"Slow Down. Quiet. It's Advent!"

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

December 1, 2013

Year A: The First Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 2:1-5

Psalm 122

Romans 13:11-14

Matthew 24:36-44

“Slow Down. Quiet. It’s Advent!”

            Today we celebrate the First Sunday of Advent – today we celebrate the start of a new church year.

            And, just like on the worldly New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day that we’ll celebrate a month from now, today is a good day to take stock of where we’ve been over the past year.

            And, today’s also a good day to make some resolutions for the future.

            As I look back over our time together, I’m amazed at all that God has accomplished here at St. Paul’s - all that God has accomplished, in and through us. I’m impressed by all the work we’ve been able to do together, with God’s help. And, I’m so grateful for all the ways that God has grown our ministry here in this special place.

            To get ready for this morning, to prepare for this New Year’s celebration, I looked back over my calendar to refresh my memory – and yours – about all the things that have happened over the past seven or so months.

            We once again welcomed the neighborhood to enjoy a Fun Day on our grounds, with lots of happy children bouncing away in our driveway; we re-started the 8am Sunday service and introduced three weekday services that have been much better attended than anyone dared to expect; we gave a well-deserved lifetime achievement award to Althea Maynard – the first such award given by St. Paul’s in way too many years; we shared the joy of Pauline and Nigel as they made their vows right here at our altar; many of us participated in an interfaith prayer service for our new mayor and council at Mt. Pisgah AME Church.

            We began major work on our 91 year-old organ – cleaning, tuning, repairing, and now replacing the bellows (I’m told one more week to go, by the way); we welcomed choristers from Los Alamos NM; we had another hugely successful summer camp; we hosted the Garden State Episcopal CDC volunteer dinner – dazzling the volunteers and staff with overflowing hospitality; we had a very well-attended and fun book signing for our own first-time novelist, Emily Barker; we’ve collected small mountains of food for the monthly food pantry at Incarnation; we’ve grown closer to our two Jersey City sister churches – a closeness that was manifested at the amazing worship service we shared at Liberty Park.

            We’ve had five baptisms; we’ve blessed backpacks, book bags, a pack of dogs, two nervous cats - and one stuffed animal; we hosted our first JC Friday arts event; we’ve welcomed the awesomely talented Gail Blache-Gill who has given a burst of new life to the music here at St. Paul’s; we’ve begun a powerful and moving monthly healing service at Liberty House Nursing Home; just last week we rededicated the repaired and restored stained glass window outside the parish hall; we had a Celebration of New Ministry to end all celebrations of new ministry; and an Interfaith Thanksgiving Service so beautiful that it sent all of us who were here into a spiritual high.           

            Parishioners who had drifted away have returned to St. Paul’s. And new people have begun to make their spiritual home here with us.

            God’s been really busy here at St. Paul’s.

            We’ve been busy. We’ve been really, really busy.

            The truth is, I like to be busy. And it seems that you like to be busy, too.

            And there’s more to come. Just look in your bulletin. (Not now, that’s rude. But, later on!)

            And there are things ahead that have a sense of urgency – getting the Sunday school going, doing something about the floor in here, and facing up to the need for air conditioning and handicapped access.

            But, while we’ve been doing all these wonderful things and thinking about and planning for all that still needs to be done, sometimes I’ve also been concerned that maybe we’ve been taking on too much. Maybe we’ve been too busy. There’s always the danger of overdoing it, of trying to d too much too soon; of getting overwhelmed, and there’s always the very big danger of church burnout.

            There’s always the danger of getting caught up in all this busyness and losing sight of why St. Paul’s is here – forgetting why we’re here - there’s the danger of getting so caught up in our busyness here and also in the rest of our busy lives that we lose touch with the God who we meet in Jesus.

            And, ironically and unfortunately, the build-up to Christmas that began on the so-called “Black Friday’ makes many of us busier and more crazed than any other time of year. We end up exhausted from running around shopping, decorating, and forcing ourselves to be merry even when we really don’t feel like it.

            But, the Church, in its wisdom, shows us another way – offers us a better way. The Church offers us a break from the busyness of our lives – and even a break from the busyness of church.

            This year we bought copies of a pretty wonderful poster that’s been around for a while. Maybe you’ve seen it before. It offers daily suggestions on how to keep a holy Advent.

            But, the heading says it all: “Slow down. Quiet. It’s Advent!”

            “Slow down. Quiet. It’s Advent.”

            Advent, these four Sundays before Christmas, is the start of a new church year.

            There is the “alpha” part of Advent, when we look back to the events leading up to the birth of Jesus two thousand years ago to a couple of nobodies in an out of the way place, in the humblest of circumstances.

            And there is the “omega” part of Advent, when we prepare for the Last Day when Christ will return in glory. Advent is a time to prepare for the Last Day, which, Jesus tells us, will come without warning – the Last Day, which will probably not come anytime soon, but you never know.

            So, we prepare for the Last Day by paying attention.

            We prepare for the Last Day by being mindful.

            We prepare for the Last Day by being on the lookout for God at work – on the lookout for God at work in the world around us – on the lookout for God at work in our lives.

            And God has surely been hard at work – is hard at work – in this place.

            “Slow down. Quiet. It’s Advent!”

            So my prayer is that during these four Sundays of Advent, a less busy St. Paul’s will be, more than ever, simply a house of prayer.

            My prayer is that over these four Sundays we busy people will look back with gratitude over all that God has accomplished here, in and through us.

            My prayer is that while out there the world goes nuts getting ready for Christmas, in here we’ll really reflect on the wonder of Emmanuel, the joy of God with us.

            My prayer is that while out there the world exhausts itself getting ready for Christmas, in here we’ll really be on the lookout for God at work in the world and in our lives.

            It’s Advent. Happy New Year.

            Slow down. Quiet. It’s Advent!

            Amen.

            

The War on Thanksgiving

The Interdenominational Ministerial Alliance of Jersey City and Vicinity

Pre-Thanksgiving Service

New Redeemer Reformed Episcopal Church, Jersey City NJ

November 24, 2013

Deuteronomy 8:1-3, 6-10

Mark 10:41-45

The War on Thanksgiving

            “May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.”

            Over the past few weeks, if you’ve been watching TV or if you’ve been in a mall, or in a store, or even if you’ve just been breathing, you know that once again America has moved into what it calls the Christmas Season or the holiday season.

            The cheery music is playing, the colorful lights are blinking, and the tinsel and garland are hanging – all in an attempt to get us into the “holiday spirit.” All in an attempt to get us into the holiday spirit so we’ll buy stuff – and the more stuff the better. All in an attempt to get us to buy stuff – stuff often made by exploited workers in faraway lands.

            Over the past decade or so, some people, including some pretty loud voices in the media, and maybe including some of us here today, have taken to call all of this materialism and secularization, “The War on Christmas.”

            We’ve been desperate for effective strategies and tactics to use in this war against much-better funded opponents. So, what have we done?

            Well, some have us have slapped bumper stickers on our cars with slogans like, “Keep Christ in Christmas.”

            What else? There are a lot of clergy here today, and I’m sure many of us – and I include myself – have railed from the pulpit about how we’re losing the true meaning of Christmas – how we’re losing to Frosty the Snowman, Rudolph (the Red-Nosed Reindeer, not Daniels!), Elf on a Shelf, Santa, and all that junk that we buy during the so-called Christmas Season.

            And maybe some of us - when we’re shopping and a sales clerk or cashier flashes a dutiful smile and wishes us “Happy Holidays!” or “Season’s Greetings!” – maybe some of us instead sneer back, “Merry Christmas!”

            (But, let’s be honest that there’s nothing particularly Christian or even merry in taking that kind of approach to a store employee who’s more than likely completely exhausted from working long hours and trying to get by on a minimum wage salary.)

            Anyway, despite our feeble opposition, what the world calls the Christmas season is well underway. But it won’t really kick into high gear until what the media have taught us to call “Black Friday,” the day after Thanksgiving.

            I’m not going to ask for a show of hands. Maybe we’ve been out there. Or, maybe not. But, we’ve all seen pictures of determined and dedicated - and often freezing - shoppers camped out overnight in front of stores – eager to get the first crack at buying some of that stuff made by exploited workers in faraway lands.

            As I’m sure you’ve noticed, each year “Black Friday” starts earlier and earlier – it’s gotten so early, in fact, that it’s now intruding on the holiday we are here to celebrate today, Thanksgiving.

            Doing something that was once unthinkable, more and more stores are opening on Thanksgiving Day. Some workers are happy for the additional income while I’m sure others are sorry to miss precious time with family and friends, not to mention the turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce.

            First there was the “War on Christmas” and now, it seems, there’s a… “War on Thanksgiving.”

            So, over the past few weeks, getting ready to be with you here today, I’ve been thinking a lot about this War on Thanksgiving.

            And, I’ve come to the conclusion that this war has been going on for a lot longer than we may have realized.

            In some ways, Thanksgiving is the most American of holidays – with its roots in the Pilgrims’ gratitude to God for their survival (though they should’ve also been thankful for the know-how and help of the Indians, too.)

            In some ways, Thanksgiving is the most American of holidays – made official by Abraham Lincoln in 1863 in the midst of our bloodiest war, in the midst of our greatest liberation struggle.

            But, in other ways, Thanksgiving is the least American holiday, too.

            As a people, we tend to believe in self-reliance – we tend to assume that somehow our achievements are ours alone, that somehow we don’t need to extend a word of thanks to anyone, let alone to God, the Source of all good gifts.

            Instead of Thanksgiving being about gratitude to God, it’s often become about gluttony – feasting at tables groaning under the weight of turkeys and all the rest.

            Instead of Thanksgiving being about gratitude to God, it’s often become about football - and now, in our super-materialistic culture, Thanksgiving is in danger of being swallowed up by an ever-expanding “Black Friday.”

            So, what are we, as people of faith - what are we Christians - to do?

            How do we fight the good fight in the War on Christmas and the War on Thanksgiving?

            Well, I’m pretty sure the answer isn’t preaching fiery sermons to the proverbial choir who gather in our churches each week, hungry for the Good News. I’m pretty sure the answer isn’t more bumper stickers, or sneering “Merry Christmas!” at underpaid cashiers, or even in boycotting stores that open on Thanksgiving Day.

            But, what are we, as people of faith - what are we Christians - to do?

            The answer is found where it’s always found, in the Word of God.

            In the passage we heard from Deuteronomy, God reminds the Israelites of the great gifts that God has given. God reminds the Israelites that God has led them, protected them on their long forty-year wilderness journey. God reminds the Israelites of the bread from heaven – the bread that filled their stomachs and filled their hearts.

            And, in today’s reading from the Gospel of Mark, Jesus reminds us that those who want to lead must be servants of all. We are all called to live lives of loving service to God and to each other.

            Yes, there are wars going on. And our Enemy is the same as always: our enemy is the temptation to reject God, to forget God, to depend on ourselves alone.

            Yes, there are wars going on. And our Enemy is the same as always: our enemy is the temptation to think that what’s most important, all that’s important, is what we can see and touch and taste.

            But, what are we, as people of faith, to do?

            How do we fight the good fight in the War on Christmas and the War on Thanksgiving?

            We fight the good fight in the War on Christmas and Thanksgiving by showing the world a better way, a more excellent way, by showing the world the Way, the Truth and the Life.

            By God’s grace, we fight the good fight by living faithful and prayerful lives.           

            We fight the good fight by not being like everybody else, by not being like the world.

            We fight the good fight by really being who we say we are – by being faithful followers of Jesus Christ – faithful disciples of Jesus Christ – Jesus Christ who teaches us that true joy is found in risking everything for Him, giving away our lives for Him, by serving those who are the least among us.

            We fight the good fight by really being who we say we are – by being faithful followers of Jesus Christ – faithful disciples of Jesus Christ – Jesus Christ who teaches us to love everyone - especially our enemies, to embrace everyone - especially the most despised, to give and give and give and not to count the cost.

            We fight the good fight by living lives of Thanksgiving – by living lives of profound, bottomless gratitude – gratitude to God for all the good gifts God has given us: gratitude for our very lives, for our families and friends, for the privilege of serving others, for our churches and for the Church, and, most of all, gratitude for Jesus, the King born in humility and coming in glory.

            We fight the good fight in the War on Christmas and Thanksgiving by not being like everybody else, by not being like the world, by showing the world through our lives, by our example, a better way, a more excellent way, by showing the world the Way, the Truth and the Life.

            So, yes, there’s a war going on.

            There’s a war on Thanksgiving and a war on Christmas.

            The world wants us to fill ourselves with food and to fill our homes and our lives with stuff made in faraway lands by exploited workers. And we are surely tempted.

            Meanwhile, God calls us just as God has always called us.

            God calls us to remember all the good gifts – all the manna – that God has given us.

            God calls us to serve God – and to serve one another.

            And God calls us to live Christ-like lives of love.

            There are wars going on.

            Which side are we on?

            Amen. 

King of Glory, King of Peace

St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Jersey City NJ

November 24, 2013

Year C: The Last Sunday after Pentecost – Christ the King

Jeremiah 23:1-6

Canticle 16

Colossians 1:11-20

Luke 23:33-43

King of Glory, King of Peace

            Well, today we’ve reached the last Sunday – the 27^th if you’ve been keeping track – the last Sunday in the long season after Pentecost, the last Sunday of the church year. Next Sunday a whole new church year begins on the First Sunday of Advent. But, today we celebrate Christ the King.

            Thinking about the image of Christ the King reminded me of a much-loved poem by the great Anglican priest-poet George Herbert. The poem begins:           

            “King of Glory, King of peace, I will love thee…”

            That’s a beautiful description of Jesus, isn’t it?

            “King of glory, King of peace.”

            And, today, on this last Sunday of the church year, we celebrate Christ, the King of glory.

            Today we celebrate Christ, the King of peace.

            And, sure enough, today’s lessons give us powerful glimpses into the glory and peace of Christ’s kingship.

            This morning, in place of the psalm, we sang the Canticle of Zechariah, this beautiful song from the Gospel of Luke sung by the priest Zechariah to his son John the Baptist. Singing about the birth of Jesus, Zechariah exults:

            “Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel; he has come to his people and set them free. He has raised up for us a mighty savior, born of the house of his servant David.”

            Zechariah sings with joy about the birth of the messiah, the birth of the King of glory – and he sings with joy about the role that his son, John, will play as the “Prophet of the Most High,” going before the Lord to prepare his way.

            Jesus, the King of glory. And, John the Baptist, his prophet.

            In today’s second lesson, the author of the Letter to the Colossians shares this absolutely beautiful, amazing, profound hymn about Christ, the King of glory. Listen again:

            “He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers and powers – all things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together.”

            Jesus, the King of glory.

            At the heart of Christianity is the belief, the conviction, that this glorious figure in whom all things hold together has come and lived among us.

            In and through Jesus, God gave up the distance, bridged the gap between God and humanity, and became one of us. So, now, God has firsthand experience of what it’s like to be a human being. God knows what it’s like to be a real flesh and blood human being just like us – a human being with fear and hope and love.

            The image of the invisible God was born a flesh and blood human being just like us - born in an out of the way place to a couple of nobodies in the humblest of circumstances.

            And for two thousand years now, we Christians have retold the story – retold the stories - of this King of glory who lived among us.

            We retell the stories of Jesus the King of glory, reaching out to the most despised and the most outcast, opening the eyes of the blind, healing the lepers; raising the dead; hanging out with the kinds of people that he really shouldn’t have been hanging out with; feeding thousands with just a few loaves and a handful of fish; pointing out the hypocrisy of religious people; proclaiming that God’s kingdom has arrived – God’s kingdom where the poor are blessed, where the hungry are filled and where the mourners laugh.

            For two thousand years we’ve retold the story – the stories - of this King of glory, who lived, and taught, and healed among us.

            And, for two thousand years we’ve retold the horrifying story of this King of glory brutally killed by human beings – killed by men and women not so different from us.

            We’ve insisted that in and through Jesus, God really experiences, really knows what it’s like to be betrayed, to be abandoned, to bleed, to gasp for breath, and, finally, to die.

            And, so, today on this last Sunday of the church year, today on the Feast of Christ the King, the Church offers us once again the familiar yet forever  heartbreaking story of the Crucifixion.

            It’s here, - it’s here on the Cross - that Jesus most clearly reveals himself to be not only the King of glory but also the King of peace.

            Try to imagine the scene.

            There were probably lots of people around and probably many more than Jesus and the two criminals being crucified that day. Imagine the noise, as the leaders and the soldiers taunt Jesus, “If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself!”

            Imagine the cries of anguish from family and friends as they watch those they love writhe in agony and cry out in pain – the agony and pain of crucifixion that could last for days.

            And in the midst of all this suffering – in the midst of all this evil and sin – in the midst of all this despair, there hangs the King of peace.

            And what does he do? Jesus, the king of peace, offers forgiveness even though no one has asked for it. “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.”

            In the midst of all this pain, one of the criminals begs Jesus, “Remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

            And Jesus, the king of peace, replies, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”

            King of glory, King of peace.

            These are old, old stories.

            What does any of this have to do with us, here today?

            Well, as one church year ends, and as another is about to begin, we are reminded that we are loved.
            God could have just left us to wallow in our brokenness and sin, but instead God loves us enough to bridge the gap between God and us. In and through Jesus, God joins us in our messy, flesh and blood human life.

            God loves us enough to show us, in and through Jesus, what God is really like.

            God loves us enough to take pretty much the worst that we can dish out: indifference, rejection, mockery, and, finally, murder.

            And, Easter proves once and for all that God loves us enough that God never gives up on us, never lets go of us – not at the grave, not ever.

            As one church year ends, and as another is about to begin, we are reminded that God really knows what it’s like to be a flesh and blood human being.

            So, when we’re struggling and frightened, when we’re worried about our future or the future of those we love; when we’re disappointed in our lives, in ourselves, in the people around us; when we’re betrayed by the people we count on, the people closest to us; when God feels absent and we lose hope – when we’re struggling and frightened, God knows what all of that is like because, in and through Jesus, God’s been there – God’s been here – God is here.

            Now, we’re about to continue our journey.

            Next Sunday, we’ll begin Advent. We’ll look back to the birth of the King of glory and King of peace two thousand years ago in an out of the way place to a couple of nobodies in the humblest of circumstances.

            And we’ll look ahead to the last day, the day when the King of glory and King of peace will return - and God’s kingdom will be complete.

            We continue our human journey knowing, thanks to Jesus, that God loves us enough to bridge the gap between us, to be with us, to take the worst we have to offer, and yet still love us – and still save us.

            So, especially today on the Feast of Christ the King we should join with the great Anglican priest-poet George Herbert and say, “King of glory, King of peace, I will love thee…”

            Amen.

            

Surely, It is God Who Saves Me

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

November 17, 2013

Year C, Proper 28: The Twenty-Sixth Sunday after Pentecost

Isaiah 65:17-25

Canticle 9

2 Thessalonians 3:6-13

Luke 21:5-19

Surely, It is God Who Saves Me

            Today, in place of the psalm, we heard the beautiful words of Canticle 9, what’s called “The First Song of Isaiah.”

            “Surely, it is God who saves me; I will trust in him and not be afraid.”

            “Surely, it is God who saves me; I will trust in him and not be afraid.”

            Beautiful words. But, let’s be honest, they are words that are not so easy to live out. Lots of times it’s not easy for me – and, I bet, it’s not easy for most of

us - to trust in God and not be afraid.

            It’s hard to trust in God and not be afraid during the trials and tribulations of everyday life. Will I be able to pay my bills this month? Will I be able to get a job? Will I be able to hold on to my job? Will the doctors be able to find the right medication, the right approach, to heal what needs to be healed in me, or someone I love? Will our kids and grandkids make good choices and live happy, loving and productive lives?

            It’s not easy for most of us, during the trials and tribulations of everyday life, to trust in God and not be afraid.

            And it’s so much harder in times of personal crisis when it feels like our lives are falling apart.

            It’s hard to trust in God when we’re really not able to pay our bills, when we lose our job, when the doctor gives us a devastating prognosis, when our kids and grandkids make terrible, self-destructive choices.

            It’s hard to trust in God when the people closest to us disappoint us, betray us, or abandon us.

            It’s hard to trust in God when we lose the people and the things that are so important to us.

            No, it’s not easy for most of us, when it feels like our lives are falling apart, to trust in God and not be afraid.

            And, it’s even harder to trust in God when it feels like the whole world is crashing down around us in times of destruction caused by war or natural disaster.

            This time last year most of us were dealing with the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy. We were struggling with no electricity, no heat, dwindling food supplies. Many of us who live in low-lying areas suffered enormous damage to our property – possessions that took a lifetime to amass were ruined in minutes from the terrifyingly powerful winds and the foul water gushing from bays and rivers.

            This time last year Sue and I were living out in Madison, a beautiful suburban town, where after Sandy the big issue was not flooding but the damage done by huge trees downed by the fierce winds.

            And, in fact, in our neighborhood, there wasn’t even much of that. The big hardship was the lack of power for a few days.

            But in other parts of Madison – the higher elevations – hundreds and hundreds of great old trees were brought down – brought down onto yards, into streets and sometimes right into homes.

            Early in the morning, a day or two after the storm, we got a call that an elderly parishioner had died peacefully overnight. He and his wife lived up on “The Hill.” Before sunrise I carefully drove up there, avoiding massive old trees that littered the neighborhood like matchsticks and the downed power lines snaking across streets and sidewalks.

            I had never before really been at the scene of such a recent natural disaster.

            When I got to the house, there were a couple of police officers with the dead man’s wife. The house was dark and cold and sad.

            A good man was dead upstairs in the bedroom.

            And outside the house there was widespread destruction.

            It’s hard to trust in God – it’s hard to not be afraid - when it feels like the whole world is crashing down around us.

            I’m sure many of us have been reminded of last year’s super storm in recent days when we’ve seen the horrific destruction caused by the typhoon in the Philippines.

            “Surely, it is God who saves me; I will trust in him and not be afraid.”

            There’s nothing new, of course, about human beings facing personal trials and tribulations. And there’s nothing new about people enduring wars and natural disasters. And, there’s nothing new about men and women struggling to trust in God and not be afraid.

            In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus is in Jerusalem. In fact, Jesus is in the Temple, what was the heart of Jewish religious and political life.

            It’s probably hard for us to really understand just how important the Temple was for Jewish people in the First Century. Yes, there were some people – including Jesus himself – who criticized the priests and the others who led the Temple. But, for Jews, the Temple was the center of the universe. It was the place where, in a sense, God actually lived. And the Jewish people helped to keep their covenant with God through the sacrifices that were made there.

            So, Jesus is in Jerusalem, in the Temple.

            And it’s here that Jesus says something shocking.

            “As for these things that you see, the days will come when not stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.”

            In the gospels, Jesus predicts the destruction of the Temple – the destruction of the center of the universe, the destruction of the place where, in a sense, God actually lived.

            Needless to say, Jesus’ audience is shocked and full of questions.

            When will this be? How will we know?

            And then, Jesus gets even scarier, warning the crowd that there will be imposters coming in Jesus’ name. There will be wars and insurrections. There will be earthquakes and plagues.

            But, wait, there’s more.

            Before all of those terrible things happen, Jesus’ own followers will be arrested and persecuted and betrayed by parents, brothers, relatives and friends. Everybody will hate Jesus’ followers.

            Then, Jesus concludes with a much-needed word of hope and confidence.

            “But not a hair of your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your souls.”

            Now, the first readers and hearers of the gospel would have known that Jesus’ predictions had come true. The Temple – the center of the universe, God’s home – was, in fact, destroyed by the Romans in the year 70, forty or so years after Jesus’ earthly lifetime. And, at least some of Jesus’ earliest followers were, in fact, arrested, persecuted and hated.

            It must have been so very hard for the Jewish people and for those early followers of Jesus to sing Isaiah’s song:

            “Surely, it is God who saves me; I will trust in him and not be afraid.”

            And yet.

            And yet, in the midst of these terrible times, God really is at work.

            God is at work in the midst of the trials and tribulations of everyday life.

            God is at work in times of personal crisis when it feels like our lives are falling apart.

            God is at work in times when it feels like the world is crashing down around us – when great waves wash away our homes, when an insatiable empire destroys God’s home, when we are rejected or persecuted.

            God is at work in the midst of all that pain, all that mess and loss, creating a new heavens and a new earth, bending hatred into love, transforming shameful death on the Cross into the joy of Easter.

            Judaism didn’t die with the Temple. Instead, it evolved into the faith strong enough to survive the worst persecutions imaginable.

            And, despite the attempts of political and religious leaders to crush it, the Good News of Jesus gradually made it’s way around the world, making it even to Jersey City.

            And, I know many of us saw God at work right here in those hard days after Sandy swept through our area.

            And, I saw God at work that cold, sad, frightening morning in Madison a year ago.

            As dawn broke, the word began to get out that this wonderful, gentle man had died.

            In the midst of their own struggles – in the midst of the devastation up and down their block, neighbors began to stream to the door to share their condolences, to ask his wife if she needed anything, to cry and to hug.

            They brought her care packages made up of food and bottled water, whatever they had around the house.

            And then, one neighbor ran an extension cord from his house next-door, powered by a generator, so that a space heater could keep at least part of her house warm during the cold time of loss and grief.

            “Surely, it is God who saves me; I will trust in him and not be afraid.

            For the Lord is my stronghold and my sure defense, and he will be my Savior.”

            Amen. 

The God of the Living Never Lets Go of Us

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

Church of the Incarnation, Jersey City NJ

November 10, 2013

Year C, Proper 27: The Twenty-Fifth Sunday after Pentecost

Haggai 1:15b-2:9

Psalm 145:1-5, 18-21

2 Thessalonians 2:1-5, 13-17

Luke 20:27-38

The God of the Living Never Lets Go of Us

            Fortunately, it doesn’t happen very often, but every once in a while I’ll get a call about an emergency. Someone was rushed to the hospital. There’s been an accident. Someone has taken a turn for the worse. Someone is dying.

            Can you come right away?

            I remember when I was preparing to be ordained and first had experiences like that, gathering around a hospital bed as a beloved family member or friend took his or her last breaths; as people suffered terrible shock and great loss. I remember thinking, how am I ever going to do this? How am I ever going to get through this? How am I ever going to find the right words? How am I ever going to help people suffering such heartbreaking grief?

            It certainly hasn’t become routine. And I still get nervous.

            But, I’ve learned that, thank God – thanks to God - it’s not all on me. Often, gathered at a bedside, I’ve sensed, in some hard to explain way, God’s presence – I’ve received God’s grace. And, I think the heartbroken people around the bed and the person whose life is drawing to a close somehow also sense God’s presence – also receive God’s grace.

            I’ve learned that my job is simply to be present – to be a sign of God’s presence – and to stay out of God’s way.

            I had one of those experiences just a couple of months ago.

            Through a connection with a parishioner, I received a call that a man in a nursing home was dying from complications of AIDS. His family wanted a priest to see him, to pray for him, to bless him, before he died.

            I’m still not sure which is harder: being in a situation like that when you know the person and the family. Or when you’ve never met them.

            Anyway, in this case, I had no idea who these people were. I had no idea about the baggage they were carrying, about their family dynamics, about their faith or lack of faith. I had no idea how prepared they were for what they were now enduring  - and what was yet to come.

            When I arrived it was clear that this poor man was near death – painfully thin and wide-eyed, heavily medicated, softly moaning, though seemingly not in much pain.

            The only people there were his mother and his sister.

            After a deep breath, I introduced myself. We talked for a few minutes. I said a short prayer. The three of us had communion and I anointed the dying man on his forehead with Holy Oil.

            As sometimes happens, after I anointed him, the moaning stopped and he grew quiet and peaceful.

            Having done my priestly duty, I wasn’t sure if the mother and sister wanted me to stay or to go. I decided just to sit quietly and wait and see.

            After a few minutes, the man’s mother said to me with her eyes and voice pleading for assurance, “Do you think my son can go to heaven?”

            I’ve been asked questions like that before, of course. I usually talk about God’s mercy – about how God’s mercy always trumps God’s judgement. But, this time I seemed to say something before I had even thought it, surprising myself. I looked into this suffering mother’s pleading eyes and said,

            “God’s not going to let go of him now.”

            “God’s not going to let go of him now.”

            In today’s gospel lesson from Luke, Jesus’ earthly journey is beginning to draw to a close. He is in Jerusalem, the center of religious and political power. And religious and political power is taking notice of him, questioning him, beginning to plot against him.

            Today we heard a story found in Mark, Matthew and Luke: the Sadducees question Jesus about eternal life.

            Back in the First Century, the Sadducees had a lot of power because they operated the Temple, which was the center of Jewish life. They also were religiously conservative, sticking with the Books of Moses - the Pentateuch - the first five books of the Bible. Since there seems to be nothing in those first five books about eternal life, the Sadducees rejected any idea of resurrection or life after death.

            For the Sadducees, the only way to live on was through children, grandchildren and beyond.

            So, in an effort to make the whole idea of resurrection seem silly, the Sadducees ask Jesus their question about this ridiculously unfortunate woman who died after being married consecutively to seven brothers who had died one after the next. The Sadducees ask Jesus, “In the resurrection whose wife will she be? For the seven had married her.”

            I can almost imagine Jesus rolling his eyes at the question.

            He patiently explains the difference between earthly life and resurrected life.

            And then Jesus uses the story of God appearing to Moses in the burning bush to make a profound point about God. God is the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob – who were all long dead when God appeared in the burning bush to Moses. Or rather, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob were all long dead in the eyes of the world.

            Jesus concludes by saying, “Now he is not God of the dead, but of the living; for to him all of them are alive.”

            The God of the living never lets go of Abraham, Isaac or Jacob.

            God never lets go of Moses.

            In the triumph of Easter, God never lets go of Jesus.

            God never lets go of the man, painfully thin and wide-eyed, dying from complications of AIDS in his nursing home bed, surrounded by his mother and sister.

            And, God never lets go of us. God never lets go of any of us who put our trust in God, who leave even the tiniest of spaces in our lives, in our hearts, for God.            

            In a little while I will baptize Chris, Giovanni, Precious and Julian. In the water of baptism, they will die and rise with Christ.

            And in the water of baptism, God will make an indissoluble – an unbreakable bond – with these four great kids.

            Like all of us, over the course of their lives they will make lots of mistakes, big and small. They will hurt other people, maybe most especially the people they love the most. They will choose their own pleasure and gain over what’s good for the people around them.

            Like all of us, over the course of their lives, they will use people, treating them as things instead of as brothers and sisters with their own hopes and dreams. They will disappoint the people close to them - and, maybe most painfully of all, they will disappoint themselves.

            Like all of us, over the course of their lives, there will be lots of times when they forget to pray, when they neglect to make room for God, when they skip church more often than they show up.

            And yet, no matter what they do or don’t do, God’s bond remains indissoluble, unbreakable.

            No matter what, the God of the living will never let go of Chris, Giovanni, Precious and Julian.

            And God will never, ever let go of us.

            Amen. 

Dismissing Sainthood

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

November 3, 2013

All Saints’ Sunday

Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18

Psalm 149

Ephesians 1:11-23

Luke 6:20-31

Dismissing Sainthood

            Over the past few days as we’ve marked All Saints’ Day on Friday and All Souls’ Day yesterday and getting ready for our celebration today, I’ve been thinking a lot about the saints in my life. As I mentioned in my homily at our service on Friday evening, I’ve been reflecting on – and giving thanks for – both the “Capital S” saints – the famous people whose holiness has been officially and widely recognized. You know, people like the Virgin Mary, St. Paul, and St. Francis

            And I’ve also been thinking about the “Small S” saints – the people I’ve encountered who have been saints in my life but whose holiness may only be known to a few people.

            I’m sure that most, if not all, of us have had those kinds of “Small S” saints in our lives – maybe a grandparent or some other relative, a friend, a neighbor, a teacher, or, who knows, maybe even a priest!

            All Saints’ Day is a day to give thanks for both those “Capital S” saints known by many and the “Small S” saints known to only a few.

            One of my Christian heroes is a woman who’s well on her way to becoming a “Capital S” saint. Her name is Dorothy Day.

            Maybe some of you have heard of her.

            She lived not too long ago, born in 1897 and dying in 1980 – within the lifetimes of many of us.

            Dorothy Day was actually baptized in the Episcopal Church but her family wasn’t religious and so she grew up outside of the church. As an adult she traveled in artistic and literary circles, seemingly uninterested in faith. It wasn’t until the birth of her daughter that she had a powerful conversion experience, leading to her becoming a Roman Catholic.

            But, she wasn’t just any Roman Catholic. She went on to co-found what’s called the Catholic Worker movement. She and her friends took the Gospel at face value. They were determined to respect the dignity of every human being, especially the poorest of the poor and the most outcast of the outcasts.

            During the Great Depression, the Catholic Workers set up houses in New York and elsewhere, serving meals to the poor and offering shelter to the homeless. Dorothy and the other Catholic Workers lived and worked among the people thy served.

            Taking Jesus at his word, and to the dismay of many of her friends and supporters, she opposed all war, even popular and “good” wars like World War II. She protested for civil rights, for the rights of farm workers, and against wars and our government’s vast military spending.

            Even people who disagreed with her on certain issues (and there were many!), recognized the sanctity, the holiness, of Dorothy Day.

            In and through her life, people saw glimpses of the Kingdom of God – the kingdom that Jesus reveals to us most clearly in the Beatitudes – which we heard in today’s gospel lesson.

            In and through Dorothy Day’s life, people glimpsed God’s kingdom – God’s kingdom where the poor, the hungry, the mourners, and the despised are truly blessed.

            In and through Dorothy Day’s life, people glimpsed God’s kingdom – God’s kingdom where we really do love our enemies, really do bless those who curse us and pray for those who abuse us.

            In and through Dorothy Day’s life, people glimpsed God’s kingdom – God’s kingdom where we give away all that we have to those who steal from us, where we give to every beggar, where we don’t ask for stuff back fro those who haven taken from us.

            In and through Dorothy Day’s life, people glimpsed God’s kingdom – God’s kingdom where people treat others the way they themselves would want to be treated.

            Since people glimpsed God’s kingdom in and through Dorothy Day’s life, it’s no surprise that even while she was alive there was a lot of talk that she was – or would be – a saint.

            And today, it’s pretty clear that the Catholic Church will officially canonize her, make her a “Capital S” saint, before long.

            Maybe it’s ironic, or maybe it’s another sign of her holiness, but she wanted no part of sainthood. In fact, one of her famous quotes is:

            “Don’t call me a saint. I don’t want to be dismissed so easily.”

            “Don’t call me a saint. I don’t want to be dismissed so easily.”

            People have puzzled over that, wondering what exactly she meant by it.

            “Don’t call me a saint. I don’t want to be dismissed so easily.”

            Do we easily dismiss saints?

            I think we do.

            Maybe in part because of artwork that tends to show saints as images of near-perfection, gazing blissfully up to heaven, we often dismiss saints as not really human like us. We dismiss saints as if they belong to a different species. We dismiss saints as not having the same kinds of challenges and fears and disappointments and doubts as we do.

            We dismiss saints as people to whom faith and sacrifice and service come easily.

            And, by dismissing saints as wildly different from us, of course we really dismiss ourselves - we let ourselves off the hook from even trying to be a saint.

            But, the truth is that saints are no more and no less human than we are.

            They face the same kinds of challenges and fears and suffer the same kinds of disappointments as we do. They doubt their choices and sometimes call out to a God who is painfully silent and seemingly absent.

            Reading about Dorothy Day, you hear stories about how she sometimes drove people up the wall because of her stubbornness and inflexibility. We can read in her diaries that she sometimes grew tired and disgusted by the endless need that surrounded her, the offensive smells, the dishonesty of the people she and the Catholic Workers served.

            Yet, what sets Dorothy Day and the other great saints apart, is that despite their challenges, disappointments and doubts, they kept going.

            And, so in and through their lives, even after they’re long dead, people glimpse – people continue to see – the kingdom of God.

            And that’s the kind of life that we challenged, frightened, disappointed and doubtful Christians are called to live.

            Next Sunday we’re going to have four – count ‘em – four baptisms. Giovanni, Chris, Precious, and Julian will take the plunge into the waters of baptism – will die and rise with Christ.

            And as we do at every Baptism we will renew our Baptismal Covenant.

            We’ll make those big promises to pray, to resist evil, to repent, to proclaim the Good News, to seek and serve Christ in all persons, to respect the dignity of every human being.

            Every time we say those words I think, wow, what a really tall order.

            Really we are promising, with God’s help, to try to be saints.

            As Christians we promise, with God’s help, to try to live in ways so that people will glimpse the kingdom of God in us.

            With God’s help – and together here it St. Paul’s – we can keep going.

            With God’s help – and together here at St. Paul’s - we can certainly be “Small S” saints and, who knows, maybe some of us can even be “Capital S” saints.

            Amen.