Making Our Lives Matter More, Wounds and All

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

May 5, 2019

Year C: The Third Sunday of Easter

Acts 9:1-20

Psalm 30

Revelation 5:11-14

John 21:1-19

Making Our Lives Matter More, Wounds and All

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            You know, every once in a while a news story really hits close to home.

            A couple of weeks ago, I was surprised by how deeply sad I felt watching the roof of Notre Dame burn and collapse. I’m fortunate enough to have visited there a couple of times but it was not a particularly meaningful place for me.

            But, throughout the day, watching on social media and TV, my stomach sank as the flames spread and I, along with people all around the world, feared that the whole building might be lost.

            I don’t need a psychiatrist to tell me why I found the whole fiery scene so upsetting.

            First, I was upset by the loss of so much history, the possible loss of a place where people had worshipped and prayed and wondered for nearly a millennium.

            Second, that inferno in Paris tapped into one of my biggest fears about our church – this one hundred and fifty year old marvel of wood frame construction.

            I really, really don’t like to think about it, but I’ve always worried about fire here, though I’ve consoled myself that the firehouse is at the corner and that this old wood would burn pretty slowly.

            The firehouse is still there but watching the 900 year-old lumber of Notre Dame burn like matchsticks shattered my illusions about the wood all around us here.

            That Monday – the Monday of Holy Week – my mind immediately turned to the Easter Vigil, the one service every year where we distribute handheld candles to the congregation, the one service when my heart is in my mouth, the one service when I can usually smell the faint hint of smoldering as an inattentive parishioner starts to burn her bulletin, the one service when Vanessa always sticks close to a fire extinguisher!

 My mind immediately turned to the Easter Vigil and I decided that I just couldn’t bring myself to use the candles this year.

Instead, we adjusted the lighting, definitely losing some of the drama but I have to say it was by far the most enjoyable Easter Vigil since I’ve been here!

And, the other recent news story that really hit close to home was the shooting last Saturday – the last day of Passover – at a synagogue in Poway, California.

Rabbi Yisroel Goldstein was preparing to deliver his sermon when he heard a loud bang in the lobby. He ran out to find one of his members bleeding, dying, on the floor. The angry young armed man was right there and opened fire on the rabbi, hitting him in both of his hands, obliterating one of his index fingers. Covered in blood, the rabbi still managed to get to where the children were, chasing them out, probably saving at least some of their lives.

After injuring a couple of other congregants, the attacker’s rifle jammed and he fled.

Somehow, as his congregation gathered on the sidewalk, waiting for help, the rabbi managed to preach – to preach words of encouragement, defiance, and, most of all trust in God, no matter what.

Obviously, reading about this makes me and our vestry members think about safety here.

And, reading about the heroism of the rabbi makes me wonder if I would have his presence of mind in the midst of such terror.

Not only did Rabbi Goldstein act heroically when his people were attacked, a couple of days later he wrote a very moving article that was published in The New York Times.

In the piece he tells the story of the attack and then he announces that, going forward, his lost finger will serve as a reminder that he’s living on borrowed time.

And, rather than hiding his Jewishness he’s going to be more “brazen” with his faith, with his identity, with his love – this wounded rabbi is going to shine even more light into the darkness.

Rabbi Goldstein writes that he’s going to use his borrowed time to make his life matter more.

Making our lives matter more.

In today’s gospel lesson we heard what’s usually thought of as the epilogue to the Gospel of John.

It’s kind of a P.S. to the gospel, included perhaps because there was still some unfinished business – unfinished business for Jesus and unfinished business for Peter.

It’s a mysterious scene with Peter and some of the other disciples fishing. Even after meeting the Risen Jesus, their lives seem to have gone back to more or less normal. They still need to earn a living.

After an unsuccessful night of empty nets, early the next morning they encounter the Risen Jesus on the beach – the Risen Jesus who is still himself – the Risen Jesus who as Thomas discovered still carries those wounds in his hands and his side – but he’s also transformed, able to appear and disappear, able to go unrecognized even by the people who knew him best.

Anyway, Jesus encourages his fishermen friends to try for fish again and this time there is so much abundance – so many fish (153 of them, but who’s counting?) that the net should have torn but it didn’t.

Then Jesus invites his friends to a fish breakfast and we get to the unfinished business.

You’ll remember that after Jesus had been arrested, Simon Peter had denied Jesus three times – denied even knowing him.

Peter certainly hadn’t forgotten that and you have to wonder how he dealt with the guilt he must have felt about his betrayal and cowardice – guilt that didn’t magically disappear when it turned out that death was not the end for Jesus – guilt that may have even dulled Peter’s Easter joy.

Well, Jesus has also not forgotten Peter’s denials, and now pointedly asks him three times: “Do you love me?”

There’s a lot going on under the surface of this little exchange between Jesus and Peter but each time Peter declares that, yes, he loves Jesus.

And, each time Jesus basically says, O.K., prove that love – live out that love - by feeding and taking care of the sheep.

Finally, this haunting exchange concludes with a little foreshadowing as Jesus predicts the kind of death that Peter would endure – that ultimately he would be taken prisoner and be executed for following Jesus.

But, in the meantime, Jesus points Peter to how he is to live his life – how he is to live out being a follower of Jesus – by taking care of others – by feeding the sheep.

The truth is we’re not going to get through life without wounds.

Even Jesus couldn’t get through life without getting wounded!

Things that we thought would last forever burn and vanish.

People get inflamed by hate and do terrible, unspeakable things.

People we love get sick. People we love get hurt. People we love die.

Sometimes we fall short, hurting the very people we say that we love the most.

We wound others and we wound ourselves.

We get wounded.

And, those wounds never vanish completely, but God loves us wounds and all, and will never let go of us, no matter what.

And so, just like for Rabbi Goldstein and for Peter, the only way forward is to make our lives matter more – and we do that not by piling up lots of money or gaining fame and power – but by loving and feeding one another.

There is a very old tradition – one which was probably known by the first readers and hearers of the Gospel of John – that in the 60s of the first century Peter was killed in Rome – martyred around the same time and place as Paul, whose conversion story we heard in today’s first lesson.

In Peter’s case, the tradition is that he was crucified upside-down, and that upside-down cross is still used to symbolize St. Peter today.

As Jesus had predicted, Peter was led to where he did not want to go, and he would endure a few more wounds before he died.

And yet, I like to think that even in those last minutes, Peter must have remembered the Risen but still wounded Jesus – the Jesus who loved him no matter what, wounds and all.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

Excellence in Nazareth - and Jersey City

St. Paul’s Church in Bergen & Church of the Incarnation, Jersey City NJ

February 3, 2019

Year C: The Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany

Jeremiah 1:4-10

Psalm 71:1-6

1 Corinthians 13:1-13

Luke 4:21-30

Excellence in Nazareth - and Jersey City

            Today’s gospel lesson is part two of the story of Jesus at his hometown synagogue in Nazareth.

            After beginning his ministry, after traveling around to different towns, teaching and performing wonders, Jesus has now come home – home to the place where many had probably known him since he was a boy – home to where his relatives and neighbors had undoubtedly heard what he had been up to lately.

            So, you can imagine it must have been a kind of electric atmosphere in the synagogue that Sabbath day when Jesus arrived – with everyone looking at him and wondering what he would say, what he would do.

            Luke tells us that Jesus stood up to read and he was given the scroll of the Prophet Isaiah.

            And then Jesus read, or perhaps recited:

            “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

            And, that’s where we pick up today.

After Jesus finished and while all eyes were on him, Jesus delivers the kicker:

“Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

            At first everyone seems quite pleased but the mood changes quickly.

            They ask, “Is not this Joseph’s son?”

            And then Jesus admits that he won’t or can’t do the same wonders that he had done elsewhere and then things go from bad to worse to terrible when Jesus mentions Bible stories about God healing foreigners and then we’re told they chased Jesus out of the synagogue and out of the town, aiming to throw him off of a cliff.

            Welcome home, Jesus.

            Mark, Matthew, and Luke all tell this story in somewhat different ways, but the bottom line is the sad and still pretty shocking truth that Jesus was flatly, and even, as we heard today, violently, rejected by the people of his hometown.

            But, why?

            Well, I don’t know for sure, but I suspect it had something to do with what we might call today the low self-esteem of Nazareth.

            Back in the first century, Nazareth was a small town in the country – we don’t know exactly how small, but it may have had as few as 400 people.

            Nazareth is so small and insignificant that it’s never once mentioned in the Old Testament and no Jewish source mentions it until 300 years after Jesus’s earthly life.

            And so, I’m guessing that the idea that this little backwater town could somehow produce the One who fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah – the idea that Jesus, the one they had known since he was a boy, who seemed pretty much like all of the other kids in the town – maybe a little different somehow, but still - the idea that “our” Jesus could be the one to fulfill the Scripture was just too much - preposterous and even insulting and, apparently, even infuriating.

            The idea that such excellence could arise in their town was absurd, just not possible.

But those Nazareth people were very, very wrong.

            “Is not this Joseph’s son?”

            Well, we know the answer to that.

            And, in another hint of Nazareth’s low status and perhaps its low self-esteem, in the Gospel of John, Nathaniel asks, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”

            Well, we know the answer to that, too, right?

           

And, you know, in some ways Nazareth reminds me a little of Jersey City.

            More than two centuries ago, Alexander Hamilton famously predicted that a great city would arise on the left bank of the Hudson, but, while many of us love Jersey City and it certainly has its charms, I think it’s safe to say that we’re not quite there yet.

            (I’m from here so I can say that.)

            Of course, part of the reason we haven’t yet achieved the greatness predicted by Hamilton is because we sit in the shadow of the world’s greatest city.

But, I think another reason why we’re not there yet is because of a kind of communal low self-esteem – a low self-esteem that says “good enough” is as good as it’s going to get – a low self-esteem that shrugs and says our politics will always be corrupt and our schools and roads will always be falling apart.

            And, I think this Jersey City low self-esteem has sometimes even infected the church, where we have too often settled for “good enough,” too often failed to dream big, and too often failed to pursue excellence.

            (I’m from here so I can say that, too.)

            But, you know, the people of Nazareth were wrong – really wrong – our most excellent God chose their little backwater town – a town overshadowed by greater, more famous cities – God chose Nazareth as the incredibly important place where Jesus was raised.

            Something – Someone – amazingly excellent came out of Nazareth.

            And, as I’ve reflected back on the past year here in our beautiful and diverse congregation, I’m struck by how much excellence I see – excellence that we make happen by opening our hearts to our most excellent God.

            I think of the excellent hospitality that we offered just a few months ago when we welcomed four homeless families – eleven people – into our spiritual home – excellent hospitality offered by over seventy of us – excellent hospitality offered by creating a warm and homey environment, by taking the time to play with the kids and get to know the moms, by preparing and serving delicious food, and by giving up a night or more of sleeping in our own beds.

            I think of the excellent fundraiser dinner-dance back in June – such a beautiful affair, carefully planned from the beautiful new logo on the coffee mugs and bags to the diverse music played by the DJ – the excellence of all different kinds of people united by a love of this church coming together and having one great party – and actually making some money for the church!

            I think of the excellence of Jersey City Together, which has done wonders for our Jersey City low self-esteem – teaching us that things don’t have to be this way – that, yes, we deserve decent and affordable housing, quality schools, and safe streets – and Jersey City Together has taught many of us that we have the excellent talent right here to push for what we deserve.

            I think of the excellence of one of my favorite ministries – our monthly lunches at the homeless drop-in center. When we started we agreed that we would serve food at least as good as what we provide at coffee hour, at last as good as what we put on our own table. And that’s how it’s been with Sonia and Eric and the small band of volunteers, month after month.

            I think of the excellence that many of us saw here last Sunday – first at the launch of our All God’s Children service – a project not driven by me – not run by the priest – but by Patrice and a team of talented and generous lay people.

All I had to do was come up with a two-minute homily!

            Truthfully, we didn’t know how it was going to work out, but it was excellent – offering a joyful, sincere, and loving welcome to everyone who was there – a powerful reminder that God loves each and every one of us.

            And then, that evening at our Martin Luther King service: excellence yet again.

            Not that it’s a competition, and not that I’m competitive at all, but I would put that service – with the powerful sermon by Canon Jacobs and the over-the-top music made by Gail, the choir and musicians, and with the spirit here in this room that night – I would put that service up against worship absolutely anywhere.

            Excellence – right here in Jersey City.

            Excellence – right here.

            Among many other things, Jesus is the supreme example of faithfulness – of opening his heart to our most excellent God.

Long ago, the people of Nazareth couldn’t quite accept that God had chosen their town to produce such excellence.

In a similar way, we may think “good enough” is as good as it’s going to get.

But when we truly open our hearts to our most excellent God, we know what’s possible: excellent service, excellent worship, and excellent love.

Here’s to another year together.

Amen.

The Gift and Responsibility of Community

St. Paul’s Church in Bergen & Church of the Incarnation, Jersey City NJ

January 27, 2019

Year C: The Third Sunday after the Epiphany

Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10

Psalm 19

1 Corinthians 12:12-31a

Luke 4:14-21

The Gift and Responsibility of Community

            Along with a couple of hundred other boys, in the fall of 1981 I arrived as a freshman at St. Peter’s Prep, the Jesuit all-boys high school in downtown Jersey City.

            For as long as I had been conscious of a thing called “high school” it had always been assumed by my family and by me that this was where I would go to school.

            That was all a long time ago now, but I can still remember at least some of the mix of emotions I felt in those first few days at Prep: excitement that this was finally, really happening and also fear that maybe I wasn’t actually smart enough to succeed in this competitive environment – and also the fear that maybe I wouldn’t fit in, wouldn’t be able to make new friends.

            I only have a few clear memories of those first few days of life at Prep.

            During freshman orientation, I remember learning about the many extracurricular activities and clubs that were available, including some things like a ham radio club (!) and a TV studio (!) that amazed me and captured my imagination.

            And, I also vividly remember a talk given by one of the administrators, the one in charge of student discipline.

            He told us that since we were now part of the Prep community, we were expected to represent Prep at all times and all places – on the way to and from school, at games and other school activities, even at home at night and on the weekends!

            And, as an illustration of the high expectations of our new community, the disciplinarian said that we were required to stay in dress code until we got home – and that he would be checking up on us by waiting at random bus stops and train stations to make sure our ties were still up and our suit jackets were still on.

            Over the course of four years taking the Number 9 bus (now the 80) back and forth to school, I never saw him at my bus stop and it may have been just an idle or maybe even humorous threat, but I haven’t forgotten it nearly forty years later.

            And, of course, all of us students fell short of this high ideal – our behavior at school and elsewhere was not always up to the highest Prep standards – but when we slipped up we knew that we had fallen short, and at least sometimes, we tried to do better.

            My classmates and I had been given the gift – and also the responsibility - of community.

            In today’s gospel lesson Jesus returns to what must have been an important community in his life: his hometown of Nazareth.

            At first everything seems to go just fine but, as we’ll hear next week, this homecoming isn’t going to end well.

            Since we will hear part two of this story next Sunday, for now I’m going to leave Jesus with his familiar neighbors in the synagogue, because today I’d like to focus on our second lesson, from St. Paul’s first letter to the church in Corinth.

            Back in the first century the Greek city of Corinth was an important port in the Roman Empire, and like all port cities it was a diverse place, drawing people from all around the known world, lots of different kinds of people with their own languages and religions, including a very early Christian community that carried on a correspondence with St. Paul.

            One of the problems in reading Paul’s letters is that we only get one side of the story: Paul’s. We don’t have any of the letters written by the Corinthians so we don’t know how they saw things and what exactly was going on in their community.

            But, by reading Paul, we have some idea that the church in Corinth was a troubled community – one where at least some people had received what seemed like powerful spiritual gifts – such as the ability to speak in tongues – and perhaps had a sense of superiority over others who had been given more modest gifts, or no obvious spiritual gifts at all.

            Dealing with this trouble in his letters gives Paul the opportunity to remind the people in Corinth (and remind us here today) that as Christians we – all of us – form the Body of Christ in the world.

            And, just as our own human bodies need all of their many parts, the same is true for the Body of Christ – the Church needs all of its parts – we need all of our members – nobody is unimportant – nobody can be dismissed without the whole body suffering real and painful loss.

            And, just like those troubled Corinthians long ago, we have been baptized into the Body of Christ – we are the Body of Christ in the world today – and that is the most amazing gift and it’s also a heavy responsibility.

            The gift and responsibility of community.

            It’s true that sometimes we get on each other’s nerves, but while we’re here in church usually it’s pretty easy to be a Christian – it’s not so hard to be a member of this community - but it’s much more challenging when we go out into a world bigger and far more diverse than the Corinthians could have ever imagined – a diverse world where we represent the Body of Christ – a broken world where we are expected to be the same people we are when we’re in here.

            The gift and responsibility of community.

            And, of course, just like my Prep classmates and I, all of us Christians fall short all the time – though because of today’s instant communication and our overheated political environment, we may be failing more dramatically than usual.

In my sermon last week I mentioned in passing about the incident that had taken place a few days earlier at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington DC.

Afterward, I regretted bringing it up because it turned out that we only knew part of the story – a story that turned out to have many sides.

Last week some of you had heard about it and others hadn’t but by now you’ve seen or read about the story of the boys from Covington Catholic at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, DC.

The boys – some of them wearing red MAGA hats and shirts – had been in Washington along with thousands of others to participate in the “March for Life,” an annual event calling for outlawing of abortion.

After the march, the boys had gathered at the Lincoln Memorial where they were to board their buses for the ride home. In diverse and tense Washington there were others there too, including some so-called Hebrew Israelites (a fringe African-American group that is notoriously confrontational) and also Native Americans, including an activist named Nathan Phillips.

Even if you watched the whole video it’s still not exactly clear what happened – and on TV and the Internet many different people have offered their own wildly different interpretations on what happened and have cast blame on the whole cast of characters: the Hebrew Israelites, the kids and their chaperones, and on Mr. Phillips.

There are lots of sides to this story and there’s probably plenty of blame to go around.

But one thing is for sure: from the start, this incident was a total breakdown of community, especially among the Christians – the Christians who were there that day and the Christians who have chimed in over the past week.

Even if they were provoked, the Covington Catholic kids should not have responded – and definitely shouldn’t have responded as they did - and certainly their adult chaperones should have taken control of the situation.

And all the rest of us shouldn’t have been so quick to judge based on just a few images – and some of the judgments were really harsh.

And, most of all, we should have remembered that Jesus warns us not to judge at all – that judging is really not our job.

This incident and its aftermath – and our first All God’s Children service this afternoon – and our delayed Martin Luther King service tonight – and our annual meeting next week has got me thinking.

We are the Body of Christ and we all – every single one of us – from the oldest to the youngest – from the person who seems to have their act together to the one who seems to be the biggest mess – we all have an essential role to play in this community.

And, as I’ve said before and believe now more than ever, because we here at St. Paul’s and Incarnation are extraordinarily diverse, I believe that we have a special gift and responsibility to show our city, and maybe beyond, that even in these bitterly divided and angry times it really is possible for us to live together in peace – it really is possible to love one another.

But, we can only live out that special and oh-so-important vocation if we are the same people out there as we are in here.

The gift and responsibility of community.

See you at the bus stop.

Amen.

God of Abundance

St. Paul’s Church in Bergen & The Church of the Incarnation, Jersey City NJ

January 20, 2019

Year C: The Second Sunday after the Epiphany

Isaiah 62:1-5

Psalm 36:5-10

1 Corinthians 12:1-11

John 2:1-11

God of Abundance

“Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.”

            The other day there was a story in the paper about a church in Brooklyn called the New Utrecht Reformed Church.

            The church has been around a long time, founded in 1677 – just a few years after our friends over at Old Bergen Church got started - and they’ve been worshiping in the same stone church for nearly 200 years.

            Or, actually, a little less that that because for the past fifteen years they’ve been using their parish hall for church services – which they were forced to do because of repairs to the old church – repairs that were expected to take just a few months but then dragged on for years as contractors discovered one problem after another.

            As some of the church leaders said, “Old buildings have a lot of secrets.”

            Around here we know how that goes!

            The work is still not quite done, but the congregation recently – finally – moved into their sanctuary, which must feel amazing and a little strange after all of this time.

            Unfortunately and unsurprisingly, over the long years of parish hall exile, the congregation declined, probably in part because worship in the parish hall didn’t really inspire or attract people, but also because of the all too familiar patterns of older members dying or moving away, a changing neighborhood, and the smaller role that organized religion plays in the lives of people, especially the young.

            Reading the article, it’s clear that the congregation is so excited to be back in their sanctuary, and determined to try to grow their church – but reading between the lines, I’m sure there’s also a troubling sense of scarcity, of near emptiness, and real fear about the future.

            I imagine that those feelings will be familiar to anyone who has been around the Episcopal Church or pretty much any church lately - fewer people, fewer people willing or able to attend regularly, fewer people willing to lead, and, yes, fewer churches as more and more close their doors.

           

            At the same time, just as the church is declining, it’s obvious that many of our national institutions are in serious decline – words and actions from officials that would have been unimaginable just a few years ago are now shrugged off and forgotten by most of us because, really, we can sustain only so much outrage and have grown numb  – 800,000 government employees have been essentially laid off or forced to work for free and, at least so far, most of the rest of us continue life as usual while the people responsible for guarding our coasts and keeping planes in the air and keeping our food safe go unpaid – not to mention the government contractors who will never see any of their lost income.

            And, you may have seen on the news that just the other day about some kids from a Roman Catholic high school in Kentucky who were in Washington attending the March for Life. It's a little unclear how this all started, but on video we can see some of these kids boldly and crudely taunting and ridiculing Nathan Phillips, an Omaha Nation leader and Vietnam veteran, as he drummed and chanted in front of the Lincoln Memorial during the Indigenous People’s March.

            If we’re paying attention to what’s going on around us, we may be mourning the loss of our institutions and the loss of our way of life.

We may be feeling kind of empty – far emptier than the emptiness felt by partiers at a long-ago wedding in Cana, where the wine had run out and it seemed like the celebration was over.

            The miracle at the wedding at Cana – the miracle of Jesus turning water into wine – is found only in the Gospel of John.                      

            And, it’s important to note that John never uses the word “miracle” to describe the wondrous acts of Jesus. No, instead of “miracle” his preferred word is “sign.”

            And, that’s important because signs are not such a big deal in and of themselves. Signs aren’t that important themselves but it’s what they point to that’s important.

            Think of a Stop sign.

            The sign itself is not particularly important – just a piece of metal painted red with four letters - but it points to something very important – it points to the fact that you must stop at this intersection – that you must stop here or else you’re likely to get a ticket or, far worse, injure others and/or yourself.

            So, Jesus turns the water into wine not just to quench the thirst of everybody at the wedding – certainly not to become the most popular guest at the party – not even to make his mother happy – he turns the water into wine to reveal his glory and, most of all, to show his followers and to show us in a most delicious way the overflowing abundance of God.

            And just in case we don’t get just how abundant God’s abundance is, each of those six stone jars held about 24 gallons and I’ve done the math for you and 24 times 6 equals 144 – 144 gallons of the best wine.

            The overflowing abundance of God.

            Just when it feels like we’re empty, God pours out abundance.

            Back to that article about New Utrecht Reformed Church:

            In response to the obvious and pressing need and desire to attract new people to the church, the pastor (who has been there six years so, until recently, had never led worship in the sanctuary) said,

            “Is it my obligation to grow the church? No, God’s Spirit will do that.”

            I like the faithfulness and the honesty in that statement, because while we never know what the future will bring, the truth is that when we’re feeling empty, when we feel like we’ve run out of wine or, maybe better, run out of gas, God is ready to pour overflowing abundance into our lives.

            And, we don’t have to just believe that because like the first disciples we’ve seen it with our own eyes.

            Around here we’re in the midst of preparing for our annual meeting and it’s always a time to take stock of where we’ve been and to look ahead to the future.

            It wasn’t that long ago that attendance had really thinned out here at St. Paul’s – it wasn’t that long ago that this little congregation sometimes worshiped in the parish hall not because of construction but to save money on heat or to keep cool – it wasn’t that long ago that there was no Gail and no weekly choir and some feared that the St. Paul’s celebration was almost over.

            And, for Church of the Incarnation, after years of creatively and persistently and faithfully fighting to keep the church going on its own, it was a year ago that we began worshiping together.

            Back then I’m sure there was at least some sense among the Incarnation folks that the wine had run out - that the celebration was coming to an end.

But, while we’ve had a few bumps along the way, and we’re not quite there yet, it feels to me and I hope to you that Jesus has again turned water to wine – and those of you from the Incarnation side of the family have brought such delicious new wine to our unified community, through your leadership and your musical gifts and devoted participation in all areas of parish life and, I have to say, also your faithfulness in weekly worship.

            God’s overflowing abundance.

            So, yes, churches and denominations and even governments come and go – and, yes, that can be sad and frightening - but yet, through it all, God is always pouring out abundance – God is always turning death into new life.

Amen.