Feed my sheep

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

In the Gospel stories, when Jesus was first starting out, he walked along the lake and came to some fishermen in the boats with their fathers. One of the boats was owned by a man named Zebadee and his sons were named James and John. Jesus walked up to them and simply said, "Follow me." The left everything and followed him. Further along the shore he came to another boat where the fishermen were named Peter and Andrew, they were also brothers. And again, Jesus said, "Follow me." They also left everything and followed him. Jesus told them that from that point on, they would be fishers of people.

And so it began, a ministry that lasted three years. During that time so much happened, so much traveling around, so many people, gatherings, challenges. There were miracles and wonders, healing and signs, but always Jesus there to make things right. Jesus was there to teach them, to guide them and love them. He loved them even when they were foolish, when they didn't get the point of his lessons, when they failed at their tasks, when they were ambitious and argued among themselves. He loved them when they ran off into the night and left him alone while he was arrested. He loved them from the cross as he hung dying, forgiving them for their desertion. Forgiving them for their denial and betrayal.

When he rose form the dead, it was another miracle and still they didn't really seem to get the point. It must have seemed like déja vu when the two sets of brothers returned to their fishing boats and a man walked up to them. He called out from the shore asking them if they caught anything. They replied, "No." He called out again, this time suggesting they drop their nets on the other side of the boat.

I wonder if they began to sense something at that point. After all, the first time they met Jesus, he said the same thing. "Drop the net on the other side." As though they didn't get the point the second time, the net filled again and they needed help to get the fish ashore -- just like the first time.

But this time, Peter did understand who it was and panicked. In a fairly comic scene, he was suddenly ashamed of being naked on this boat while he fished and in a fit of modesty both put on his clothes and jumped into the water. It seems to me either would have sufficed to deal with his modesty. The scriptures also tell of another man who was ashamed of his nakedness before the Lord. Oh yes, that was Adam. He had something to be ashamed of and tried to hide from his naked truth. God wasn't fooled then, and Jesus wasn't fooled by Peter's shame at his naked truth. Peter had to feel exposed, not so much by his nakedness from clothing, but even more so from the nakedness of the truth that he denied Jesus in the courtyard after he was arrested. He had to look Jesus in the eye knowing that he promised to stand by him, even to death if that was necessary, and only moments later ran away, hid, and then lied about knowing Jesus. The man on the shore saw Peter in his nakedness and shame. There were no clothes or amount of water that would have concealed that naked truth.

When they came to shore, Jesus asked Peter three time, "Do you love me." And three times Peter answered "Yes, you know I love you." And with each admission of love, Jesus told him to "Feed his sheep." Peter got agitated that Jesus asked him three times, "Do you love me." Again he seemed to miss the point. One question for each denial. With each admission of love, Jesus allowed him to erase the nakedness of the truth that Peter had betrayed him. With each instruction to feed his sheep, Jesus called him back into relationship and mission. And just like he did three years earlier on the shore by the boats, he said, "Follow me."

God calls us, and that's that. God loves us, and that's that. God sends us out, and that's that. We don't have to worry about being worthy, we're not. We don't have to worry about being the brightest in the boat, we're not. We don't have to be worried about our naked truth before God, he knows it, and if need be, heals it.

Peter didn't deserve a second chance, but he got one. Paul, in his zealous righteousness oversaw the persecution of the early Christian believers and he didn't deserve a second chance either. Imperfect, difficult men that anyone else would have fired, sued, or at the very least shunned. But here Jesus not only forgave, but sent them out on missions. He modeled compassion, he modeled love.

There is not a person among us that Jesus isn't calling. Each of us has our truths and realities that make us feel unworthy or unlovable, but the wonderful thing about Peter and Paul is that if God can love them, God can love us. There may be no accounting for taste, but there is the blessed news that God calls us to follow, and places in our care the most precious of gifts -- God's sheep. Feed my sheep. The lonely, the poor, the sick, the needy, the hopeless, the helpless, the fearful and the unworthy. Love as we have been loved, forgive as we have been forgiven, call as we have been called.

In the early 1960's there was a wonderful TV show imported from Britain called The Avengers. In the sophisticated world of Cold War espionage secret agents John Steed and Emma Peel kept us all safe from harm. Each adventure would begin with Mrs. Peel going about her daily activities, when she would be surprised by a note of some sort with the words written by John Steed saying, "You're needed." From that simple call emerged an adventure ultimately saving the world from some diabolical fate.

Well friends, we're needed. Jesus wants us to do something quite simple. It seems he wants us to feed his sheep. In a world where a troubled youth can kill over 30 people and wound almost as many on a college campus supposed to be safe, in a world where not even that can convince legislators of the need to regulate and ban guns more effectively, in a world of terror and fear, where politics plays loose with justice, we are needed. Far from the comic threats faced by the Avengers, our world reels in suffering of staggering proportion. And we are needed to answer Jesus' call. We are to witness God's love, to work in ways that reflect God's mercy, to give to the relief of God's people, to pray and to claim the healing that God offers all God's children.

Jesus told Peter that when he was old, someone would fasten a belt around him and take him where he did not wish to go. Like Peter, sometimes it seems like we are in places we do not want to be and called to do things we would rather not. But if we respond to the call to "follow" we must do so trusting that God will see us through to our journeys end.

Last week I told you that I was going to Washington DC at the invitation of the Human Rights Campaign, an advocacy organization for the rights of Gay and Lesbian people. I was one of 250 clergy from all faiths and denominations representing all 50 states. Each of us was grouped with the others from our states and scheduled to visit our senators and representatives and lobby their support for Employment non-discrimination and the inclusion of "Sexual orientation" among the list of those covered by hate crimes laws. Not having done this before, and being somewhat out of my comfort zone, I took some measure of relief in the knowledge that I was one of six clergy from New Jersey and that I would happily step to the back of the group in the role of supportive window dressing. (I'm not totally ignorant of the political process, and fully understand the importance of the ministry of silent presence.) Imagine my concern to discover that four of the six of us were absent due to the flooding from last week. Gulping hard, I looked to the other priest grateful that, given his earlier bravado, he would surely want this spotlight, and I would be very supportive. Imagine my panic when he, also a neophyte in this work, became overwhelmed and disappeared from our assembly without a word. I was gripped by the awful realization that I alone would carry the standard for New Jersey. Not even the staff person assigned to help me could go into the offices with me. I was on my own. Well, no one fastened a belt around me, in fact ironically I forgot to pack my belt, and felt very self conscious by this, believing that the eagle eyes of our legislators would see this missing accessory as a poor reflection of my credibility. In any event, even though there was no belt, they did take me where I did not want to go.

So, feeling improperly dressed, abandoned by my fellow clergy, poorly prepared for the rigors no doubt awaiting, I went into my first meeting like Daniel into the lion's den.

Well, I can attest to the power of prayer. No doubt the effectiveness of the Evening Prayer and vigil in support of this trip held in this church last week rescued me from the fate I had imagined as swiftly as God did save Daniel from the Lion. Each of the legislators and staff people that I met could not have been nicer or more receptive to my visit, even I must say in fairness, those of the party I did not support in the last election.

Each visit increased my awareness of the political process in a way I had not experienced before, and each visit increased my awareness of how quickly I still forget God's gentle call to follow. I don't have to be comfortable, I don't have to be dressed properly, I don't have to hide in the crowd or be fortified with all the possible answers to the myriad of questions I imagined. All I had to do was care and believe in what I was there for. "Feed my sheep," Jesus said. Wherever, whenever, comfortable or not, prepared or not, our faith and concern is all the armor we need to do the work God calls us to do.

I suspect that not all the challenges I face will be as easy as the one last week, but it's another example of God calling us and telling us to try something different, perhaps something as simple as dropping the net on the other side of the boat. But whether we face the greatest of tragedies, the greatest of challenges, or even those no where near as bad as we had imagined, God is with us and loves us and will see us through. We don't need to jump in the water, or hide, just follow. Amen.

© 2007 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

Easter Sunday

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

Welcome Festival Day, the Easter hymn begins. And it is a welcome day. Wonderfully decorated, polished wood, beautifully arranged flowers, special music. And all of you, welcome. We come from all over, regular members, visiting neighbors and out of town guests. We are drawn to this wonderful day to touch the majesty and mystery of the day of Resurrection. No matter where we're from, it's important through our preparations to have a tangible expression of welcome to this ancient wonder made new through our celebration and worship.

Two thousand years ago, in the quiet of the morning, before anyone was awake, a man who had been killed brutally sat up and walked again. Legends would grow about what happened between the declaration of death on the cross and the discovery of the empty tomb. Wonderful tales of the victorious Christ marching through the gates of hell, destroying those gates and releasing the faithful captured by the power of destructive and hopeless death.

Other tales are of the rest, the Sabbath rest of the Messiah preparing for the next phase of his ministry. After Creation in the beginning, God rested. After the re-creation of the faithful, God rested again. No one saw him rise or leave the tomb, the witnesses arrived after sun up and found the tomb empty. In Luke's telling of the story, two men in dazzling clothes appeared and told them Jesus had risen. Tell the others, they were told.

Heads swirling with all this strange information, the women went back to tell the disciples of Jesus what they found. Luke tells us the disciples dismissed this as an "idle tale." I've always found that description to be very peculiar. An "idle tale" as though the women were in need of some mischievous fun and thought they would fool the disciples with a prank.

If there are any who have earned the right of credibility, it is these very same women who stood with Jesus at the most difficult of times. There was nothing mischievous or silly about their behavior that would have warranted such a frivolous dismissal. Perhaps it was just that the story was more than any of them could hope for and overwhelmed them into this denial. The implications of this story are immense, if it was actually.

Is it true? What do you think? You're here, aren't you? Did you come to listen to a two thousand year old "idle tale"? Is the truth of it so overwhelming as to be dismissed or denied? Is the ministry it draws us into also welcome? Because it most certainly does draw us in. God's resurrection is very tangible proof that death is not final, that hope survives even the most brutal of realities. Resurrection is love in action, it's love triumphant and justifies the truth of mercy and forgiveness as a way of life and a meaning of life.

We are drawn here, I believe, because the truth of God's love and the promise of it's power is so strong and alluring that still after all these years we are drawn to its irresistible, welcoming beckon. All of us in so many ways have borne the heat of the day. Along with the joy and promises of life, we've had our shares of pain, betrayals, mistakes and pitfalls. We've known temptation and given in, we've caused and received pain, we've aimed high -- and sometimes succeeded and sometimes failed, we've gambled -- sometimes won and sometimes lost. The pain of some realities is certainly offset to a large degree by successes we've accumulated, but it's my experience that no matter what gains we've made the pain of the past has a life of its own that lurks beneath the surface of our spirits and undermines the worthiness we feel or the confidence we need to move forward.

The pain becomes spiritual and chronic. You know, I hear confessions all the time. In the old days we had special booths for that. Scary dark places that actually served a purpose in creating an environment reflective of where the secrets lurk in our souls and psyche, but we don't like those any more and we've changed our confessional formats. They can happen in my office on soft, comfortable chairs with a cup of coffee. Sometimes in restaurants over a nice lunch. Even sometimes at a party or other social occasion, there will be a simple question, "So what do you do?" Since I can't lie, I'll say I'm a priest and bam! I'll hear a confession. It usually starts out with the words, "I'm not religious, but I'm spiritual..." I used to cringe at that. I don't anymore. I see it as another opportunity to talk about things I like talking about. But the conversation will usually go one of two ways. Either there will all of a sudden be nervous fidgeting and the empty glass they're holding will need a refill, or a conversation will open up about some of the pain the person endured or caused and how that became an obstacle to finding a faith community to worship in.

In truth the church universal has done some wonderful things, brought ministry and hope to many. But in truth it has also been negligent or compliant with wrong-doing at the very least and aggressively abusive at most during it's history. There are a lot of amends to make and credibility to restore. If there is something in what I just said that you can resonate with, then listen closely to what I'm about to say. On behalf of the church or clergy which hurt or abused you, I'm sorry. I ask your forgiveness.

Forgiveness begins healing. Healing makes one strong and restores hope and the ability to love again. The church has, and in many places and ways continues to hurt the poor and helpless, women, children, people of color, gay and lesbian people, the weak. The church offends and becomes an obstacle to the faith of those same people who begin to dismiss the tale of the resurrected Jesus as an idle tale, since it's not lived out by the very people who preach it.

And yet, the power of forgiveness and reconciliation is strong medicine for any person of faith. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa serves a powerful witness of the importance of public apology and acknowledgment of sin and abuse by one person to another, or one people against another. But I warn you, there is a price tag to seeking the apology of another, whether it's another person or a people as a whole. And that price tag is the commitment to find those you've harmed and apologize to them.

None of us can be the recipients of a grace we will not offer when called to do so. Jesus forgave the very people who brutally murdered him unjustly as he hung from the cross. He would not let the poison of anger or bitterness infect his soul and forgiveness was the healing remedy for that. He demonstrated for us the restorative power of forgiveness, and calls us to forgive the sins of others as we have been forgiven.

This day is so very important because it reminds us again of the life giving love of God. A love that cannot be destroyed or corrupted. A love that will rise when beaten down and live when killed. A love that forgives wrong and heals the broken.

We are all spiritual because we all have spirits. Our spirits are active and involved with the other spirits around us. This can be for good or ill, but it is most assuredly constant. Our religiosity is a function of our finding a faith community to share the growth of that spirit. Growth requires intention and thought, prayer and openness. It requires the ability to forgive and ask for forgiveness. It requires the courage to state beliefs out loud to someone else. To proclaim, not like a battering ram or as a litmus test for political acceptability, but as a statement of the heart and spirit of how God's love is known, heard and lived. It is not an idle tale. It is an invitation to life itself. It is a spiritual necessity.

Welcome Festival Day. Find in us the desire to greet you, embrace you and love you. Find in us the courage to walk into a world of uncertainty, certain of your love. Find in us the conviction to fight for justice, when injustice shakes us. And if you cannot find it there, in the power of the resurrection of Jesus, put it there.

Come, Festival Day, blessed Day that art hallowed forever! Amen.

© 2007 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

Easter Vigil

By The Rev. Deacon Christine McCloud

Come Holy Spirit: Touch our minds and think with them, touch our lips and speak with them and touch our hearts and set them on fire with love for you. In the name of the risen Christ who brings us life from the tomb. Amen.

"Why do you look for the living among the dead?" When the women left for the tomb on that first Easter Sunday morning they knew exactly what to expect -- or at least they thought they knew what to expect when they arrived at the tomb. Luke tells us in the Gospel that they carried spices with them that they had prepared. As was their custom, they were coming to carry out the task of anointing Jesus' body for final burial. At the end of their journey to the tomb, they fully expected to find the dead body of Jesus. We know of course what they will find -- but in their minds, they were going to the place of the dead. They were going to view Jesus in his death and not to rejoice in the glory of his Resurrection.

Sometimes, we gloss over details of the Resurrection story because we've already heard the story so many times. Let's be honest with one another, why waste time on the old news -- the unimportant details. Tom reminded us in his Good Friday sermon that there is a danger in skipping over the suffering of Jesus of the past three days and wanting to move right into the salvation part of the story. Oh, we're clear about Jesus' suffering, but we need to remember that those closest to him suffered too. Not the physically cruel suffering that Christ endured for our sakes, but nonetheless, a deep emotional suffering brought on by witnessing the crucifixion of the one that they loved deeply. But the Apostles and the women missed some important details that Jesus shared with them before he died. They were so busy living the life of salvation that Jesus offered them that they forgot that his suffering and death was going to be a BIG part of Jesus' message. They simply did not want to hear this part of the story -- these were the details they wanted to overlook and avoid.

"Why do you look for the living among the dead?" In our own ways, we too, look for the living among the dead. We don't look to the new life that is offered to us, but instead, we often look first to what is totally contrary to what God wants and wills for us. We know the story so well that we often miss the transformative power of the Resurrection that is ours to live into fully. I know, all too well for myself, how easy it can be to miss the message, to forget the essence of what the Resurrection can really mean for me on a deeply personal level. Why? Because I've heard the story; I know the ending and forget that I make a choice -- whether consciously or unconsciously -- to live into my fears, my anger, my own created sense of hopelessness instead of looking to the obvious -- the Risen Christ who is available to me, and you, every hour of everyday and not just during the Easter season.

When things go awry for us, most us run into our own tombs of fear, distrust and aloneness. Somehow, it feels safer to live into the darkness of our lives instead of living into the light of our lives. Again, I know all too well about personal tombs because I've been to my own personal tomb far too many times not to admit it. All of our tombs are built rather securely on the foundations of our fears and inadequacies, and it engulfs us and gives us a false sense of safety and a peculiar sense of comfort. But what do we really find in our tombs: utter emptiness. We spend endless hours and days looking for the living -- that would be US -- amid the emptiness and deadness of our lives.

Setting aside our reserved Episcopal nature for a moment, let's wrap our thoughts around this -- Jesus, my friends, LIVES! Now, I want you to say this with me, LOUDLY and with ASSURANCE. We seem to have such difficulty saying Jesus' name unless it's in the context of the liturgy. I want you to feel JESUS right now. JESUS LIVES! That's right. Jesus is alive, he is well and he is with us and he loves each and every one of us. He is here, right now at this moment in time, in this place, and at every other moment we invite him to be with us. Jesus comes to give us a new life, to pull us out of our personal tombs so that we can carry His light of life into the world. He calls us to be His Light in the world; to be the living among those who are the walking dead.

Our Risen Christ comes to take the deadness of our lives and transform them into new lives. It doesn't matter how bad or how good we think our lives are right now, Jesus is ready and willing to take our lives, resurrect them, and make them whole in the spirit of His love for us. St. Paul reminds us that we are invited to put our old self to death, the self that is enslaved by our fears, so that we might be raised with Christ into the fullness of God's eternal life. And our baptisms and the renewal of our baptismal covenant give us the opportunity to drown the oldness of our lives so that a newness of life can emerge in us.

And so, on this is the night we gathered in our collective darkness and waited for the light to emerge for us and in us. This is the night where we gathered with water to welcome Elissa, our newest member of the faith and to reclaim for ourselves our own baptismal covenant faith. This is the night of our own resurrections. We no longer need to fear our personal darkness or the darkness of the world. It is the night where all things are made new and where we are reminded that death did not have the final say after all.

As we leave this place tonight, let us remember that Easter is not just a single celebration or a season of 50 days. It is the starting point for us to always keep close in our hearts and minds that our God is the source of all life and liberation. That He is the one who leads us out of the land of darkness and chaos into a place of inner freedom and peace. That our God, who gives to us His son, Jesus Christ who redeems us through his glorious resurrection and makes us all new by giving us transformative life outside of our tombs.

Alleluia. Christ is risen. The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

© 2007 The Rev. Deacon Christine McCloud

Good Friday

By Thomas Murphy, Seminarian Intern

Over the past week a few people from our diocese have been exchanging emails on the topic of salvation. It's been a very interesting conversation. The discussion really boils down to the question, how exactly are we saved? How does Jesus save us? A very appropriate topic for Holy Week! I've been following the emails back and forth and thinking about the question.

In the discussion, some people have supported the traditional understanding that God requires Jesus to pay for our sins on the Cross. Since we could never redeem ourselves, God sent his only Son to substitute for us, to take on our sin. In other words, Jesus was a blood sacrifice -- the Lamb of God -- that sets things right between God and us. Jesus pays our debt to God and we are saved.

Others reject that explanation, saying it turns God into a bloodthirsty monster, willing to brutally sacrifice his own innocent Son. Instead, they suggest that we are saved by the example of Jesus' life. They argue that in Jesus we see who we are supposed to be and how we are supposed to live. Jesus lived his life in loving self-giving and so we are made, we are called, to be like Jesus.

As I've thought and prayed about this I've decided that neither description of our salvation is satisfactory. It is wrong to select one moment or one element of Jesus' life as the cause of our salvation. We are saved by Jesus -- we are saved by God becoming fully present in Jesus -- we are saved by the entire sweep of Jesus' life -- from the manger in Bethlehem to the Cross on Calvary to the empty tomb on Easter morning. We are saved by this life of perfect love, this life of perfect self-giving, this perfect sacrifice for the whole world.

And in our church we are blessed indeed to have liturgies that reflect the indivisible mystery that is Jesus Christ. Over these three holy days of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter we live into the truth that there is no separation between death and resurrection. There is no separation between suffering and salvation. From the washing of the apostles' feet on Maundy Thursday to the empty tomb on Easter morning we celebrate the one great act of love that is Jesus Christ. The love of God poured out for the world in Jesus Christ. We are saved.

The earliest church understood this indivisible mystery so they celebrated Christ's life, death and resurrection all at once. Although a nightmare for the Altar Guild, there's something to be said for that, because the danger for us is that we skip over the suffering. The danger is that we skip over the suffering and move right on to salvation. And that's why we have Good Friday. That's why we're here today.

We gather not to get ourselves worked up over the suffering of one man who lived two-thousand years ago, especially if we're not worked up by the many thousands of people suffering in even worse ways right now. No, we gather today and remember the death of Jesus on the Cross because the Cross is the end result of loving service to the world. The Cross is part of the great sweep of Christ's life. The Cross is part of the great act of love that is Jesus Christ. Jesus -- and we -- can't separate suffering from salvation. And so even though we know how the story ends, we must not skip over the suffering.

I have to admit that in the past I have been impatient with Good Friday. I remember my first Good Friday at the seminary when it came time for the veneration of the cross. I hadn't seen that done before, and I thought it was a little… excessive. The service was long already and one by one seminarians and faculty knelt before the cross, heads bowed in prayer. I remember thinking this is a bit much -- can't we move it along a little? I have to get back to Jersey City! And, let's stop pretending. After all, we know that this story has a happy ending!

Last year, though, I had no choice but to stop and venerate the cross. I had no choice but to reflect in a tangible way on Christ's suffering. Some of you know that each year the churches along Broad Street in downtown Newark participate in a Good Friday walk. The crowd stops in each church where a member of the clergy gives a homily on one of the seven last words. The walk begins at my former field placement parish, House of Prayer.

Anyway, last year I just barely got from the seminary to House of Prayer on time. I was wet from the rain. I had had enough of Good Friday and was ready to move on to Easter. After all, we know how the story ends. Just as the service was beginning someone leaned over and told me that I was going to carry the cross from House of Prayer to the next church a few blocks away. No one had warned me. I hadn't had a chance to lift the cross. How heavy was it anyway? Was there a certain way I was supposed to carry it? I looked at the Stations of the Cross on the wall of the church and saw how the artist depicted Jesus carrying the cross over his shoulder and I thought, well, that's what I'll do too.

The time came and I led the congregation out of House of Prayer and onto Broad Street. The cross was heavy enough that I could feel its weight on my shoulder. I could feel its rough texture on my hands. As I made my way through the drizzle and down Broad Street people stopped in their tracks and looked at the cross on my shoulder. Cars slowed and drivers and passengers stared. Their expressions were a strange mix of curiosity, sadness, and understanding.

Finally we arrived at the next church and I handed off the cross. I can't say that I remember much of the homilies I heard that day but I vividly recall the feel of the cross on my shoulder and in my hands. It was the most powerful Good Friday of my life. In some small way I understood the real, physical suffering of Christ -- suffering that was the end result of loving service to the world. Suffering that was the end result of healing the sick, forgiving sinners and challenging hypocrites. We cannot separate suffering and salvation. We cannot separate death and resurrection.

So, what about us here today? What does Good Friday mean for us? We are called to take up the work of Jesus Christ. In a real sense the Church is born at the foot of the Cross. We are called to live our lives in loving service. We are called -- in our own way -- to be like Jesus -- to be broken and poured out for the world. Listen to the prayers that are next in the service. You'll hear that we are now taking up the work of Jesus Christ. In his life, death and resurrection Jesus has shown us the way. We are called to love and called to serve. We know that a life of love and service means that, like Jesus, we too will experience suffering. But we need not be afraid. After all, we know what happens next. Thanks to the one great act of love that is Jesus Christ -- we are saved.

Amen.

© 2007 Thomas Murphy

Palm Sunday

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

One of the earliest Gospel stories in the Lenten season is the temptation of Jesus in the desert by the Devil. In that story, the Devil tempts Jesus to make bread out of stone, he takes Jesus up to the top of a mountain and tempts him to jump off so the angels will catch him to prove how much God will take care of him and protect him, and then he takes him to the top of the temple offers him power over all the cities below if Jesus will worship him.

Each of these tests Jesus passes because he knows who he is and is confidant in the authority he possesses. He's confidant of his relationship with God and knows that his service to God is unique. He answers that we don't live by bread alone, but that are nourished by God's love. He knows that God's love for him is unconditional and doesn't need to be tested. He knows that his authority is from God and that power is a false god for those who don't know how to claim the authority within.

Three years later Jesus enters Jerusalem in the humble way described centuries earlier by the prophet Zechariah, namely on a donkey. It's a sign of humility and it was a message to those who knew what to look for. Yet as he was entering the city gates, people gathered about him with their own expectations and their own desires for him. Much like his experience in the desert they were tempting him to claim power. They offered him, very much like the devil, a crown. But also like the devil, that crown came with a price tag. The devil's price was for Jesus to compromise himself and his integrity -- his very humanity and divinity by worshiping the devil. Evil was the price tag for power.

Similarly, there was a price tag for the crown offered by the people waving the palm branches. They wanted him to lead them against the Romans. They had an agenda all set for him to walk into. The message they were sending was very clear and the price tag was do their will. And in exchange they would follow him. But deeper than the price tag they charged was another price that reached into his very soul. Again, the temptation to put aside his own mission of love and justice for power. The temptation to compromise the very ideals and values that he preached his whole ministry. Sadly, this was the moment his own disciples were waiting for. This was their dream too. To take the city by storm, set themselves up in power and usher in a golden age. Or so they thought.

Jesus fulfilled the prophecy of Zechariah, not out of false humility, but sincere humility. He rejected their notions of power and was again secure in his own authority to witness God's love and forgiveness of the deepest of sins, even the ones they were committing by looking at him and seeing a king they made in their own image rather than the God who made them in his.

This act of humility was bearing their sins. Knowing that the deepest part of those people, even his own disciples misunderstood him. They decided to project their wishes on him and expected him to comply, the way they would carve an image out of stone and pray to it, putting on it all their wishes. Their sin was to make him like one of their gods, not knowing that the One true God was in their very midst and they still didn't see or understand. The One who once healed the blind was confronted with the blindness of all of them.

The events of Holy Week re-enact the Passion story. Our Confirmation Class just read the familiar passages and our services play them out liturgically in scripture, song, symbol and re-enactment. The drama is as deep and ancient as any between God and humanity. The struggle between the God who made us and the desire humans have as lesser gods.

From the Garden of Eden to this very day, we see God in the actions of humility and want to take him hostage to serve our needs for power even at the cost of justice and peace. Humanity is insatiable in the need for power and it's always to fill an emptiness, to reach a height, to quench a thirst that is ultimately impossible. Ironically we seek to be gods because we don't know how to be in relationship with God.

God became human to show us how. To demonstrate through love, justice and forgiveness how to build that relationship with the divine. The drama of Holy Week is the reminder of how humanity failed. But it's also the story of God's love even through the failure. God's love through the misunderstandings, the betrayal, even the murder. God's love which knows no bounds.

Our nation and our church still fight these same battles over power rather than authority. Sacrificing dignity and integrity at the expense of the poor and powerless. The nails we've passed out these last few years after communion serve as reminders of our human failings when we place our faith in those to whom we offer power, rather than faith in God whose authority is love.

Perhaps one of God's temptations from the Devil is to leave us in the midst of our own failings. Let us destroy ourselves by our own greed and fear of each other, and start over. Yet it seems God did not yield to this temptation either. The love of God demonstrated so often in his life and ministry culminates in the knowledge that not even death can separate us from God's love. The overwhelming power of God's love reaches out to us as strong as ever.

The witness of the Biblical characters show time and again that God's love is genuine and constant no matter what. I don't care who we are or what we think we may have done to lose God's love. We're no worse than some of those characters in the Bible, and if you haven't read about them, it's high time you do. They're in there for a reason. It's so that we cannot say that God's promise is false. God loves us so much that he came to Earth and bore our sins, and loves us through our failings and that's the Good News of the Gospel.

Wars, politics, bigotry, fear and cruelty are human inventions. God's love calls us out of those temptations to claim our full humanity and the divinity in each of us. We've abdicated them long enough. When we gather on the road that Jesus travels, may we not be blinded by the false gods we create out of our own fears and needs, but open our eyes fully to see the God who calls us, and loves us. Amen.

© 2007 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

The Unexpected

By Thomas Murphy, Seminarian Intern

These past few months I've been writing a thesis on Ignatius of Loyola, who's probably best known as the founder of the Jesuits. Before entering seminary I taught at a Jesuit high school -- the same school that I had attended. It's been wonderful getting reacquainted with Ignatius. (Let's get the shameless plug out of the way: this Saturday morning I'll be leading a mini-retreat on Ignatian Spirituality -- I hope you'll be able to join us.) Anyway, as I have read about Ignatius and reflected on his life, I have been deeply moved by how over and over things did not work out quite the way that Ignatius expected.

Growing up in the Basque region of Spain at the end of the 15th and beginning of the 16th Centuries, Ignatius -- like many young men of his time -- dreamed of the glories of battle. That romantic dream came to an abrupt end when both of his legs were shattered by a cannonball. During his long, painful -- and never really complete -- recovery he came to the conclusion that God was calling him to a different kind of glory -- he was to go to the Holy Land and convert the Muslims. He actually got to Jerusalem but was quickly sent back home. Back to the drawing board! Then he decided that God was calling him to get more education. To begin he had to learn Latin -- so this once proud and vain man sat in the same class with little boys and struggled to master the ancient language. And finally, Ignatius, who had dreamed of adventure, ended up his last years sitting behind a desk writing letters - managing his worldwide religious order, the Society of Jesus.

Ignatius came to realize in profound ways that God does the unexpected. And really his whole spirituality was focused on paying close attention to the unexpected things God is doing in our lives -- the unexpected ways that God is at work in our lives. Now I suspect that all of us have learned one way or another that God does the unexpected. Over the past few weeks I have been moved to hear some of your stories -- how you found this warm and dynamic community of St. George's -- sometimes just when you were ready to give up on God or to give up on the Church. Your stories have reminded me of my own story -- I was a Roman Catholic teaching in a Roman Catholic high school who one Sunday went to St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Jersey City, mostly out of curiosity to see what the inside of the church looked like. And for one of the few times in my life, I knew that this was exactly right. And, talk about unexpected, somehow I'm here standing in your pulpit today!

So God does the unexpected, and yet I think we often forget that fact. Or maybe we'd like to forget it. God doing the unexpected makes us uneasy. Most of us are usually not too crazy about change or about surprises. We like to think that we've got God all figured out. This usually, of course, means that we think God is pretty much just like us.

It seems appropriate that during Lent we take some time for humility. We can use these days of sacrifice to remind ourselves that we do not control God. We can remind ourselves that our ways are not God's ways. We can pay extra attention and be open to God working in our lives -- especially to be open to God doing the unexpected. So it's helpful that in each of today's readings we are reminded that our ways are not God's ways. We are reminded that God acts in unexpected ways.

The prophet Isaiah is writing to an Israelite community that has suffered through the Babylonian exile. They suffered the shock of seeing the Temple desecrated, Jerusalem destroyed, and spending decades exiled in Babylon -- desperately trying to hold on to their faith and their identity in the midst of so much pain and suffering. It seemed like all was lost. But now Isaiah describes God as doing the unexpected. God says through Isaiah, "I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?" What is this new thing? Something unexpected - God anoints Cyrus, a Persian -- not a Jew -- to free the Jews from their bondage and allow them to return to their homeland. By choosing Cyrus as the "anointed one" God once again does the unexpected.

In the passage from the letter to the Philippians, we find Paul again defending his credentials. This must have gotten very frustrating after a while! We can assume Paul is defending himself because there were others preaching a different gospel to the Philippians -- a gospel probably based on rituals such as circumcision. Paul defends himself by saying in Christ God has done the unexpected. Oh sure, Paul has all the traditional qualifications -- circumcised on the eighth day, a son of Israel, a Pharisee, a scrupulous follower of the Law.

But Paul has come to realize that God has done the unexpected. The purity codes gave people so much comfort and certainty -- I'm in with God because of my rituals and my heritage. Yet, in Christ, God reveals that purity and birthright are not the things that really matter. Over and over, Jesus crosses boundaries, eating with sinners and teaching both Jews and non-Jews -- and even women! In Christ, God has done the unexpected -- opening salvation to all people -- to people in Philippi and to people in Maplewood.

Finally we come to today's reading from the Gospel of John -- the anointing at Bethany. It's a strange and mysterious scene isn't it? Lazarus -- recently raised from the dead -- is there, as are his sisters Mary and Martha. The sisters are true to their characters -- Martha is working away and Mary is at Jesus' feet. Judas is there as well. The strangest part of the story, of course, is when Mary anoints Jesus' feet with very expensive perfume. And then she wipes his feet with her hair. Talk about crossing boundaries! Talk about the unexpected! Judas has seen enough and erupts -- pointing out that the money they could have gotten for the perfume would have helped a lot of poor people.

And then we get one more dose of the unexpected, when Jesus responds with the famous sentence, "You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me." Doesn't really sound very much like Jesus, does it?

So, what to make of this strange passage? One of the techniques that Ignatius used is what is known as the fantasy meditation. Essentially, one reads or hears a passage of Scripture and then imagines being there – actually seeing, hearing, tasting, feeling what's going on.

It's a powerful way of approaching Scripture and prayer. But in the case of the anointing at Bethany I have a little problem. You can probably guess where I am going with this. Here I am two months shy of ordination and I find myself strongly identifying with Judas Iscariot -- that can't be good! Now John clearly stacks the deck against Judas claiming that he didn't really care about the poor. He was angry about the waste because he was stealing from the common purse. Maybe so. But doesn't Judas have a point? I mean, what's going on here? We have this very valuable perfume and Mary is pouring it on Jesus' feet -- what a waste in dusty Palestine. Meanwhile we know about the grinding poverty that people faced -- that people face -- every day.

I would expect Jesus to stand up for the poor -- wouldn't you? Didn't Jesus tell us to give up all our possessions and follow him? Didn't Jesus tell us that we must feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the imprisoned? Sure he did -- Judas knows this and we know it too. So now we're just going to literally pour this wealth away? And to add insult to injury we have Jesus saying "You always have the poor with you."

You know how that line has been interpreted, right? For centuries Christians have agreed, sure we should do everything we can to help the poor, but we shouldn't think that we can ever create a society without poverty. After all, you know what Jesus said, right?

I have even heard people criticize the Episcopal Church's commitment to the Millennium Development Goals -- which have the ultimate goal of actually eradicating poverty. Some people criticize the church for giving these material goals so much emphasis, because … you know what Jesus said, "You always have the poor with you."

Can you see why I'm with Judas on this? Here's a concrete example of sympathizing with Judas: My seminary class has sold scarves to raise money for our senior class gift. We raised over $20,000! That's a lot of scarves and a lot of cash. On our senior retreat we began to discuss what kind of gift we might give to the seminary. One suggestion was to spend the money on outreach. The seminary has been having trouble with the neighbors and one of the frequent accusations has been that the seminary is disconnected from the surrounding community. So some people thought that was a good idea -- maybe we could support an after-school program, or a homeless shelter, or the like.

Then someone pointed out that the green vestments in the chapel were getting a little frayed and so maybe we should consider buying new vestments. And you can be sure that these wouldn't be some machine-washable polyester vestments, but the best -- ideally imported from England, of course. So I had my Judas moment -- I thought of the parable of the talents. I could imagine God asking, so what did you do with the $20,000? And our answer: we bought new green vestments for the chapel. I felt righteous indignation building up in my chest.

And yet, Jesus approves of Mary anointing his feet with the costly perfume. Our ways are not God's ways. God does the unexpected.

A few months ago I read the book God's Politics by Jim Wallis, who's the editor of Sojourners magazine. Have any of you read it? It's a powerful book with the basic premise that the Church has to be involved in politics -- but that God is not a Democrat or a Republican. Wallis insists that Christ's Church must be committed to social justice and to the poor. But Wallis admits that, unfortunately, Jesus' best-known words about poverty are, "You always have the poor with you."

Wallis claims that when we hear fatalism or apathy we are misinterpreting Jesus' words. Wallis says Jesus is really saying -- you've been with me, you've seen who I eat with, who I spend time with. You know my teaching. So if you are going to follow me then you -- the church -- will always be close to the poor. And if you're close to the poor, then it is OK to be like Mary, it's OK to be extravagant with worship and celebration. If we're close to the poor, then it's OK to buy the new green vestments!

In my short time here, it seems to me that St. George's really gets that. I've been really impressed by your outreach efforts and your abundant generosity to those in need close by and far away. And of course the worship here is beautiful. But Lent is a good time for all of us to pause and reflect and to make sure that our spiritual life -- our life of service and praise -- is balanced and healthy.

So maybe sometime later today we can do a little Ignatian meditation. Let's imagine we're in a corner of the room watching as Mary anoints Jesus. It's a strange and mysterious scene. We hear and see Judas get angry. We hear Jesus' say something unexpected, "You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me." We get it. We understand what Jesus means. And so from our corner we speak up and promise Jesus that we will open our hearts to God's unexpected ways. And we also promise to both keep the poor close to us and to worship God with joy and extravagance.

Now let us prepare for the feast.

Amen.

© 2007 Thomas Murphy

Annual Meeting Sunday

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

Jesus said in this morning's Gospel, "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it..."

Speaking the truth comes at a cost. Especially when that truth goes against the grain of the status quo. Jesus' observation of the fate of the prophets in Jerusalem mirror his understanding of his upcoming ordeal at the hands of the very people who sang his praises. He knew that a change would come. He too would be among the casualties of those whose loved Jerusalem, its people, its temple, its worship, its very way of life and tried to tell them a truth they did not want to hear.

His truths were simple. God loves everyone, even the Gentiles. God forgives everyone who asks for forgiveness, even the worst of sinners. God is not interested in outward appearance -- either in looks or actions; God is interested in the authenticity of our spirit which transcends our looks and inspires those actions -- good or bad.

He continued to say, "How often I would gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing." The love of God is a two way street. It's extended but it also needs to be received. So many were not willing to receive that love. So many still don't know it's waiting for them in the loving arms of God. Too often people then and people now are blinded by their own lack of self love, and the lack of love for their neighbor, to believe that God's love is indeed intended and offered to all. Willingness is tricky business.

Today we open our annual meeting. It's a time to celebrate the ministry God has called us to in Maplewood. We have much to be pleased with and proud of. Our worship and work, our fellowship, outreach, youth work, education and spirituality are all wonderful responses to God's call.

When our youth went on the mission trip to Mississippi to help as some of a long line of relief volunteers since Katrina hit, we learned many lessons, but I'd like to outline three that meant a lot to me. First, when a project seems too daunting, don't keep your eyes fixed only on what needs to be done, because you may get overwhelmed and frustrated. Keep an eye on what you've accomplished as a measure of your work and build on it.

Second, we learned that our being there also helped build up those engaged in the day to day work -- and they need that help! We were there for a week, but those who live there and saw us felt strengthened in their work. That part of the work we couldn't measure but we certainly felt it when they said "Thank you" and sometimes in tears.

Third, we learned that by answering a call to help others, we did in fact help them, but we also grew in our spiritual lives. Each of us changed a little that week for the better. We reached outside ourselves and received in equal measure to what we gave.

Our youth showed a willingness to be gathered up by Jesus, to receive love and show it. There was no killing of prophets that week, only love of God and neighbor.

The lessons we learned in Mississippi are not new ones. They are age old, though sometimes need to be taken out and shown again. Here in St. George's we can look at a world full of struggle and pain and be overwhelmed by the immensity of it. There is the war. There's natural devastation including the recent tornados in Alabama. There are deep divisions in the Anglican communion with feelings of anger and betrayal. There is pain so many feel in the limits of marriage equality for gay and lesbian people. There are also the large problems of health, grief, fear, and uncertainty that all of us go through at one time or another. But there is also much good news and much to be joyful about.

If we focus on the immensity of the problems we can be defeated. But if we look at what we have accomplished in our lives and in our communities we can feel strengthened and empowered to continue. We can hold onto the joy that comes from doing the best that we can and as much as we can.

St. George's is a place of healing. God's healing comes in so many forms and meets us in so many places of need. It too is offered freely to all and is received as we are willing. We are certainly not the only place of healing in the world. By no means! God has many such places! But, we are unique. And God doesn't heal people in other places like God heals people here! We are faithful, active, progressive, thinking people. We are gifted in many ways and eager to share those gifts in praise, song, fellowship, friendship and humor. We're not afraid of disagreement and often welcome a healthy debate. We pray, we care, we eat!

We assemble here gathered by Jesus as a hen gathers her brood and are willing, at least more often than not. And in that worship, witness and work, we find healing. We find God.

In the first lesson, God took Abraham outside and told him to number the stars if he could, because that will be the number of his descendants. Impossible is the only word to use. Impossible to count the stars and impossible to think a man and woman in their 90's could have a child. Scripture doesn't tell us if Abraham ever counted the stars, but he and Sarah did have a child and the descendants are still appearing as the stars to be counted.

The scriptures call us again and again to be faithful despite the daunting challenges. God can and does work miracles all the time -- and yet even these in God's time, not ours. Our task is to strengthen each other and work toward God's call.

A few weeks ago we were visited by Bishop Julio Murray of Panama who preached a wonderful, inspiring sermon. In the context of it he thought we were too uptight to turn to each other and tell each other that God's loves you and so do I. It was a good natured poke, but we proved him wrong. I'd like you to do that again today. Please turn to someone on either side of you and say, "God loves you and so do I" and please add this time, "I'm glad you're here." Amen.

© 2007 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ