Peace Is Indeed Possible

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

Third Annual Choral Festival of Peace

September 8, 2017

Peace Is Indeed Possible

Our Minister of Music, Gail Blache-Gill, has given me the daunting task of offering a reflection on peace.

It’s a daunting task because it’s a big subject and it’s getting late and, let’s face it, there’s nothing I can say that would be as profound or as beautiful as the music we’re hearing tonight.

Three years ago when we offered the first Choral Festival of Peace, we chose the September JC Friday because it’s close to the anniversary of the September 11 attacks – and, actually, that year it fell on September 11 itself.

We remembered that shocking day of deep blue skies when, especially for those of us who were here in the metro area, whatever sense of security we thought we had was taken away from us, that terrifying and tragic day when our peace, and so much else, was shattered.

Since then, we’ve endured sixteen years of war and rumors of war, sixteen years of terror and the fear of terror – a whole generation has grown up knowing nothing else.

And, during these years our peace has also been broken by partisanship so extreme that many of us can’t see “the other side” as fellow Americans, let alone as brothers and sisters, God’s beloved children.

During these years our peace has been broken by economic anxiety, the loss of jobs for many and, for some, little hope of ever finding employment.

Our peace has been broken by anxiety of warming temperatures and rising tides and ferociously destructive storms.

And, our own personal peace has been broken by our individual hurts and wounds and fears.

So, what to do?

Of course, we could just accept that this is how it’s going to be.

Or, maybe we could, with God’s help, take a few steps toward rebuilding – or maybe just building – peace.

As individuals, we might take up the challenge of truly living mindfully, of recognizing that, as the great Vietnamese Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh writes and teaches,  “peace is every step.”

So, even in a gritty city, we can breathe in and breathe out and recover the wonder that we are alive, right here and now – we can look up at the clouds in the sky and we can look down at the beautiful flowers growing stubbornly even in the most inhospitable soil – we can see the people we pass on the street, the people we work with, go to school with, and even the people we live with – see their gifts and their burdens – we can at least try to love even those who are so hard to love.

And, collectively, I think the biggest obstacle to peace is that we sell ourselves short. We don’t see or maybe have just forgotten just how much power we have.

You know, one of the more surprising themes of the gospels is that Jesus’ closest followers and friends have a really hard time figuring out who he is and what he’s about. They get it wrong all the time.

But, at the same time, in the gospel stories the demons know exactly who Jesus is – they have no trouble recognizing him and respecting his power and authority.

And, I wonder if the same isn’t sort of true for us, no matter what our religious background, or if we’re not religious at all.

Too often we’re not able to recognize the power of goodness and love – we’re not able to see that when we get together and harness that power then evil doesn’t stand a chance and peace can be restored.

For example…

Just last week the Episcopal churches of Jersey City had a meet and greet at our new community center, a storefront at Triangle Park down in Greenville.

We brought some food and offered arts and crafts for the kids, the DJ pumped out some loud music and we all wondered what would happen.

Well, what happened was lots of people came out of their homes to see what was going on and they ate and danced and did arts and crafts and they talked to us.

And, one of the things we heard from our beautiful new neighbors is that for years their little park has been ruled by the evil of addiction and by those who feed that demon.

Yet, for a few hours at least, armed with nothing more than hot dogs and sandwiches and soda and cake and, most of all, love and care, we took back that park and made it a place of peace - and evil beat a retreat to the shadows

And, you know, it wasn’t even that hard to do. Actually, it was fun!

We were armed with nothing more than hot dogs, sandwiches, soda and cake – armed with nothing more than genuine care and love.

Later, I’m sure the demons returned, but, for a time, peace was restored, and I know we can do it again.

So, for me, that experience at the park and our time together here tonight are powerful reminders that, yes, even in these hard times, peace is indeed possible.

Thank you.

Everyday Temptations

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

September 3, 2017

Year A, Proper 17: The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 15:15-21

Psalm 26:1-8

Romans 12:9-21

Matthew 16:21-28

Everyday Temptations

            A lot can happen in a week, right?

            Last Sunday many of us were down at Liberty Park with our friends from Grace and Incarnation, enjoying one of the most beautiful days of the year, as we celebrated and sang and ate and drank and basked in the sun together.

            You may remember that in last week’s Gospel lesson, Jesus asked his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?”

            And, in reply the disciples rattled off a list of the usual suspects: Elijah or John the Baptist or some other prophet.

            And then, Jesus asked his closest followers a more pointed, more personal question, “But, who do you say that I am?”

            Of all people, it’s Peter, the so-called “Rock” who so often wasn’t very solid at all, the fisherman who often messed up and didn’t quite get it, it’s Peter who, this time anyway, gets the answer exactly right:

            He says to Jesus, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.”

            A lot can happen in a week.

            For days now we’ve been watching scenes of devastation and heartbreak as a storm that was described as “unprecedented” overwhelmed our country’s fourth-largest city and the surrounding areas, killing at least thirty-one people and displacing thousands of people whose homes and livelihoods have been destroyed and who now face the dangers of disease and chemical explosions and contaminations and even alligators.

            A lot can happen in a week.

            And then this past Thursday evening, after thirty or so years of thinking about it and talking about it and dreaming about it, the Episcopal Church finally returned to the Greenville neighborhood in the southern part of Jersey City.

            The Triangle Park Community Center was born at a meet and greet where we served food and offered arts and crafts for kids and just talked with many of our new neighbors, who gave us an earful about the neighborhood – the crime, the lack of activities for kids, the woeful state of the little park that gave our center its name.

            Although the neighborhood does indeed a lot of work, the people were diverse and beautiful and friendly and our meet and greet was a truly wonderful time, I’d say one of the top ten events we’ve done.

            I’m excited to see what takes root at Triangle Park!

            Now, in today’s Gospel lesson, we pick up right where we left off, but unlike last week when Peter got the answer exactly right and made his big confession of faith, there are now shadows over Jesus and his disciples.

We’re told that Jesus began to share with his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem, where he will suffer, be killed, and raised on the third day.

That must have been hard and confusing to hear, a lot to take in all at once, and, sure enough, Peter, who did so well last week, now messes up big time.

He seems to have not heard or understood the part about Jesus rising on the third day, but instead, understandably, focuses on Jesus’ suffering and death – and he finds that idea completely unbearable.

We’re told Peter pulls Jesus aside and “rebukes” Jesus – a strong word – “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.”

Now, at this point, we might expect Jesus to quietly try to console Peter, explain things a little bit, repeat to him about the third day, but instead Jesus really lets Peter have it:

“Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

            You know, usually, we only talk about the temptations of Jesus once a year when we hear the gospel account of his forty days in the wilderness when Satan tempted Jesus to use his power for his own glory or well-being – come on, throw yourself off the temple and let the angels catch you – come on, you’re starving so just go ahead and turn this stone into bread.

            Jesus successfully resisted those temptations and so I think that we assume or fool ourselves into thinking that those were the only temptations he faced during his earthly lifetime. But, I’m sure that’s not the case. I’m sure just like all of us, our brother Jesus faced everyday temptations throughout his life – and, maybe, no greater temptation than the temptation Peter unintentionally placed before him – the temptation to turn away from the work that God had given him to do – the temptation to live a “normal” life, to be pretty much like everybody else.

            This “everyday temptation” was all too real for Jesus so he angrily shuts Peter down.

            And, you know, we Christians face the same kind of everyday temptations, too.

            Just like Jesus, we’re tempted to turn away from the work God has given us to do, tempted to live a “normal” life, to be pretty much like everybody else.

            Just like Jesus, we’re tempted to turn away from the work God has given us to do because it’s hard, and risky, and it’s going to cost us.

            Just listen to Jesus in today’s gospel lesson:

            “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”

            Or, listen to St. Paul in today’s excerpt from the Letter to the Romans:

            “Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers. Bless those who persecute you.”

            This is the work we are called to and it is so very tempting to turn away from it and just live like everybody else.

            Which brings me to Joel Osteen.

            I’m only somewhat familiar with him and his message, since I go to church all the time so I don’t really need or want to watch church on TV, but I know some of our parishioners watch and enjoy him.

            As you probably heard, reporters questioned why he didn’t open his massive church (which seats an unbelievable 16,800!), didn’t open his church to people who were fleeing the storm and seeking shelter.

            The first response was that the church itself was flooded and inaccessible but then some reporters went there and found it to be OK.

            Then Joel Osteen made a media blitz, appearing on lots of TV news shows standing in front of large piles of supplies that had apparently been donated, announcing that the church was now open for those in need and explaining that they hadn’t opened the church in the first place, because the government hadn’t asked them to open it.

            Now, there’s no way for us to know what was really going on there, and it’s not my job to judge Joel Osteen or anybody else for that matter, but that sounds to me like giving into the everyday temptation to turn away from the work that God as given us to do, giving into the temptation to live like everybody else, protecting our investments, protecting our beautiful property, closing our doors to those in need, waiting to be asked to serve others rather than taking the risk of stepping up.

            Osteen’s actions resonated with me because I could imagine myself, I could imagine us, in a similar situation saying, yes of course we want to help, but our beautiful floor and carpet, but we only have one bathroom, but we’re just a small church, but nobody asked us, but, but, but…

            But, on Labor Day weekend and always, our work is to give away ourselves in loving service to God and one another, especially those in need.

            So, my prayer is that we’ll give generously to Episcopal Relief and Development, give not just the dollar bill that’s crumpled up at the bottom of our pocket or purse, but give so that it requires some real sacrifice on our part.

            My prayer is that we’ll step up our regular food donations, which, as usual, remain pretty meager, that we’ll give away food at least as good as what we ourselves eat and serve to those we care about.

            My prayer is that at least some of us will support the new community center – there is so much talent in this room, so let’s use it to serve our new friends, our brothers and sisters around Triangle Park.

            Oh, like Jesus and like Christians throughout the ages, we’ll still face the everyday temptations to turn away from this work, to be “normal,” to live pretty much like everybody else, but, as Jesus taught us by his own example: giving away our lives in loving service to God and our brothers and sisters is the way of life.

            Amen.

            

Confess the Faith

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

August 27, 2017

Year A, Proper 16: The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost

Isaiah 51:1-6

Psalm 138

Romans 12:1-8

Matthew 16:13-20

Confess the Faith

            If you’ve been in church lately, you know that we’ve been hearing a lot about the flawed but lovable Apostle Peter.

            A couple of weeks ago, we heard the story of the Transfiguration when Peter, James, and John witness Jesus transformed on the mountain, getting to see Moses and Elijah, getting a glimpse of heaven, and, if that wasn’t enough, getting to hear the voice of God!

            Appropriately enough, Peter wanted to memorialize this event by building three booths right there on the mountain, but it was not to be.

            Instead, Jesus and his friends had to come down off the mountain and face their destiny.

            And then we heard the story of Peter and the other disciples on a boat, at sea during a terrible storm - a storm that sounded like it was scary even for an experienced fisherman like Peter.

            And then in the morning, Jesus appeared – and appeared to be walking on the water – which made no sense, right? So, an understandably frightened and confused Peter says, “Lord, if it is you command me to come to you on the water.”

            Jesus says, “Come.”

            And, Peter takes a few bold steps out onto the water before he loses confidence, loses faith, and reaching out to Jesus for help.

            And, now, today, Jesus asks his disciples those famous and profound questions:

            First: “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?”

            And, in reply, the disciples rattle off the usual suspects.

            And then, Jesus asks a more pointed, more personal question:

            “But, who do you say that I am?”

            And, of all people, it’s the uneducated fisherman Peter, the one who so often got it wrong and who will continue to mess up in ways both large and small, it’s Peter who gets the answer right:

            “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

            In the Church, this incident is called the “confession” of St. Peter – and it’s considered such a big deal that every January we celebrate it as a major feast.

            But, it’s sort of an unusual use of the word “confession,” right?

            Usually when we think of “confession” we think of admitting wrongdoing and asking for forgiveness. In church we make a confession of sin and some Roman Catholic and Episcopal churches have confessionals where confessions take place, in private.

            But, there is another, in fact older, meaning of “confession” – to admit what’s in our hearts, to declare what we believe to be true.

            So, yes, Peter confesses what he, by God’s grace, has come to believe and know – the truth that he will give away his life sharing with others:

            Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of the living God.

            And, you know, especially today, in our time and place, we desperately need to recover this sense of “confession.”

            We all need to be “confessors.”

            I believe I’ve mentioned to you that just about my favorite priestly thing to do is to baptize. And, I also enjoy preparing people for Baptism – either their own or the Baptism of their child.

            As part of that preparation, we always go over the Baptismal Covenant, spending a little extra time on the promise to “proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ.”

            And, when we talk about that I always say how, at first glance, it would seem that the “example” is more difficult than the “word,” right?

            After all, we’ve all heard and know that talk is cheap.

            Maybe some of us have heard the quote attributed to St. Francis:

“Preach the Gospel at all times. If necessary, use words.”

            That sounds right, or sounds like it should be right, but actually it’s not right at all.

            First of all, St. Francis never said it – and, in fact, he spent plenty of time preaching with words – even, we’re told, preaching to the animals!

            Second, in my time here at St. Paul’s, I’ve come to know that most, if not all, of us do our best to live good and decent lives, trying to raise good children and grandchildren, trying to be good friends and neighbors, trying to do our part to make the world a better place.

            And, while that’s certainly not easy, I think for most of us living that way comes pretty naturally.

            But, it’s not enough.

            Unfortunately, in our time and place, the loudest and most influential “Christian” voices are usually the most intolerant, most ignorant, most hypocritical, and most hateful. And, I’m sorry to say it, but many people out there think that’s who we are, that’s what we believe, that’s what a Christian looks and sounds like.

So, whether we like it or not, we need to actually say who we are and what we believe.

            As Paul asks in his letter to the Romans, “…how are they to believe in one whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone to proclaim him?”

            Like Peter, we need to confess our faith boldly.

            So, what might that look and sound like?

            Well, I don’t think it necessarily means we grab a Bible or a prayer book and go stand at Journal Square confessing our faith to commuters as they make their way to and from work – though, who knows, maybe for some of us that’s exactly the ministry we’re called to.

            But, I think all of us are called to confess our faith in those everyday, seemingly ordinary, moments of interaction and conversation.

            So, let’s imagine: it’s Monday morning at work or school or even just in your neighborhood or building, and a co-worker or another student or a neighbor asks, “So, whatcha do over the weekend?”

            There it is, right? A moment of decision. An opportunity to confess our faith  – or not.

            Do you mention that you gave up a chunk of time on Sunday and went to church? Do you say this knowing that it might make your friend look at you kind of funny, like you’re a “holy roller” or some kind of religious fanatic?

            Do you admit that this wasn’t some one shot deal, either, that actually, you’re in church most Sundays and that you come here because it’s meaningful and important to you?

            Do you confess that, yes, although you sometimes doubt and waver like everybody else, you try to put your faith in Jesus, that you believe Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of the Living God?

            Confession.

            It sounds kind of funny, sort of counter-intuitive, but we are meant to not just walk the walk but also talk the talk.

            Like imperfect Peter, each in our own way, we’re called to confess our faith, to actually tell people the Good News – the Good News that they so desperately need to hear.

            As we say to brand-new Christians at the end of every Baptism, “Confess the faith of Christ crucified, proclaim his resurrection, and share with us in his eternal priesthood.”

            May we have the grace and courage to confess our faith.

            Amen.

            

What a Wonderful But Broken World

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

August 20, 2017

Year A, Proper 15: The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost

Isaiah 56:1, 6-8

Psalm 67

Romans 11:1-2a, 29-32

Matthew 15:10-28

What a Wonderful But Broken World

            Well, that was quite a week, huh?

            For me, it was very much a week of contrasts.

On the one hand, as you all know, our country was caught up in the aftermath of last week’s violent white supremacist protests and the counter-protests in Charlottesville – including the response, or responses, of the president.

 Meanwhile, overseas there was yet another terror attack, this time in Barcelona, and catastrophic mudslides in Sierra Leone.

But, on the other hand, while all of that and more terrible stuff was going on, a few of our St. Paul’s adults and I spent much of last week over at Old Bergen Church, participating in a “summer peace project” called, “Building a Neighborhood Together.”

            We couldn’t have known this months ago when we started planning, but this super-positive event with its beautifully diverse group of kids and adults arrived right on time.

            While our country seemed to be tearing itself apart, we sang and danced and meditated and played and talked about peace and shared ideas about what a peaceful neighborhood might look like – and, using their own imaginations and creativity, the kids built a cardboard city that included the “Peace International Airport” and “The Peaceful Apartments” and, maybe inevitably, a McDonald’s, one that even had a, hopefully peaceful, drive-thru!

            Led by our own Gail, over the course of the program the kids learned a repertoire of several different songs, but for me the most beautiful, the most touching, and the most timely was “What a Wonderful World,” a song made famous by Louis Armstrong, that I’m sure many of you know:

            “I hear babies cry. I watch them grow. They’ll learn much more than I’ll ever know. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.”

            Amen.

            We live in a wonderful, but very broken world.

There are armed-to-the-teeth Nazis on the march, with their ugly and hateful words and symbols, with their rage and violence, defiling our streets and airwaves and even, if we let them, defiling our own hearts.

Last weekend in Charlottesville, they attacked the counter-protesters and even killed one, the courageous Heather Heyer.

            There is violence and the threat of violence on our own Jersey City streets – last week we suffered our fourteenth homicide of the year, but it seems that barely anyone even noticed.

There is poverty that leaves so many with groaning stomachs, poverty that forces people out of their homes and onto the streets.

            There are our own personal troubles and fears. There’s our own brokenness, our own stinginess when it comes to love. There is our own tendency - even here in the church - to divide people into our kind of folks and not our kind of people. There is our own reluctance to share our blessings.

We live in a wonderful, but broken world. So, God invites us to make our world more wonderful, to heal what’s broken, by setting aside our own fears and prejudices and by being even more loving and generous.

            And, I’m sticking my theological neck out here a little bit, but, I think that’s what’s going on in today’s gospel lesson:

            God invites God’s Son to heal what’s broken, by being even more loving and more generous.

            If you’re not familiar with today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus’ encounter with the persistent and bold Canaanite woman, well, then, this story may come as a bit of a shock, because in it we find a very human Jesus behaving in such a seemingly un-Jesus-like way.

            Maybe it’s because Jesus was out of his comfort zone: he’s in or at least near a place called Tyre and Sidon, a non-Jewish land, where a desperate woman, a Canaanite, a non-Jew, approaches him, begging him to help her tormented daughter.

            Apparently, she’s been annoying the disciples, which sounds about right, since they so often didn’t get what following Jesus was all about.

But, even if you’ve only been paying half-attention in church, you know how this should go down:  Jesus will heal the girl, let the disciples have it for their hard hearts and little faith and then move on to the next teaching or healing.

            Routine work for Jesus, right?

Just another day at the office for the Messiah!

            But, instead, in this case, Jesus flatly and, it sounds to me, coldly rejects this non-Jew, this Canaanite woman and her desperate plea, saying, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.”

            But, remarkably, she doesn’t give up, though. Instead, she kneels before Jesus, begging, “Lord, help me.”

            And then Jesus says his most un-Jesus-like words of all, saying to this poor and desperate woman, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

            Now, if I were insulted by Jesus, I’m pretty sure I’d just slink away, devastated and ashamed, but instead this incredible woman replies, pointedly and boldly, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”

            And, you know, the way I read this exchange, this amazing and really kind of shocking scene, it seems to me that in this moment our brother Jesus hears the call to heal what’s broken and make the world even more wonderful – maybe in this moment he realizes that God’s love is bigger than even he, the Son of God, had realized – that God loves both Jews and Canaanites – that God’s love is for absolutely everybody.

            Jesus says to the persistent and bold Canaanite, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.”

            And, her daughter was healed instantly.

We live in a wonderful, but broken world. And God invites us to make our world more wonderful, to heal what’s broken, by setting aside our own fears and prejudices and being even more loving and generous.

I never thought I’d be preaching about Nazis, but this is where we find ourselves.

            But, actually, for a long time now, I’ve been interested in how the institutional Church behaved in Nazi Germany.

            A handful of brave and bold ministers and priests resisted the Nazis and paid high price for their courage and integrity. But, the tragic reality is that most of the clergy either kept their heads down and minded their own business, or they wholeheartedly supported Hitler’s twisted and evil ideology.

            I’ve long wondered what I might do – and what the American Church might do – if a similar situation arose here in our country.

            Well, I don’t have to wonder so much anymore because, last week in Charlottesville, clergy from many different religions and denominations, many wearing their distinctive clothing, stood with the peaceful counter-protesters, risking something big for something good, offering love and solidarity in the face of hate and division.

            And, I’m convinced that my clergy colleagues and I would do the same thing if white supremacists should ever make the unwise decision to march here in Jersey City.

            Finally, there is Heather Heyer, the seemingly ordinary 32 year-old paralegal who couldn’t and wouldn’t stand by when hate came to town and sacrificed her life for love and peace when a driver drove murderously through the crowd.

            In the days that followed we learned that it seems Heather was who she was because of the family that raised her.

            Her father Mark Heyer, said, “I’m proud of her. I’m proud of her standing up. She had more courage than I did. She had a stubborn backbone, that if she thought she was right she would stand there and defy you. If I understand her, she wanted to do it peacefully and with a fierceness of heart that comes with her conviction.”

            Most remarkable of all, Heather’s father offered forgiveness to her killer. He said, “I just think what the Lord said on the cross. Lord forgive them, they don’t know what they are doing.”

            And then there was Heather’s formidable mother, Susan Bro, who displayed an almost supernatural calm when she spoke at the funeral. She said, “They tried to kill my child to shut her up. Well, guess what – you just magnified her.”

            So, yes, it’s been quite a week, a week of contrasts.

It was a week when we were powerfully reminded that we live in a wonderful, but broken world.

As Jesus recognized long ago, thanks to the bold and persistent Canaanite woman, we are called to heal what’s broken, by being even more loving and more generous.

We are called to follow the example of Jesus and also those who stand up to hate, and even those who offer forgiveness in the midst of terrible suffering and loss.

And, if we’re sincerely willing to work with God to heal our wonderful but broken world, then I am convinced that the words of the beautiful song sung by our kids last week will be even more real, more true:

“The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky, are also on the faces of people going by. I see friends shaking hands, saying, ‘How do you do?’ They’re really saying, ‘I love you.’”

Amen.