A Father's Letter: Trust the Dream

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

December 18, 2016

Year A: The Fourth Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 7:10-16

Psalm 80:1-7, 16-18

Romans 1:1-7

Matthew 1:18-25

A Father’s Letter: Trust the Dream

            This past week I finally had the chance to read a book that got quite a bit of attention when it came out last year.

            It’s called Between the World and Me and it’s written by Ta-Nehisi Coates, an African-American journalist who writes for The Atlantic magazine.

            The short book is actually a long public letter written by Coates to his teenage son. And in this letter, Coates tells his son about his experience growing up black in Baltimore and then attending Howard University and finally becoming a father and a journalist.

            Throughout the book, Coates writes vividly and painfully about the vulnerability of black bodies: the historic vulnerability of black bodies when Europeans and Americans enslaved and tortured and attempted to dehumanize them, and the present-day vulnerability of black bodies as, over and over, politicians and the police and the courts make it quite clear that black lives really don’t matter as much as other lives, the vulnerability that I’m sure so many of you, so many of our parishioners, feel every day, as you walk or drive around, as you shop, as you apply for work and try to hold on to jobs, as you worry sick about children and grandchildren.

            Coates fears for his son’s safety in our gun-crazed and still quite racist country, fears that his son will join the tragically long list of black people, especially black men, killed in senseless violence on the street or killed when a seemingly routine traffic stop goes horribly wrong.

            So, it’s a painful book to read but it’s also moving and inspiring, because Coates obviously loves his son so much and wants him, despite the obvious vulnerability, to live a rich life filled with love and art and meaning and hope.

            Well, today is the Fourth Sunday of Advent, the final Advent Sunday of waiting and watching and preparation, the Sunday when we turn our attention from John the Baptist to those other main Advent characters, Mary and Joseph.

            Today we heard Matthew’s account of the birth of Jesus. Matthew is the evangelist who tells us the most about Joseph, although never once in this Gospel or in the others does Joseph say even a single word.

            Joseph is the silent man of Advent, the silent man of the Gospel.

            So, reading a book written by a father to his son got me wondering and imagining what silent Joseph would say to the teenage Jesus about his birth and the meaning of his life.

            What would the almost certainly illiterate Joseph write if he could to Jesus, this young man who, like every other Jew living under Roman occupation in the first century, was at least as vulnerable as a black person in twenty-first century America.

            What fears and hopes did Joseph have for this Jesus who he had raised as his own son, probably at no small cost to himself?

            And, what I imagined is that Joseph would tell Jesus to do what Joseph had done all those years ago.

            I imagined that Joseph would tell Jesus to trust God’s dream.

            Trust the dream.

            “My son,

            There was a time when I wondered if I could ever, would ever, accept you as my son. Even today, as we work side by side, it still sometimes saddens me when I look at you and see nothing of my family in your face.

            And yet, I do see myself in you. I see myself in the way you walk, the way you carry yourself, the care you take with our work, your desire for every chair and table we make to be absolutely perfect.

            I see myself in you the way you strive to treat everyone fairly. I see myself in you the way you feel sad and want to help all the blind beggars by the side of the road, and all the lepers on the outskirts of town.

             I see myself in you as you keep God’s Law and aim for righteousness.

            Your mother, who has long pondered in her heart all the amazing and mysterious events around your birth, has shared some of our story, your story, with you, but, not being much of a talker, I haven’t, at least not yet.

            But now, I am old and may not have much time to tell you our story.

            Our story began with your mother telling me the most unexpected and very hard to believe news: my young Mary was with child, a gift not from me, but, she said, a gift from God.

            I was angry. I was hurt. I was confused. I wanted to believe her but could not.

            Despite all of this, I surprised myself by still loving your mother. I did not want to disgrace her.

            My plan was to quietly end our betrothal, as quietly and privately as we can do anything in our small town where, as you know, there are few secrets.

            But then in a dream an angel appeared to me, telling me to not be afraid and to take Mary as my wife. The angel told me that you would play a most special role in history.

            So, my son, I faced a choice, the choice of my life.

            Do I trust the dream?

            Well, you know the choice I made.

            It was not an easy choice, as I think you also know.

            In our small town, the busybodies gossiped about the timing of your birth, mocking us, and, yes, I’ll admit, wounding my pride as you grew up and your face bore no likeness to mine.

            It was not an easy choice, but trusting God’s dream has made all the difference for me, for you, and, I believe, so many others.

            What I have learned is, trusting God’s dream makes it real.

            And now I look at you in the shop, so familiar and yet somehow always mysterious, and I know that the angel’s promise is about to be fulfilled.

            I see you gazing off into the distance, looking up to the sky. I see you praying so intensely and listening so carefully in the synagogue to the story of God and our people, and I know our small town Nazareth will not be able to hold you.

            I see you angered by the injustices all around us and I wonder what will happen when you begin to speak out, when you point your life to God whose kingdom is the exact opposite of the kingdom built by the Romans and Herod in their gilded palaces. God’s kingdom is the exact opposite of this earthly kingdom built on the backs of poor people like us, this brutal earthly kingdom soaked with our blood.

            I see you fired up with love for the poor and the abused, and I wonder what will happen when you face opposition from the rich and powerful. They hunted you even as an infant.

            What will happen when the people you thought were your friends get frightened and fail you, or even betray you? What will happen when it feels like even God has abandoned you?

            I will not live to see all of this, to see how you make your way, how you live out your destiny, in our dangerous and broken world.

            And, since you were a little boy you have often not taken my advice. I am at peace with this.

            But, the one thing I want you to remember, the great lesson of my life is: trust the dream.

            Trust God’s dream. Trust the dream.

            With love, from your father.”

            Now for us it’s the Fourth Sunday of Advent.

            Out in the world, in the malls and along the avenues, it’s been Christmas for a really long time, and even here in church today’s gospel lesson is the Christmas story and after the 10:00 service we’ll be greening the church and then we’re off and running.

            It will be wonderful and it will be magical and I hope you’re here for all of it.

            But, behind all the beautiful decorations and gorgeous music, is the story of poor people living in an occupied land ruled by brutal tyrants.

            It’s the story of seemingly simple and ordinary people who, despite their very real fears and vulnerabilities, made the faithful choice to trust God’s dream of a kingdom of love.

            And, look what happened.

            By trusting God’s dream, Mary, Joseph, and most especially Jesus, they made God’s dream real.

            May we also trust the dream.

            Amen.

           

             

           

           

                       

            

Finding Joy in a Time of Trouble

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

December 11, 2016

Year A: The Third Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 35:1-10

Psalm 146:4-9

James 5:7-10

Matthew 11:2-11

Finding Joy in a Time of Trouble

            I’ve lived my whole life in the United States, so I’ve never lived under a totalitarian dictatorship.

            I know that some of you, some of our own parishioners, grew up and lived in countries ruled by brutal dictators, places where the great freedoms of speech and assembly and religion were not respected – just the opposite.

            I’ve never lived in that kind of brutal place, but I have visited one.

            Back in the late 80’s, I had the chance to visit East Berlin, the capital city of East Germany, which was ruled by a ruthless government, puppets of the Soviet Union.

            You’ll remember that things were so bad in East Germany that the government was forced to build a wall to keep its own people from fleeing to freedom and opportunity.

            The wall was surrounded by landmines and watched over by guards in towers, guards who were under orders to shoot and kill anyone trying to escape to the West.

            So, when I first visited East Berlin, I was nervous.

            I was nervous at the border crossing, standing in front of a tinted window while on the other side a border guard I could just barely see examined my passport, and exchanged my valuable West German money for almost worthless East German currency.

            Anyway, I was allowed into the East.

            And when I crossed over, to my surprise, I remember thinking how normal it all seemed. Like any other city, people were going about their business, doing their jobs, shopping, eating and drinking in cafes and bars.

            Trolleys and cars made their way up and down the streets.

            It all seemed very normal, but in fact I was visiting a giant prison.

            At the end of the day, with my US passport, I would be able to cross back through the checkpoint into freedom, but all of these seemingly normal people going about their business, these prisoners, could not.

            Over the years I’ve thought about that experience a lot. And, I’ve wondered, is it possible to experience joy in a place like that?

            And, even if our situation isn’t quite so extreme, we all know the challenge of finding joy in a time of trouble.

            Today is the Third Sunday of Advent, the Sunday we traditionally ease up a little, symbolized by switching our liturgical color from blue to rose (not pink!)

            Today is the Sunday we allow ourselves to recognize that, yes, Christmas is getting close.

            Today is sometimes called “Gaudete Sunday” from a Latin word meaning “rejoice.”

            Rejoice!

            The problem, of course, is that it’s hard to find joy in a time of trouble.

            And, we live in a time of trouble with our country bitterly divided and about to be led by a kind of government we’ve never really seen before.

            We live in a time of trouble with, they say, a much-improved economy and yet so many of our parishioners continue to struggle and just last week two people who live right here on Duncan Avenue told me that they had to move because their homes are being foreclosed.

            We live in a time of trouble with regrets about the past and fears of the future.

            And, in today’s gospel lesson, we hear about someone else who’s in trouble: John the Baptist.

            Last week we heard about John the Baptist in his prime, dressed up like Elijah, down at the River Jordan preaching repentance to the people, baptizing huge crowds from Jerusalem and the surrounding country, letting the religious establishment really have it – “you brood of vipers’ – and predicting that an even greater one was coming who would baptize – and judge - with fire.

            John the Baptist preached truth to power, and, as usual, power didn’t like it very much.

            The imprisonment of John the Baptist (and his soon to come execution) is a reminder of something we often forget: John the Baptist and Jesus and all the other New Testament people lived during a terrible time, a time when Israel was under the control of the ruthless Romans and their grotesque puppets, Herod and his descendants.

            The Romans weren’t big into freedom for their conquered peoples, and they didn’t tolerate any resistance.

            Crucifixion wasn’t a rare event. Just the opposite. There were times when thousands of crosses stood around Jerusalem, each holding a powerful and decomposing reminder of what happened when you challenged authority.

            So, today we hear that John is in prison and while earlier he had recognized Jesus as the Messiah now he seems to be wavering, or, at least having trouble seeing Jesus as the long-awaited Messiah.

            No surprise, the imprisoned prophet John the Baptist is having trouble finding joy in a time of trouble.

            The problem may be that John is not able - or not willing - to see what’s really going on.

            Remember how John had predicted that the Messiah was coming with his winnowing fork, to gather up the wheat into the granary and to cast the chaff into unquenchable fire?

            A powerful image, and even maybe inspiring if you imagine the Romans or other brutal dictators as the “chaff” burning in an eternal fire.

            But, instead of pronouncing fiery judgment, instead of taking up the sword and gathering an army to drive the Romans and their allies out of Israel, Jesus the Messiah gives sight to the blind, gives new steps to the lame, gives cleansing to the lepers, gives sound to the deaf, gives new life to the dead, and good news to the poor.

            And, that’s how God works.

            Especially in times of trouble, if we look carefully we find that God is always at work offering good news, offering healing, and offering new life.

             If we pay attention, we can find joy even in times of trouble.

            I’ve noticed that over these past few months and weeks, in the face of so much ugliness and fear, we seem to be taking better care of each other.

            There have been more people volunteering to feed the homeless, more people bringing food for the pantry, more people in church, finding joy in a time of trouble.

            To be honest, each year our Christmas giving tree is kind of a pain in the neck as the church staff tries to get everyone to remember to bring in the gifts that they promised, but this year nearly all of the gifts were under the tree in record time, offering to children we’ll never meet joy in a time of trouble.

            The other night, at our Stone Soup Community Supper, people seemed a little more willing to linger over the meal, to talk, to really listen to each other, to just be together, finding joy in a time of trouble.

            You know, all those years ago when I visited communist East Berlin, a tall TV tower, one of the tallest structures in Europe, dominated the city’s skyline. Like their Olympic teams that won so many medals, the tower was meant as a sign of the success and power of the brutal regime. You’d see it just about anywhere you looked.

            There was – and is - a giant stainless steel dome on the tower, above the restaurant and observation deck.

            And, to the frustration of the communist rulers who built it as a sign of their greatness, when the sun hits the stainless steel dome of the TV tower it makes an unmistakable sign of the cross, a sign of the cross that glowed over the imprisoned city, a sign of the cross that was humorously called the “Pope’s Revenge,” but seriously offered a sign of God’s presence even in a place with very little hope or joy.

            And, eventually, the East German people did rise up - peacefully, yes, but they rose up, led in part by Christians who offered love against brutality, who offered hope against walls and guard towers, who offered joy in a time of trouble.

            And, sure enough, brutal dictators and ugly walls fell.

            Today our country is bitterly divided and about to be led by the kind of government we’ve never really seen before.

            We may find that our Christian faith is going to cost us like it’s never cost us before.

            Many of us are frightened by that – and frightened by the pile of bills on the kitchen table, the threat of layoffs at work, frightened by an uncertain and unknown future.

            Yet, just like in first century Israel and twentieth century Germany, just like all the time, God is at work.

            God is at work, casting down the mighty from their thrones and lifting up the lowly.

            God is at work, not using a winnowing fork, but offering love and healing and hope to a hurting world, allowing us, if we look, to find joy in a time of trouble.

            Amen.

           

           

            

Wrong Way

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

December 4, 2016

Year A: The Second Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 11:1-10

Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19

Romans 15:4-13

Matthew 3:1-12

Wrong Way

            This is a little embarrassing for me to tell you, but, I didn’t get my driver’s license until I was thirty years old.

            I waited so long because, over the years, I had developed a kind of phobia about driving.

            I’ve since learned that this is pretty common for people who grow up in cities where you know the driving really is intense: narrow, busy streets; heavy traffic; pedestrians darting into the street just about anywhere and everywhere; speed limits are, unfortunately, rarely enforced; and the rules of the road are treated more like ideals, or, maybe, suggestions.

            Anyway, I had worked myself into a phobia, convinced that I could never be quick enough, never careful enough, never coordinated enough, could never be attentive enough to be a good driver.

            And, for years, thanks to generous friends and halfway-decent public transportation, I was able to get around – just like many of our own parishioners here are able to do OK without a car or even a license.

            But, eventually, Sue convinced me that I needed to face and overcome this fear - and finally get a driver’s license.

            (I’m sure the fact that she didn’t want to always be the one doing the driving must have been a big part of it!)

            I remember being so nervous in the beginning as I was learning, driving so slowly, letting people just pass me, gripping the wheel, wondering how I could ever get used to this awesome responsibility.

            But, I passed the road test and got my license and slowly got used to driving, especially when we lived out in Madison where it was necessary to drive pretty much everywhere.

            And now today, like most drivers, I don’t really think about it. I’m not conscious of all the decisions I make each time I drive – not really conscious of all of my many choices and actions, except when there’s a near-miss, or I pass an accident, or have to drive someplace challenging and confusing, like over the George Washington Bridge, or, when I see one of those red “Wrong Way” signs.

            You know those signs?

            You often see them at entrance or exit ramps, or where the intersection is a little complicated.

            When I see one of those, I always stop and think for a panicked split-second, am I in the correct lane? Am I heading in the right direction?

            And then, once I’ve assured myself that, yes, it’s OK, I’m going in the right direction, I sometimes think: that sign is there because probably someone headed in the wrong direction, and drove straight ahead, right into potential disaster.

            Wrong Way.

            And, you know, over the centuries, that was the message of the Hebrew Prophets.

            Over and over they warned God’s people: You’re going the wrong way!            

            Wrong Way!

            You’re going the wrong way when you worship other gods.

            You’re going the wrong way when you don’t share with those in need.

            You’re going the wrong way when you don’t welcome the stranger and the foreigner.

            You’re going the wrong way when you say and do all the right things in the Temple but out in the world you live like everybody else, like none of that prayer and sacrifice makes any difference at all.

            Over and over, the prophets warned God’s people: Wrong Way!

            And, that was the message of the prophet we consider the last in the long line of Hebrew Prophets, John the Baptist.

            We are re-introduced to John the Baptist, one of the central Advent characters, in today’s Gospel lesson where he appears in the wilderness, dressing and eating like an earlier prophet, Elijah.

            John the Baptist proclaims to the people that they’re going the wrong way and calls on them to repent – to not just say they’re sorry, but to turn around their minds, to turn around their hearts, to turn around their lives.

            You’re going the wrong way! You’re heading right into disaster! And, there’s not much time because the Kingdom of heaven has come near, so, repent!

            Turn around, and be saved.

            And, we’re told that the people heard John’s warning and repented, a lot of people from Jerusalem and the surrounding countryside. They turned around by being baptized right there in the River Jordan, washing away their sins and then, hopefully, heading back in the right direction.

            You’re going the wrong way! Turn around! Repent!

             But, you know, the Bible is silent on how exactly all these people were heading in the wrong direction. We don’t know what sins were being washed away in the Jordan.

            Oh, we know that John – just like Jesus who comes after him – doesn’t have much use for the religious establishment.

            We hear that in today’s reading when John let’s the Pharisees and the Sadducees have it. “You brood of vipers, “ he calls them, criticizing them for thinking that they have nothing to worry about because they are descended from Abraham.

            But, what about everybody else?

            What sins were they washing away?

            Well, I’m sure there were some really serious things, violations of the Ten Commandments: idolatry, lying, stealing, cheating.

            But, I bet for a lot of those people back then, maybe all of the people, one of the sins was simply not paying attention, taking all of God’s good gifts for granted, no longer appreciating the beauty and the abundance all around, and no longer seeing the poor and the hungry and not sharing with those in need.

            And, maybe the same is true for us.

            You know, life can be a lot like driving.

            We get used to it. We all have a lot on our mind and we get distracted. We go through the motions, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, not really thinking about what we’re doing, separated from and no longer really seeing most of the people around us.

            We don’t really pay attention until suddenly we realize that we’ve forgotten about God, until suddenly we realize that we don’t have all the time in the world, until suddenly we realize that we hate and fear those who are different or who disagree with us, until suddenly we realize that we’ve given away almost nothing to our brothers and sisters in need, until suddenly we realize that we’ve made some wrong turns and we’ve lost our way.

            We don’t really pay attention until we see that “Wrong Way” sign.

            The prophets, including John the Baptist, through their words and actions, held up that “Wrong Way” sign in front of the people, calling them to turn around, to repent.

            And, John prepares the way for Jesus, who will also hold up that same “Wrong Way” sign, calling on the people, calling on us, his followers, here today, to turn around, to repent.

            And, better than that, Jesus doesn’t just hold up the “Wrong Way” sign.

            No, through his life, death, and resurrection, Jesus shows us the “Right Way” – the way of love, the way of generosity, the way of sacrifice.

            Jesus doesn’t just hold up the “Wrong Way” sign.

            He offers himself as the Right Way.

            It’s the Second Sunday of Advent and all of us in our own way are heading the wrong way.

            And, yes, the Kingdom of heaven is drawing near, but, thanks be to God, there’s still time, still time to pay attention, still time to turn around our minds, hearts, and lives, still time to repent.             

            Amen.

Spiritual Cataracts

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

November 27, 2016

Year A: The First Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 2:1-5

Psalm 122

Romans 13:11-14

Matthew 24:36-44

Spiritual Cataracts

            A couple of weeks ago one of our parishioners asked me to pray with him because he was about to have surgery to remove cataracts from his eye.

            As soon as he said the word “cataracts” I was taken back to my childhood. I remembered hearing my grandparents and others of that generation talk in hushed tones about “cataracts,” using the same serious voices they used when they talked about “cancer.”

            Of course, as a little kid, I had no idea what “cataracts” were. It sounded to me like “Cadillacs,” but I knew that couldn’t be right!

            Although I didn’t know what cataracts were I could tell from the way my family talked about it that they were something terrible, something to be feared, dreaded.

            Later, I did learn what cataracts were and I understood why they were so scary: they led to the dimming of vision and perhaps even blindness. There were surgeries available back then but they were dangerous and required a very long recovery time.

            I remembered all of that when our parishioner mentioned his cataract surgery, but, of course, today it’s a whole different story.

            As many of you know, though it’s never a joke to have eye surgery, now, thanks to lasers, the procedure has become pretty much routine with only a very brief recovery time and nearly miraculous results.

            I’ve known people for whom the hardest part of the experience was getting used to not wearing glasses!

            Cataract surgery is just one of the many examples of how our lives are incredibly better than they were even just a generation or two ago.

            So many diseases that were terrifying killers have now been tamed. Some of us here today are still alive thanks to relatively new medicines and treatments.

            We know so much more about the body, about the importance of diet and exercise and the role of genetics in shaping our destinies.

            We’ve made progress in cleaning up some of the mess we’ve made of the earth. Thanks to improved technology and stricter regulations, the air is so much cleaner than it was when I was a kid – and the water, too. Just this past week a humpback whale took a swim up the Hudson, not because it was sick or lost but because the cleaned up water is now teeming with fish, lots of tasty snacks for a hungry leviathan!

            Or, just think about the technologies that are at our fingertips now – tools that were the stuff of science fiction just a few decades ago.

            As a kid I had pen pals around the world. I can remember the anticipation as I waited for my letters to get overseas and for the replies to reach Jersey City. Today that seems downright quaint when we can just exchange emails or Skype in an instant.

             I could pull out my cellphone right now (but won’t since I’m in church!), and look up just about any piece of information, or I could text or call someone living across the country or around the world.

            For all our present-day troubles, we live in an age of wonders.

            But, there’s always a cost.

            For many of us, the cost has been that the pace of life has increased so much. So many of us have to work harder and longer and be ever more efficient, just to make ends meet.

            For many of us, the cost has been we’re on call twenty-four hours a day.

            For many of us, the cost has been that our relationships have become shallower and more superficial. We text each other or keep up on Facebook, poor substitutes for carefully written letters or long face-to-face conversations.

            For many of us, the cost has been that our eyes are so focused on our screens that we miss out on what’s going on around us. We spend so much time on our smartphones and our computers, so much time watching TV, that we have trouble seeing God at work in our lives, God at work in the world around us.

            We’ve developed “spiritual cataracts.”

            Well, today is the First Sunday of Advent, the start of a new church year.

            Out there, the focus is on what the world calls “Christmas,” but here in church during these four Advent Sundays, yes, we keep one eye on the upcoming celebration of Jesus’ birth but we keep the other eye on the end of time, the unknown day and hour when Jesus will return in glory.

            The main Advent message, though, is to keep awake, to watch, to look, to pay attention, to see God at work in our lives, in the world around us, to see God building God’s kingdom of peace, where nations “shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore.”

            But, to see all of that and more, we’re going to need to get our spiritual cataracts taken care of – which, unfortunately, won’t be quite as easy as getting our eyes zapped by a laser.

            So, as we begin Advent, I suggest we cut back even just a little on the smartphone, on Facebook, on the computer, on TV.

            I suggest we make even just a little bit more time, time for prayer, time for reflection, time for rest, time to pay attention to what’s going on around us, time to see God at work.

            And, if we work on our spiritual cataracts what might we see?

            We might see a beautiful interfaith Thanksgiving service with people of goodwill who believe some different things about God, coming together to give thanks for our life together, to make beautiful music, to embrace each other in love and friendship.

            We might see a small army of parishioners, neighbors, and friends – people of faith and people of no particular faith – rallying together to prepare a mountain of delicious food – a Thanksgiving feast for people with no place else to go and people wouldn’t want to be anyplace else.

            We might see this beautiful place – this beautiful place that has been handed down to us by those who have come before – this beautiful place with its walls bathed in prayer – this beautiful place where we hear God’s Word, where we take the Body and Blood of Christ into our bodies and souls, and where we see the glory of God in all of these gorgeous faces.

            We live in an age of wonders, when once-terrifying maladies like cataracts can be zapped away.

            Yes, we live in an age of wonders, but it comes at a cost.

            We’ve developed spiritual cataracts – and Advent, the start of a new church year, is the perfect time to zap them away by turning off our machines and paying attention, so we can see the glory of God in Jesus, see the glory of God in the world, and see the glory of God in one another.

            Amen.

            

"The Discipline of Gratitude"

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

November 24, 2016

Year C: Thanksgiving Day

Deuteronomy 26:1-11

Psalm 100

Philippians 4:4-9

John 6-25-35

“The Discipline of Gratitude”

            In the passage we just heard from Paul’s Letter to the Philippians, the apostle writes, “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything…”

            Well, that’s easier said than done, right?

            If you were at our beautiful Interfaith Thanksgiving Service on Tuesday night, you heard Rev. Gary preach a dynamite sermon which included the point that it’s pretty easy to be thankful when things are going your way, but a whole lot harder to be thankful during tough times. It’s tough to be thankful when it feels like our whole world is falling apart.

            It’s hard to be thankful when we face illness, or when a relationship has cracked and broken, or when we watch someone we love make terrible decisions, or when we’ve got a pile of bills that we just can’t pay, or, yes, when it looks like our country is heading down a very dangerous road.

            How can we be thankful when we understandably feel anything but thankful?

            Well, this past week I was poking around the Internet for quotes about gratitude and I came upon this from the 20^th Century Roman Catholic priest and writer, Henri Nouwen, who wrote,

            “The discipline of gratitude is the explicit effort to acknowledge that all I am and have is given to me as a gift of love, a gift to be celebrated with joy.”

            I like that a lot, especially the phrase, “the discipline of gratitude.”

            The older I get, the more convinced I am of the importance of spiritual discipline, of doing our best to structure our lives so there is regular time for prayer, regular time for worship, regular time for service to others, and, yes, regular time for gratitude.

            The discipline of gratitude.

            Thanksgiving Day gives us a special opportunity to practice the discipline of gratitude since the whole day, the very name of the day, points us in the direction of being grateful.

            But, of course, one day a year isn’t really much of a discipline, is it?

            So, what might the discipline of gratitude look like during the rest of the year?

            Well, we practice the discipline of gratitude by being mindful, by being mindful that it is truly amazing that we are all here together, all here together on a rock sailing through the universe, all here together able to love and to laugh, to touch and to learn, to see and to hear such great beauty.

            The rest of the year we practice the discipline of gratitude by remembering – by remembering our own personal story and especially by remembering the story of God and us.

            In today’s Old Testament lesson from Deuteronomy, the people of Israel are called to remember their story, their story of God and them, their story of God leading them out of captivity in Egypt into freedom in the promised land.

            And, each time we come to church we remember – we remember the story of God and us – we remember the story of God loving us so much that God came and lived among us – we remember the story of God loving us so much that even when we did our worst, God still never gave up on us – and will never give up on us.

            Each time we gather around the altar we remember that God has fed us – and continues to feed us – with the Bread of Life.

            Finally, we practice the discipline of gratitude by giving to others, especially those who can’t pay us back.

            Each time we’ve gone over to the homeless drop-in center and served a delicious homemade hot lunch, I know I feel deep, deep gratitude – gratitude that I get to do such meaningful work with such wonderful people, gratitude that I’ve been given so much, and have the ability to share.

            And, when we are mindful, and when we remember, and when we serve – when we practice the discipline of gratitude during the good times, during the times when things are pretty much normal, then, with God’s help, we really will be disciplined enough to be grateful even when things aren’t going our way, when it feels like our world is falling apart.

            And, that gratitude will leave God just enough room to give us the grace we need to face those hard times – to really know and feel that, yes, indeed, no matter what, even when our world seems to be falling apart, the Lord is near.

            May we together practice the discipline of gratitude not just today, but each and every day of the year.

            Amen.

The Crown

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

November 20, 2016

Year C, Proper 29: The Last Sunday after Pentecost – Christ the King

Jeremiah 23:1-6

Canticle 16

Colossians 1:11-20

Luke 23:33-43

The Crown

            It’s always good to be here together on a Sunday but it was especially good to be here last Sunday at our 10:00 service.

            I had the privilege of baptizing three beautiful babies – Martin, Louisa, and Aria – and the church was absolutely packed.

            It was packed with a lot of people who came for the baptisms and it was packed with a lot of or own parishioners and it was even packed with some people who picked an especially good Sunday to check out St. Paul’s for the first time – it was packed with over 200 people, which I’m guessing is some kind of record for a non-holiday Sunday.

            We weren’t expecting quite so many people so we ran out of bulletins pretty early on and the ushers asked for hardship pay - and I was so discombobulated that I forgot to carry my reading glasses with me during the gospel procession! Fortunately, I was still able to read the words, but just barely!

            It was quite the day. In fact, more than one person said to me that it felt like Easter. And so it did.

            Even on a day when a lot of people were still stunned by the election results, it really did feel like Easter – that holiest day, that day above all days, that day when we celebrate that God makes a way out of no way, that God turns death into new life, and the day when God reveals Jesus to be what he was all along and will be forever: Christ the King.

            And, now, here we are today on the last Sunday of the church year.

            It’s the Feast of Christ the King.

            And, you know, the church isn’t as crowded as last week but it still feels like Easter to me, so…

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Last week, in addition to going to church a lot, I also binge-watched a new series on Netflix called, The Crown.

            Maybe some of you have seen it or heard about it?

            The Crown is about the early reign of Queen Elizabeth II, when as a young woman she succeeds her father and has to figure out how to be a monarch while at the same time still be a woman and a wife, a mother, a daughter, and a sister.

            It’s very well done and I enjoyed it very much but as I was watching I thought how the Queen has spent her long life surrounded by fabulous royal luxury, the jewel-encrusted crowns, the grand palaces, the servants always present to meet every need or whim, the elegant clothes, the people forever bowing and curtseying in her presence, the adoring crowds cheering and waving flags, and all the rest of it.

            She is surrounded by all that royal luxury but, in fact, has less control over her own life than we do over our lives.

            She is surrounded by all that royal luxury, but, in fact, has no real power at all.

            But, it’s just the opposite for Christ the King.

            Christ the King was a craftsman from a backwater town who we’re told didn’t even have a place to lay his head.

            Christ the King hung out with all the wrong kinds of people, shared God’s love with all the “losers,” shared God’s love with tax collectors, with a woman caught in adultery, with the Samaritan woman at the well, with the lepers and the blind and the possessed, with a bunch of fishermen and his other unimpressive followers.

            Christ the King shared a vision of God’s downside-up kingdom in which somehow it’s the poor and the hungry and the mournful who are truly blessed.

            Christ the King was rejected by just about everyone, was abandoned by his closest followers and friends, and left hanging on the cross, dying the death of a criminal.

            Christ the King died wearing not a jewel-encrusted crown but a crown of thorns, dying a shameful death under a sign mocking him as the “king.”

            And, that seemed to be the end of the story: Jesus seemed to be just another nobody, crushed by a brutal empire that cared only about power and wealth.

            In the eyes of the world, Jesus wearing his crown of thorns was a powerless loser.

            But, you know, we gathered around the font last week - and we come here and gather around the Table each week - because that’s wasn’t – that isn’t – the end of the story.

            God makes a way out of no way.

            God turns death into new life.

            And, on Easter, God reveals Jesus to be what he was all along and will be forever: Christ the King.

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            To the world, Christ the King seemed powerless but in fact the power of God was uniquely present in him.

            And, Christ the King didn’t use the power of God to amass great wealth or worldly power but instead he used the power of God to teach and to heal and to love.

            Christ the King gave away the power of God, gave it all away, gave away the last few drops hanging on the Cross.

            And now Christ the King reigns, and since we are the Body of Christ on earth, here’s the thing: that same power of God flows in and through us.

            I don’t know about you, but I feel God’s power each time we gather here and I especially felt it last week when so many of us were here and so open to God’s Spirit that was so obviously present, and is here right now.

            That same power of God flows in and through us, flows when we serve hot food to cold people, when we reach out in love to someone we don’t know and maybe even suspect, when we give to others so much that it actually hurts a little, when we stand up for those who are threatened, when we let it go and try to forgive.

            Now, you don’t need me to tell you that we live in a dangerous time with disrespect, hatred, greed, and fear on the loose. And, the powerful of the world in their jewel-encrusted mansions and towers no doubt look at us as they looked at Jesus, look at us as nobodies, as powerless losers.

            But, they’re quite wrong.

            Yes, we live in a dangerous time, but if we remember who we are and to whom we belong, life may not be easy, but, in the end, we’ll be OK.

            So, my prayer is that we’ll be faithful to Christ the King.

            My prayer is that during these difficult days we will continue to respect and love and give and hope. My prayer is that we will stay together and stick really close to the other “losers” of the world. My prayer is that we will try to live every day as if it really were Easter, that holiest day, that day above all days, that day when…

            God makes a way out of no way.

            God turns death into new life.

            And, God reveals Jesus to be what he was all along and will be forever: Christ the King.

            Alleluia! Christ is risen!

            The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

            Amen.

                        

God Reassembles the Pieces

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

November 13, 2016

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

God Reassembles the Pieces

            Some of you know that I’ve spent almost my entire life here in New Jersey – almost, but not quite all.

            I say “almost” because for a year I served as the Episcopal chaplain at the University of Florida and rector of a small church in suburban Gainesville.

            Sue and I had made the move down there because we thought we were ready to take on a new adventure and wanted to do it while we were still young enough to make such a big move.

            In Florida we met and prayed alongside many wonderful and faithful people – and we made some very close friends.

            But, pretty quickly we realized that it was just too hard for us to be on our own so far away from all the people we loved, too far from our support system. It was disappointing and embarrassing to accept and admit that this bold adventure of ours wasn’t working out, but I began to look at possible job opportunities back here in New Jersey.

            Fortunately, it turned out there was a church here in our diocese that was looking for a new priest. The place seemed like a pretty good fit so I sent in my materials and hoped for the best.

            The search committee interviewed me via Skype and everything went really well. Committee members were saying things like I was the answer to their prayers.

            So, I was feeling really good about this.

            The church paid to fly Sue and me up for an interview which, honestly, felt more like a coronation, felt almost like a formality, something to be done because it was supposed to be done, but not really necessary.

            It felt like I had this job in the bag.

            As I was leaving the last interview, I remember one of the leaders of the church saying to me that they were going to interview someone else because they were supposed to, but, just between us, he believed that soon he’d have very good news for me.

            We flew back to Florida feeling really good. I remember thinking that I had done it – that I had managed to reassemble the pieces of our life back together again.

            Some weeks later Sue and I were on vacation when early in the morning my cell phone rang. It was one of the church wardens calling – calling with a very serious voice to tell me that they had decided to call someone else to be their next priest.

            I think I put up a brave front on the phone, but talk about the worst vacation ever! Here I had thought that I had managed to reassemble the pieces of my life back together again but instead I felt shattered.

            It was definitely a setback – and, at the time, it felt like a catastrophe.

            All of us who’ve been around for awhile have suffered similar setbacks: not getting a job we wanted or maybe even thought was in the bag, or losing a job we had, and very much needed.

            All of us who’ve been around for awhile have suffered our own catastrophes: piles of bills that we just don’t have the money to pay, broken relationships, a devastating diagnosis, the loss of one we love.

            Sometimes our lives shatter into pieces.

            In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus predicts that the beautiful Jerusalem Temple, one of the wonders of the ancient world, the center of Jewish life, the place where, in a sense, God was believed to live, would be shattered into pieces, “not one stone left upon the other, all will be thrown down.”

            The first readers and hearers of the gospel would have known that this is exactly what had happened. The beautiful Temple, the place where God lived, was indeed destroyed by the Romans in the year 70, as they sacked Israel’s capital.

            For most of the Jewish people it must have seemed like the end of the world. How could they go on without the Temple? For most of the Jewish people it must have felt like their whole world was, just like the Temple, shattered in pieces.

            But, of course, that catastrophe was not the end of the story.

            God makes a way out of no way.

            God turns death into new life.

            God reassembles the pieces.

            So, sure enough, God reassembled the Jewish people, now no longer centered in temple sacrifice but instead even more devoted to God’s Law and even more devoted to dwelling in God’s Word, strong enough to survive the hatred and the many catastrophes, the many “shatterings,” that lay ahead of them.

            And, at the same time God reassembled the Jewish people, God assembled the Body of Christ, assembling all different kinds of people who are able to know, and be transformed by, the God of Israel through Jesus Christ. God assembles the Body of Christ out of all these millions and millions of pieces, out of all of us, and now today out of Martin, Louisa, and Aria, and sends us into the world to love and to serve.

            God reassembles the pieces.

            And, sure enough, after that devastating phone call that ruined our vacation, it turned out that God made a way out of no way for me. I was able to return to my old job at Grace Church in Madison. To be honest, it was a little embarrassing to go back after the big goodbye party they had thrown me a year and a half earlier, but, without me really realizing it, even in the midst of my sadness and shame, God was reassembling the pieces of my life, and preparing for me the very large and important piece of my life that is this place.

            We all suffer setbacks and even catastrophes, but God is always at work reassembling the pieces.

            Our country and our world suffer setbacks and even catastrophes, but God is always at work reassembling the pieces.

             And God invites us to be part of the great reassembling, to be part of the great reassembling by rejecting disrespect, hatred, greed, and fear.

             God invites us to be part of the great reassembling, to be part of the great reassembling by keeping our baptismal promises, by choosing respect, love, generosity, and hope.

            Yes, we all suffer setbacks and even catastrophes, but God is always at work reassembling the pieces, reassembling the pieces of our lives and our world into a new creation.           

            The work is far from done, there are still plenty of cracks with light shining through, we’re not whole yet, so today God is inviting all of us - and especially today Martin, Louisa, and Aria - inviting us all to be part of the great reassembling.

            Amen.