our time and place.

Instead of looking up to the sky for Jesus, we are called to be the Body of Christ right here and now in the world.

At the Ascension, Jesus’ body has vanished from our sight so we could receive the Holy Spirit.

Jesus’ body has vanished from our sight so we can see who we really are.

Jesus’ body has vanished from our sight so we can be who we really are.

Jesus’ body has vanished from our sight so we can be the Body of Christ in the world.

Amen.