The Power of Lament

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

October 6, 2019

Year C, Proper 22: The Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost

Lamentations 1:1-6

Lamentations 3:19-26

2 Timothy 1:1-14

Luke 17:5-10

The Power of Lament

            The other day a parishioner said to me that it feels like there’s a lot of sadness in the air these days.

            And, I think she’s right about that.

            Life always brings a mix of joy and sorrow, but lately, at least for me, more of my time seems to be occupied by sadness.

            I feel sad about the state of our world as we seem unable to take the action necessary to prevent catastrophic damage to our planet, as more and more people feel they have no choice but to flee their homes and everything they’ve ever known, as brutal leaders believe, probably rightly, that they can get away with deceit, massacres, torture, and concentration camps.

            I feel sad about the state of our country, where once again we are consumed by bitter political battles and inspiring leadership – or even just competent leadership - is in such short supply, where Republicans and Democrats can attend the same meetings and somehow draw exact opposite conclusions, where so much energy is devoted to politics and so little to actually solving our many problems.

            And, I feel sad about our own community here where so many people are suffering – illness and injury, relationship problems and family squabbles, unemployment and underemployment, unsafe neighborhoods and crumbling schools, a sense of despair and the sinking feeling that there’s no way out.

            So, yes, there’s a lot of sadness in the air.

            But, you know, we Americans are not so great at expressing this sadness, not so good at… lamenting.

            Instead, from an early age, we’re taught to project a sunny optimism – to hold on desperately to the belief that somehow everything will work out just the way we want it to – and, please, whatever you do, do not burden anyone else with your problems.

            (If I had a dollar for every time a parishioner has been in the hospital or has gone through some other hard time and not let me know - and then afterward said to me something like, “I didn’t want to bother you because I know you are busy…”)

            And, this isn’t just an American thing.

            It’s also a Christian thing.

            In today’s gospel lesson the disciples say to Jesus, “Increase our faith!”

            And, don’t we all ask for the same gift, especially when times are tough?

            But, often we get the mistaken idea that expressing sorrow or fear or even anger somehow means that we lack faith – that our sorrow, fear, or anger mean that we no longer believe in God.

            And, sometimes this American and Christian reluctance to face our sorrow gets mixed together.

            Some of you may remember Norman Vincent Peale who led Marble Collegiate Church in Manhattan for forty years – where, by the way, he was pastor of a young Donald Trump.

Today, Peale is remembered mostly as the author of a bestselling book called, The Power of Positive Thinking.

            In his book he encourages the reader to imagine succeeding, using positive thought to drown out negative thought, to minimize obstacles, to develop a strong self-respect, and to believe that you receive power from God.

            That sounds like a lot of today’s televangelists and new age gurus, doesn’t it?

            Now, obviously, I’m not saying that this is all wrong or that positive thinking is not important.

            But, I am saying that, generally, we Americans and we Christians are not so good at honestly expressing our sorrow, not so good at simply sitting for a while with our sadness and grief.

            It’s like what most of us do during Holy Week: we skip over the pain of Good Friday and rush on to the joy of Easter, avoiding the cross to get to the flowers and chocolate.

            And this is too bad, because we miss what I’ll call, with all due respect to Norman Vincent Peale, “the power of lament.”

            We may be not so good at lamenting the sad parts of life, but the Jews, our elder sisters and brothers in faith, have a long history of openly and honestly grieving loss.

            Today we heard two passages from the Book of Lamentations.

            In the year 586 B.C., the Babylonians destroyed Jerusalem (including Solomon’s Temple) and took many of the people into exile in Babylon, where they desperately tried to hold on to their identity as God’s people, while surrounded by people who worshiped other gods.

            Meanwhile, other Jewish people were back home living among the ruins, wondering if they had a future without their Temple, hoping that God had not abandoned them forever, and, most of all, lamenting all that had been lost.

            And that deep sadness gave birth to the Book of Lamentations and listening to its words today we can still really feel the great sadness of long ago.

            The author of Lamentations personifies Jerusalem as a woman weeping bitterly in the night, abandoned by those who loved her, friends have turned against her.

            Even the roads in and out of the city mourn, because people no longer come to the ruined city for the great festivals.

            By now, all of this focus on loss and sorrow may have you wishing that you had slept in or gone to brunch or got a head start on the food shopping, but if you had done those things you would have missed the key message:

            The power of lament is that it makes us recognize our complete dependence on God.

            Positive thinking and all the rest of it has its value but the danger is it gives us the false hope that, on our own, we can work our way out of whatever mess we are in.

            Just be positive, keep smiling, and everything will work out.

            Lament, on the other hand, means we acknowledge that everything’s a mess and there’s only so much we can do on our own, but we trust that God is with us even in, especially in, the worst times.

            And so, even in the midst of great sorrow and destruction, and recognizing that what has been broken can never be put back together exactly as it was before, the author of Lamentations declares, “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”

            The power of lament.

            In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus tells the disciples who have asked for an increase of faith that if they had faith the size of a tiny mustard seed they could do truly amazing things.

            And, as bad as the news has been this past week, there was at least one story that suggests that Jesus really knew what he was talking about.

            I’m sure most of you have heard the story of the tragic killing of Botham Jean, a black man, born in St. Lucia, an accountant, loved by his family and respected by his colleagues, who was killed in his own home by an off-duty Dallas police officer, a white woman named Amber Guyger.

            Guyger claimed that she had entered his apartment by mistake, thinking it was her own place, and shot Jean thinking that he was a burglar.

            Considering the continued racism of American society and especially the racism that infects the justice system, many were surprised that Guyger was convicted, though she received a relatively light sentence of ten years.

            (Let’s be honest, if the roles were reversed, it’s safe to assume that a black man would be looking at much longer time and maybe even the death penalty.)

            What got everybody’s attention was what happened during the sentencing.

            Botham’s brother, Brandt, said he forgave Guyger for killing his brother and, not only that, he hugged her, right there in the court room.

            Now, I don’t know what it took to get to that point but I imagine that for more than the past year Brandt Jean along with the rest of his family have done a whole lot of lamenting, lamenting the senseless loss of Botham, this bright and much-liked man, full of promise.

            No amount of positive thinking was going to fix this situation.

            Their family and their lives could never and will never be put back together exactly as they were before.

            But, it seems to me, this grieving family knows their total dependence on God, and that faith – that increased faith – gave one man the power to do something far greater than hurling a mountain into the sea.

            That is the power of lament.

            Amen.

                        

No Great Chasm

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

September 29, 2019

Year C, Proper 21: The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 32:1-3a, 6-15

Psalm 91:1-6, 14-16

1 Timothy 6:6-19

Luke 16:19-31

No Great Chasm

            Just as we did last year, for the past few weeks we have changed the language we use at the 10:00 service, employing more contemporary, more gender-neutral, language than what is found in our Prayer Book.

            For some this is a wonderful and long-overdue move that you think should be made permanent, and for others it’s something to be endured until Advent when, yes, we’ll go back to more traditional language.

            And, probably some have barely noticed any difference.

            I think that one of the most striking changes is in the language of the confession that we say together. Listen:

            “We have denied your goodness in each other, in ourselves, and in the world you have created.

            We repent of the evil that enslaves us, the evil we have done, and the evil done on our behalf.”

            Actually, that last line, “the evil done on our behalf” recently sparked a little social media storm among some Episcopal clergy and lay people who wondered and debated if we really can or should ask forgiveness for actions that we have not personally done, but have been done for us, or from which we benefit.

            I get the objection, and while it is a little complicated, I believe that we can and probably should ask forgiveness for evil done on our behalf, for the systems and policies that make us richer and fuller and more comfortable, while others are left out, neglected, hungry, and frightened.

            To say the least, this has been a challenging week – a challenging week for our own church community and a challenging week for our country and the world.

There’s been a lot of news lately, from massive environmental protests all around the world to a terrifying UN report on the state of the world’s oceans to, of course, the start of an official impeachment inquiry.

            There’s been so much going on that you may have missed a news item that deserved to get more attention.

            Every year, the President sets the number of refugees who can be admitted into the United States. This past week the Administration announced that for the next twelve months the U.S. would admit 18,000 refugees. To give that number some context, in 2016 the number was 110,000 refugees.

            No surprise, lots of people are upset about this, including the Episcopal Church, which has condemned this decision

            Keep in mind that it takes years of careful vetting before refugees are able to settle here. We’re not talking about people sneaking into the country. Refugees are people who are fleeing violence and oppression who are using a legal system that was first created after World War II.

            The Administration argues that it must reduce the number of refugees (earlier the word was they were actually considering lowering the number to zero) because of the increase of asylum claims at our Southern border.

            Maybe that’s true and maybe it’s not, but I’ll just say that this is a country of about 300 million people where, except for the poorest among us, we live better and more securely than people in most parts of the world.

            There is a wide divide – a “great chasm,” to use the language of today’s gospel lesson, between most of us and most of them.

            Although as we struggle to pay our bills it may not feel like it, the truth is that most of us live more like the rich man of today’s parable, while so many people around the world are like poor Lazarus, lying hungry, pitiful, and neglected, just outside our gates.

           

            If you were here last week, you may remember that we heard one of Jesus’ most difficult to understand parables, what’s usually called the Parable of the Dishonest Steward or Manager.

            Today’s parable – the Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus – is much easier to grasp but that doesn’t make it any less challenging.

            It’s a parable of great divides.

            It’s a parable of rich and poor living side-by-side and yet living very different lives.

            And, it’s a parable of great reversals: in the next life poor Lazarus is rewarded with the great honor of resting in the “bosom of Abraham” while the rich man is in agony in the place of judgment (though, I do wonder just how bad the agony was since he's still pretty chatty!).

            It’s also a parable about just not “getting it” – after all, even from Hell the rich man thinks he’s in a position to give orders: send Lazarus to bring me a drink – send Lazarus to warn my brothers!

            Some people never learn.

            But, there’s one little detail in this parable that has especially caught my attention.

            Since we’re nice people, we might be inclined to forgive the rich man for living it up while Lazarus was starving and suffering outside his door. We might try to rationalize his selfishness. We might try to let him off the hook by saying, well, maybe he didn’t know that Lazarus was out there.

            After all, we all get caught up in our own stuff and sometimes we no longer see what is right in front of us – no longer see who is right in front of us.

            There’s just one problem with that: in the afterlife we learn that the rich man knew Lazarus’ name. He knew him. And still, he didn’t help.

            And, so, the rich man is condemned.

            Today the world and our country face many big issues.

And, we are always called to follow our faith and our consciences and to do our part.

            But, since the bigness of these problems and our deep political divisions can be overwhelming and depressing, we often choose to ignore the news from faraway places and from Washington, to look away from “the evil done on our behalf.”

We may choose to just keep our mouths shut to keep the peace (Thanksgiving dinner is just around the corner!).

            We may choose to “stay in our lane,” as they say.

            Personally, I don’t think that’s the way to go, but I can understand it, and, honestly, I find it tempting myself.

            But, even if we look away from the world and from Washington, the hard truth is that, just like for the rich man in the parable, right here in our neighborhood, right here in our “lane” there are people hungry for the crumbs that fall from our table.

            And, so, in just a few weeks, from November 3 to November 17, Family Promise will once again send guests to stay right here: parents and children without a home of their own who will live in make Carr Hall and our upstairs rooms.

            And, if you open your heart, if you choose to help with this great effort, you will learn the names of these parents and children.

            And, I am confident that, unlike the rich man in the parable, we won’t look away and ignore the people whose names we know, but instead we will open our gates even wider, and share with them much more than crumbs.

            We’ll make room in our spiritual home.

            We’ll make room at our table.

            We’ll make room in our heart.

            There will be no wide divide – there will be no great chasm – between us.

            Amen.

Clever, Quick, and Strong

The Church of St. Paul & Incarnation, Jersey City

September 22, 2019

Year C, Proper 20: The 15th Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 8:18-9:1

Psalm 79:1-98

1 Timothy 2:1-7

Luke 16:1-13

Clever, Quick, and Strong

            Probably thanks to the recent arrival of our ministry intern, Lorna Woodham, lately I’ve been thinking back to my own preparation for ordained ministry: my studies in seminary and my own field education at two different churches in our diocese.

            In a lot of ways that time and those experiences prepared me pretty well for being a parish priest:

            I learned a lot about the Bible and about Theology and about Church History.

            I learned how to perform a Baptism and celebrate the Eucharist and how to lead the other sacramental rites of the Church.

            I learned how to offer pastoral care to people who are sick or in some other kinds of distress.

            I learned how to run a vestry meeting and how to try to deal with disagreement and conflict in a congregation.

            I even learned how to chant (more or less)!

            But, looking back on it, there was at least one big gap in my preparation: I never really learned very much about church finance.

            Now, I’m sure seminaries could and should do a better job of prepping future priests for the financial issues and challenges (many, many challenges) that they – we - will face.

            But, I should take some responsibility for this myself. Because, I have to admit it, that church finance is just about my least favorite part of this job.

            Although over the years I’ve learned a lot finance and what we might call the “business side” of the church, often I still feel out of my depth and knowing how the high the stakes are it all makes me very anxious.

(That anxiety probably has deep roots in my lifelong struggle with, and even fear of, math!)

            I don’t know whether this is good news or bad news but my sense is that I am not alone in feeling this way – not just among clergy who would rather be praying with people than reviewing a financial statement – but among a lot of people who are not as attentive to financial matters as they should be – probably because it’s complicated and maybe depressing or scary to think about.

            And, while I’m admitting my own weaknesses I’ll say that Sue does nearly all of the financial planning in our family.

            But, when it comes to the church, I have no choice. The wardens, vestry, and I are responsible for the financial health of our church.

            And, as much as I’d like to separate church finance from everything else we do, the truth is that our finances – our church finances and also our personal finances – are a spiritual responsibility, too.

            Our budgets – both our church budget and our own personal budget – are moral documents.

            How we spend our money says a whole lot about what’s important to us – and what’s not so important.

            God has given us so much – just look around – and God expects us to take care of what we’ve been given and to use it to care for God’s people and to share the Good News.

            Our finances are a spiritual responsibility.

            Which brings us to today’s parable.

            If you were here last Sunday you may remember that we heard two parables – they are usually called the Parable of the Lost Sheep and the Parable of the Lost Coin – two parables that along with the Parable of the Prodigal Son have the same, pretty easy to understand theme: lost – found – rejoicing.

            Luke tells us that those parables were told to a larger crowd, not just people who were followers of Jesus, and may have included people who were skeptical of, or even hostile to, Jesus.

            But, today’s parable – usually called the Parable of the Dishonest Steward (or Manager) – this parable is directed to the disciples – so maybe we’re getting some more advanced information from Jesus, more sophisticated and more challenging than what he offered to the general public.

            Even if I’m wrong about that, we can all agree that that this is a very difficult to understand parable. If you were following along you may have been perplexed by - or even disturbed by - some of what you heard.

            Even Luke the Evangelist who retells this story doesn’t seem to know what to make of it.

            There was a rich man who discovered that his manager was apparently stealing from him. Now, generally, in parables when someone is identified as a “rich man” he is not presented favorably but here the “rich man” seems to be OK (though we’re not given much information – no one would be shocked he’s been treating his employees, including the manager, unfairly. That’s a familiar story, right?)

But, in the parable, it’s the manager who comes across as sneaky and hard to like.

            When the rich man confronts the manager about his theft, he’s afraid he’s going to lose his job, afraid he’s going to lose everything, so the frightened but clever manager thinks fast.

            The manager decides to cut the bill for each of the people who supply the rich man, hoping that these people will be so grateful that they will welcome him into their homes after the rich man gives him the axe.

            (He seems pretty sure that this plan will work, though I have my doubts.)

            Now, I have to stop here for a second because it’s not really clear what exactly the manager is doing.

            He may be cutting out his own take (or, let’s be polite, “commission”), which would be fine, right?

            Or, he might be stealing some more from the rich man, which would seem to be not right, right?

            Anyway, the manager hopes that all of this bill cutting will be an insurance policy for the future. Maybe yes, maybe no.

            And, now things get very weird because we’re told that the rich man “commended” – applauded, approved of, what the manager did, because he liked his shrewdness.

            And then Jesus offers some unsettling commentary:

            “…for the children of this age are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light. And, I tell you, make friends of yourselves by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes.”

            Got that?

            The Evangelist Luke then adds some Jesus sayings about wealth, which are all true and important – “whoever is dishonest in a very little is also dishonest in much” – “You cannot serve God and wealth.”

            But, they don’t seem to really connect with today’s parable.

            So, what to make of all of this?

            Recognizing that scholars have long puzzled over this parable and always will, here’s what I think:

            There’s no way that Jesus is approving of the manager’s dishonesty, but he does seem to admire his cleverness and quickness and that he keeps his wits about him even when he’s under a whole lot of stress, even when it seems like his whole life is in real danger of being ruined.

            God has given us good brains that allow us to be quick and clever.

            God has given us strength to keep our cool even when it seems like everything is about to be lost.

            And so, it seems to me, that Jesus wants us to use our cleverness and quickness and strength to take good care of what has been given to us, and to use it to care for God’s people and to share the Good News.

            I hate talking about, or really even thinking about, money – both my own money and the money of the church.

            But, you and I need to think about if how I spend my money really reflects what I say I believe – what I say is truly important.

            Seeing those huge numbers of young people here in our own country and all around the world taking to the streets on Friday as part of the “Climate Strike,” demanding that we all and especially our leaders take immediate steps to stop and turn back the life-threatening damage we are doing to our planet, really gets me thinking about the choices I make and that we make together here.

            We try at least somewhat but there is still some low-hanging fruit, some easy changes we can make. For example, finally, at long last, please, for the love of God, we have to stop using Styrofoam. I know it’s cheaper but we need to be clever like the manager – a few extra bucks won’t help any of us when our oceans are dead.

            Here at church, one of the things I’m proudest of is that we now have a very competent, thoughtful, and devoted Finance Committee – a group of parishioners who are clever, quick, and strong, not for their own benefit but for our common good.

            We have been given so much – both individually and as a community here -and as temporary residents of this beautiful planet – just look around.

            And in today’s parable, Jesus uses the example of the dishonest manager to challenge us to be clever, quick, and strong – not just for ourselves, but for our church, for our world, and for the Kingdom of God.

            Amen.