Black History and the Episcopal Church

By the Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

February overlaps the church season of Epiphany with the National observance of Black History Month. The word Epiphany means Manifestation and is used in this season to show the various ways Jesus manifested God in his life and ministry. One of the ways we're reading about often in the Gospel chosen for these weeks is in healing.

Black History Month began as Negro History Week in 1926, having been started by historian Carter G. Woodson. In 1976 February was designated Black History Month for the US and Canada. England observes Black History Month in October. In many ways this observance is healing too. The history books in America have long been written from the perspective of the accomplishments of European Americans, to the extent that contributions made by African Americans to science, medicine, culture, literature, exploration, business, indeed any aspect of our national history were systematically ignored or glossed over. History is the story of a people who live together and it needs to be told in a balanced and proud way. To exclude anyone for any reason is a disservice to the one ignored and even more so to the one who never learns about them. Pieces of our historical puzzle are missing when we leave out any group of people.

Black History Month addresses in small part the injustice of omission not only to African Americans who have a right to cherish the contributions of other African Americans in history, but to European Americans and Americans of any ethnic background, who have a right to better understand the richness of our interwoven lives.

There is seemingly a fear that the greatness of one people diminishes the greatness of another. That fear is a sickness that needs healing. The risen Lord who heals the sick and drives out the unclean spirits is a good place to look for such a healing.

Last week we read about Jesus healing the man in the synagogue of an unclean spirit. Today we read about Jesus healing Peter's mother-in-law first and then many people from the town who came after they heard what happened. Sometimes people want to see proof of healing before they open themselves up to it. As the words of Jesus' healing spread, so did the hope of the people who needed it and they came looking for it themselves. Jesus proclaimed the message of healing through God's love and kept going from town to town to proclaim it even further. Hopefully that's a message we continue to preach here.

I've always liked history and enjoyed brushing up on aspects of history within the Episcopal church that involved specific reference to African Americans. There are particular people who usually get highlighted. Absalom Jones, the first African American priest, was ordained in 1804 in Philadelphia, Barbara Harris, an African American woman who was the first woman to be consecrated a bishop in 1989. People are generally know if they are the trail blazers or "firsts" of anything.

But there are also historical trends that are important to point out also. For example, prior to the Civil War the Episcopal church was very strong in this country. That period was also before the influx of Roman Catholic immigrants so the Protestant Church in general was very strong, and the Episcopal church in particular was strong in the North and South, and the denomination of choice for those high in social circles, business and politics.

The Evangelical fervor that hit the United States was identified often with the Methodist Church, itself an offshoot of the Church of England, and whose co-founder John Wesley coined a phrase when he described his acceptance of God's grace as his heart being strangely warmed.

Episcopalians of high theology were considered people of the intellect, rational in their decisions and not swayed by sentimental emotionalism. The evangelical's warm hearts however, worked into the Episcopal church creating a similar tensions to those that always exist between head and heart.

Evangelical Episcopalians of the 1800's did a lot of work among the slave population and a large number of slaves became Christian through the Episcopal Church. But it was still very segregated. I've told this story before but I think it bears repeating, that as the Abolition movement got stronger the strains were felt in the Episcopal Church reflecting the growing conflicts in the general population. Conservative Episcopalians wanted to stay out of the debate while Evangelical Episcopalians insisted that the church needed to proclaim it's prophetic voice. The symbol of the Evangelical church's desire to speak on secular issues was the America flag hung in the churches. When Trinity Church on Wall Street allowed the American flag inside the congregation was aghast.

Phillips Brooks, an Episcopal priest know among other things for writing O Little Town of Bethlehem, was a fiery Evangelical preacher who railed against the fear of speaking out against slavery and wrote about one particular convention where no statement was made: Its shilly-shallying was disgraceful. It was ludicrous, if not sad, to see those old gentlemen sitting there for fourteen days trying to make out whether there was a war going on or not, and whether if there was it would be safe for them to say so."

More and more churches hung the flag in the church and the conservative voices relented to this trend but similarly insisted that the Episcopal flag also be hung so we don't forget the place of God in the conversation. And there they hang to this very day. But most Episcopalians have no idea why. History is a way of telling stories that need to be told. Our lives are richer because of them.

The Episcopal Church split during the Civil War but reunited after the war. The toll taken was high in so many ways, not the least of which was among church membership which had become disillusioned by war and suffering and bitter hatred between fellow citizens. The work among African Americans in the evangelical wave was lost as the country spent its time rebuilding itself. Segregation in the church continued and many opportunities for God's healing were lost. The Episcopal Church treated African Americans as a problem: culturally and socially separated and inferior, but by baptism, full and equal members of the community. The Church tried to mend this breach by ministering to black Americans separately, consecrating bishops for "colored work", funding black colleges, establishing black congregations, and operating a special office for "Negro work." In short, the Episcopal Church fully embraced the American "separate but equal" construct of race relations.

The history of race relations in the Episcopal church has a lot of pain in it. It also has a lot of hope and reconciling grace in it as well. We need to build a strong future on the solid ground of truth. A lot of work has been done and much more remains to be done. Healing has happened in the body of Christ among its varied members and like those in the Gospel lesson people keep getting drawn to it even more. Amen.

© 2012 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

"Let your light so shine"

By the Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

From the Gospel we heard, "Let your light so shine before others that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven."

One of the dominant themes of Epiphany is light. It's an important symbol in much of the scriptures and is used in different ways. It's a way of illustrating truth, wisdom, and God's grace. Scriptures refer to Jesus as the Light of the World, or the Light to enlighten the Nations. In the prologue to the Gospel of John, it says, "In Him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it."

This light called Jesus invites us to let out light shine before others. It's a beautiful image and a common one, but somehow never loses it's power. Today, being the first Sunday of February we begin a series of Sundays focusing on Black History Month. We'll have different guest speakers and forums that are listed in your bulletin and you'll hear more about them as the weeks progress. The Absalom Jones Committee has done a lot of work preparing the events and I'm really glad they are letting their lights shine before others. Earlier in the Gospel passage Jesus said that no one hides a light under a bushel, but puts it on a lamp stand. While that may be true with physical lights or candles, it's not always true of people and their good works.

The light of African Americans was hidden for many years from history lessons. The cultural and scientific contributions, the art, music, religious, military -- so many aspects hidden for so many years. The purpose of Black History Month is to raise awareness, not only of what has been left out of the general history pages, also serves as a reminder of the danger of omitting it.

I often refer to myself as a walking guilt trip. If I'm downtown and pass by one of our parishioners who wasn't in church the past Sunday, as I'm saying hello I'm hearing why they weren't in church. It's as though my very presence is an accusation. Believe me when I tell you, I just want to say hello. Similarly, the existence of Black History Month can be perceived as a finger of accusation for the wrongs of the past. Slavery, lynching, false accusation and wrongful imprisonment, and the many ways that racism raises it's ugly head in employment, housing, education and all aspects of our common lives cannot be denied or glossed over. That is part of the history that can best be healed by honesty and shining a light on a past that is painful for those whose ancestors bore the worst of it, and who still feel the legacy of racism today. Healing is also necessary for those of us whose ancestors perpetrated the worst of it, and who still engage in it today in varying degrees.

The real value of Black History Month in my opinion is the opportunity to challenge everyone to allow their light to shine -- the light of truth and the light of God's love to find healing, reconciliation and growth. Many of you know that I grew up in Rhode Island and I'm very proud of my little home state, often referred to in some history books as "Rogues' Island." It's always had a salty history that most Rhode Islanders look at with smug pride -- things like smuggling and old fashioned rum running. But like so many, the state has a dirty little secret. The Brown family, a prominent family in the history of that state, for whom Brown University is named, has a large section in the state history books for their accomplishments and noble adventures. What was left out of the history books of my grammar school was that the Brown family made their fortune in the slave trade.

We were always taught that slavery was the vice of the Southern States and that the virtuous north was responsible for ending it. It seems that was not the case. The Browns certainly gained a lot by promoting that slant on history, and so did many others. The sad truth was hidden under pages of other history that allowed untainted pride.

What is to be served by revealing the dirty little family secret? People are owed the truth, even when it's painful. The scriptures are full of it's heroes and heroines whose nobility is tempered by their failings. That's part of it's richness and part of its offer of salvation and healing. Moses murdered a man. King David cheated and set up a man to be killed so he could marry the man's wife. Peter denied Jesus at his time of need. Paul persecuted the church and presided of the killing of Stephen, the first martyr of the Christian Church. Scriptures don't gloss over the painful truth, but shows how God can work even through the failings of people and create something good.

Scriptural history, Black History, even the history of Rogues' Island is not about guilt, it's about honesty. Sometimes we have to hear painful truths and sometimes we have to tell painful truths. But Black History Month is certainly not only about pain. It's in fact more about triumph, as is scripture.

In twelve step work with substance and alcohol abusers there is a list of promises made to those who can stay clean and sober. One of the promises is "We will not regret the past, nor wish to shut the door on it." For people whose lives have been a long path of wreckage, most of which they created themselves, this promise seems very far out of reach, almost to be unrealistic and impossible. For people who would rather forget the past, the idea that it would not be regretted seems absurd. And yet, experience shows that to be the case. Shining the light of honesty of the tangled past is the beginning of healing -- for those who were hurt and for those who did the hurting. Denying allows wounds to fester, truth allows them to heal.

In South Africa the work they've done on reconciliation is a model for the world. It doesn't erase the past but allows honesty to help them transcend it. Again, it's not about guilt, it's about healing.

As Black History Month progresses there are important voices to be heard, and not all of them are Black. Black History is an artificial category. There is only one history that people of all races participated in, inherited and will live into. Revealing it's fullness is an ongoing adventure that requires imagination, courage and yearning.

As the weeks unfold we'll hear stories and learn things. We'll capture a beauty and richness that builds us all up and no doubt hear painful truths that also need to be shared. Life is complicated and messy. It's also wonderful. Faith and grace play large roles in that life. God is with us and is the source of light. The Book of Genesis tells us that when God made light, God said it was good. And it is. And the same light of God shines through Jesus and invites us to let our light shine as well. The light that we shine gives glory to God because it returns that which we have received. We have much to learn, much to live and while the past is past, God is the light that will shows us the present and will guide us into the future. Let your light so shine before others that they may see your good works and give glory to God in Heaven. Amen.

© 2011 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

Believing in God's Promise

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

The first lesson today from Genesis tells an old story. Not quite in the beginning, but close to it. The central figure in this story is Abram. Shortly after this story his name would be changed and he would come to be known as Abraham. But at this point, he’s still Abram. Genesis has described several conversations between God and Abram up to this point, and in each one God has promised Abram that he would make a great nation of his descendants. Apparently Abram was getting tired of this promise since both he and the reader at this point are aware that Abram is in his late seventies and his wife Sarai is not far behind in years and they had no children.

God seems oblivious to this fact as the promises continue, but Abram is annoyed. Finally Abram calls out and says “What will you give me, because I am childless and the only heir I have is my servant Eliezer.” But then an amazing sight is described that is in fact a ritual of covenant between God and Abram. In the offering of animals and the mysterious appearance of a smoking pot that passes between them, a deal is made. God formalizes the promise and just beyond the lesson we read, a prediction is made that foretells the descendants of Abram leaving that land, being enslaved in Egypt and then returning. The deal God made with Abram was the promise of the land that would become the nation of Israel.

All of this because Abram was a righteous man, and God likes righteous people. Righteousness involves to trusting, and often waiting. By the end of his life, Abram had two sons, one by his wife’s servant Hagar named Ishmael, and one by his wife Sarah named Isaac. But he had faith that out of these children a mighty nation would come. He had this faith, because God had promised.

God’s promise is a theme that runs through the Bible constantly. Another theme is the difficulty people have in believing it, or at least having the patience to see them come to pass. In the Gospel lesson another promise is alluded to. Jesus responds to the Pharisees who warn him about Herod’s threats by invoking the words “third day”. Those words used in the body of the Gospels foreshadow the resurrection on the third day and the promise of God made to all believers through the resurrection.

The Bible is a book written many years after the stories they describe and the writers include elements of foreshadow to tie the themes together for the readers and show how God’s promises eventually come to pass. What distinguishes a righteous from an unrighteous person is the one who holds onto the faith in the promise and the one who doesn’t. The one who lives into the promise and the one who acts as though it doesn’t exist.

One of the strengths of the themes in these stories, the tireless patience of the writers, and the examples of the righteous people they depict, is that any reader can identify with them in their own difficulties and despite apparent obstacles, believe that God’s promise will come true and always comes true.

During this February observance of Black History month among other events and activities, there have been pictures on the bulletin covers of contemporary African American religious leaders. On the cover today is a picture of The Rev. Peter Gomes, professor of Christian Morals at Harvard University and Chaplain of Harvard’s Memorial Church. He’s an American Baptist minister and among his many books is one that became a best seller in 1996 called The Good Book. In it he describes how the Bible has been used as a weapon throughout history against Jews, women, homosexuals and usually any kind of change and progressive justice. His new book, called The Scandalous Gospel is a discussion of the radical nature of the Christian faith that most contemporary Christians would find, well, scandalous. He argues that true Christian values have been left behind and replaced with harsh, judgmental, narrowly focused and self serving ideologies. Actual Christian love, as Jesus lived and taught it, is far more inclusive and caring than today’s Christians would recognize.

As a man of faith, a gay man, an African-American man, a professor and prophetic voice in America and the world today, Rev. Gomes also speaks of the promise of God, it’s obstacles in societies, and yet its endurance and ultimate victory.

It’s hard to tell people to wait. It’s harder to be a person who does wait. The people in Haiti must wait. Their ordeal will end, but not for a long time. Now the people of Chile, as well as the people of the Middle East and Africa, and even in America. The promise of God reaches individuals and nations, but sometimes it seems excruciatingly slow or at worst forgotten.

One of the major tensions for us to balance what must wait with what can change now. Sometimes being told to wait is simply an effort to put off changing what is wrong. Dr. King’s famous statement that justice delayed is justice denied argues against the obstacle of waiting. How long were African Americans told to wait, that “now is not the right time”. Similar statements are being made today with marriage equality and even health care. In the end, waiting and stalling are not the same and we need to be careful about mistaking one for the other.

Jesus refers to prophets being killed in Jerusalem. Jerusalem is an important image since it is the capital of Israel, the very heart of the country, and the tangible symbol of God’s true promise to make them a nation. And yet in the midst of this promise, suffering and division has always been present. There is bitter grief in Jesus saying how he would gather them all like a hen gathers her chick if they would but listen.

How many problems and issues in the world that bring suffering would be solved if people would listen to the love of God and extend that loving hand. How simple it seems for the love of God to gather people, and yet we would not.

The collect we opened the service with for this second Sunday of Lent asks God to “...be gracious to all who have gone astray from your ways and bring them again with penitent hearts and steadfast faith to embrace and hold fast the unchangeable truth of your Word, Jesus Christ, your son.”

It’s easy to get overwhelmed with need and injustice in the world. It’s easy to walk away and say nothing can be done. But at the very least, awareness is something. Awareness leads to prayer and prayer leads to action. When we are called in extraordinary circumstances to show God’s love, we do. The generosity and outpouring of prayer and goodwill flows to various people in times of need. Our challenge is to embrace people in the ordinary times as well. We’ve demonstrated this many times in responding to disaster relief, to homelessness, and to people in need in our own parish. It’s all part of the unfolding promise of God.

But the promise of God does not only flow out to others. The promise of God is to us too. Abram was a simple man who heard the promise of God in a vision and believed it. He didn’t see its fullness, but his faith in it determined how he lived his life. He did not live as someone who felt beaten and betrayed by a promise not kept, but as someone who lives in the expectation and joy of a promise not yet fulfilled.

How each of us approaches our lives is really up to us. We can live in dread of inevitable disaster, or in optimistic hope of inevitable victory. The Scandal of the Gospel, found in the Good Book is a profound belief in the promise of God and the unshakable quest to embrace it. The promise of Jesus is a life of fullness and eternal life.

God showed Abram the sky and told him to count the stars if he could. That same number would be the number of his descendants. For a seventy something year old man without any children, that must have seemed pretty far fetched. But he believed even when the promise seemed absurd. And it filled his life with joy and expectation. God’s promise of love, inclusion and justice sometimes seems equally far reaching and absurd, and yet it’s what informs our lives. We can live in the joy and expectation of God’s promise unfolding. Amen.

©2010 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

Lent

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

Our service today is vastly different from the one we had last week. For those who were not here last week, we broke from our traditional liturgy and had a Mardi Gras feel. Richard Berggren and some of his musical associates put together a jazz ensemble and arranged hymns, service music and anthems with toe tapping energy. Vanessa Aiken, who has provided us with beautiful liturgical dancing several times in the past, shared her gifts again with us from the opening song “When the Saints Com Marching In” as she danced down the aisle to various other pieces during the service. Dean Kravitz played jazz arrangements of hymns during Communion, and one of my friends named Kenny Ford, who sang an anthem at my 25th anniversary service last month, was invited to return, to sing another one.

Mary Davis was invited back to preach for us and did her usual outstanding work. And then the coffee hour afterward. “Coffee Hour” is a rather humble name for the feast that was prepared by the Absalom Jones Committee. The mood was high and the music wonderful. All in all, my Lord what a morning.

Today’s service couldn’t be more different in style. We have entered into the season of Lent the past Wednesday, Ash Wednesday. It’s far more somber and serious. Mardi Gras all over the world are a last hurrah for the faithful who enter this wonderful season of Lent. For many, Mardi Gras is just one more party, but to Christians it’s a joyous conclusion to the Christmas season and a transition to a time of preparation for the Easter season. The church also goes from celebration to celebration, but we divide them with seasons that help us to get ready. In this case, Lent is the season that prepares us for Easter. It’s a time to slow down and think about the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross and the promise of resurrection made on that first Easter day.

Well, slowing down is the first problem. Who can do that? Our fast paced world and culture of exhaustion have no intention of slowing down. If anything, the pressure is always there to move faster. And we do move faster to the point where we begin to think that exhaustion is normal. We’ve lost the skill of slowing down. After our most recent snow storm I heard so many people talk about how wonderful it was to be home form school or work, only to be bored by day's end not being able to get out and about as usual.

We don’t know how to slow down and we come face to face with the realization that even taking things slow is a skill that needs to be developed. The season of Lent is a silent appeal to do just that. Develop the skill of slowing down. Do this by increasing the time we spend in prayer or meditation. (I’ll take a moment to brag about the Confirmation Class. When we start the year with new students the first thing I do with them after the preliminaries is to teach them to meditate. They look at me in the way Middle School youth look at adults when they’re sure we’ve lost our minds. We begin with an explanation of what meditation is, a time to still the wild random thoughts and become centered. I time them and say we’ll go as long as we can before someone starts giggling. The first class is usually about 8 seconds. But over the weeks and months we’ve gotten up as high as 10 minutes. For ten youth, that’s pretty good.) It’s a skill I encourage everyone to work on.

Lent is also a time of self reflection. Each of us has things in our lives that we are embarrassed, sorry, or even ashamed about. There are things we would like to improve. One of the consequences of meditation is that these things generally rise to the surface of our consciousness demanding attention. People generally have ways to cope with these invasions to our consciousness - we stay busy, turn on the TV or music or just keep talking. Silence is often threatening because it means that what we don’t want to look at is right there in front of us. While we can certainly address these things all year long, Lent is a time to give particular attention to the practice of silence, allowing these thoughts to emerge and deal with them sacramentally. “Confession” is a word that strikes fear in the hearts of many who grew up under a stricter model than the Episcopal Church offers. We have the General Confession as part of our weekly service, but we also have private confessions available by appointment. This comes as a surprise to many, but I assure you it’s true. We don’t use little booths for confession, we hold them in more comfortable manner, such as in an office. Still, confession and pastoral conversations are ways to address some of the issues that surface during our meditations, issues that can reach anywhere from slight embarrassment to perhaps making us feel unloved or unworthy of the love of God. And sometimes the issues are not of a negative nature, but calls of discernment. Sometimes there are goals or projects or even life changes that are exciting and scary and silence brings them up too.

I encourage you to take advantage of this Lent to slow down, meditate and pray, and seek the pastoral conversation of your clergy or even a close friend. If you would like to discuss confession, Chris and I will be happy to do so.

The seriousness of the tone of today’s service is intentional to convey the seriousness of the work that self reflection is. It’s not intended to accuse or punish, but identify and heal. Too long has the church taken on the role of punisher and not enough time as healer. Much of the ministry in St. George’s is focused on healing and the opportunity for prayer, meditation, confession, and pastoral conversation are forms of it.

In the Gospel lesson, Jesus is in the desert. The story takes place right at the beginning of his ministry after he was baptized by John in the Jordan River. Through Baptism and the words heard form heaven by God calling him his beloved son in whom he was well pleased, Jesus takes a time of silence for forty days. What wells up in him are the temptations to abuse his newly formed ministry. For personal gain, power, or aggrandizement. He could have had it all. But it would have been at the sacrifice of his mission to bring the people of God back into relationship with God. Through his prayer and mediation he confronted each of the temptations and stayed true to his call. I always remark on the closing line of this passage, “When the Devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.” Temptations don’t go away, they wait for an opportune time. Even for Jesus.

As part of Black History Month, the Absalom Jones Committee has been sponsoring a film series on Friday nights. This coming Friday the movie is “Crash,” an amazing story that addresses many shades of racism and prejudice. It will be followed up on Sunday with a discussion forum highlighting some of the themes raised in the movie. This past Friday we watched “Pray the Devil Back to Hell.” It’s a documentary about the Women’s Peace Movement in Liberia that led to the exile of President Charles Taylor. It’s a stunning example of a leader who succumbs to each of the temptations Jesus faced in the desert, and turned an opportunity to serve his country into a nightmare of unspeakable cruelty and terror. It is an equally stunning example of the power of prayer and a commitment to peace to overcome it. The women in Liberia and eventually Ghana were fed up, and refused to tolerate the abuses they received – the killings, rapes, looting and continual terror and deprivation they were subjected to as a nation and gathered in prayer and grew in numbers and influence until they forced concessions that led to peace. They were not interested in satisfying greed, a need for power or grandiosity. They wanted peace for the country and safety for their children and themselves. One of the moving interviews was of a woman who told how hard it was to forgive the soldiers who acted so cruelly. But she came to the conclusion that despite how difficult it was, it was necessary if she and the country were to heal. That is an example of praying the Devil back to hell.

The three temptations Jesus faced in the desert are fundamentally the same that anyone faces. Material things, power or control, or manipulating how we are seen or treated by others. There’s not much new under the sun, and there’s no such thing as an original sin, it’s all been done before. But the temptations to do things, and the actual acting out and doing things that harm others or ourselves are very real.

The traditions we bring back today, specifically the singing of the Great Litany and the choice of hymns and other music, stand in stark contrast to the high celebration of last week. Joy can be very surface and actually a mask for what lay beneath. Taking the time to do some soul searching and soul finding, gives reason for real celebration. It’s definitely fun to have a party, but a real celebration comes after a journey. A journey in which obstacles have been overcome, growth has happened and healing has occurred. I invite you to take Lent seriously and see it not as an antiquated season of the Church year, but an opportunity for real growth and healing. Amen.

©2010 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

Going Deeper

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

Last week we read lessons of the call of Jeremiah, and the early start of Jesus’ ministry. The lessons this week continue the themes of God’s call, this time to Isaiah and Jesus’ call to Peter and Andrew.

The first lesson from the book of Isaiah is a very familiar one to priests. It’s a favorite lesson to be read at ordinations and I guarantee that all you have to do to bring a smile to any priest is say the opening line of the 6th chapter of Isaiah, “In the year that King Uzziah died....”

Because what unfolds is the wonderful vision of Isaiah of God’s heavenly throne, the ambivalence of Isaiah about his worthiness to preach, his acceptance of the call when God asks, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And Isaiah says, “Here am I, send me.”

It’s a powerful lesson and in the ordination services it concludes there with the heartwarming conviction of the new prophet to bring God’s word to the people. For new priests this vision and conviction is a powerful inspiration.

And while the ordination lesson ends with Isaiah accepting the call, our lesson today does not. I must say it’s a very strange message that Isaiah is to deliver. “Keep listening but do not comprehend, keep looking, but do not understand. Make the mind of this people dull and stop their ears, so that they many not ... turn and be healed.”

As though that were not bad enough, it gets worse. Isaiah wants to know how long this is supposed to go on and God tells him, O not long, only until “the cities lie in waste without inhabitant...and the land is utterly desolate.”

Well, that’s not a message I’d like to bring! Remember last week, I was wondering what I might say up here that might get me in the same predicament that Jesus got in with his first sermon; the one for which his shocked congregation wanted to throw him over the cliff. That might do it. That, or as I learned, making fun of the Super Bowl. There are some things we get very touchy about. And the next thing you know, it’s over the cliff with you.

Well, before we get too bothered by Isaiah’s message and God’s seeming lack of concern for the people, there is a bit of Hebrew theology I would hasten to remind us all about. And a hint about Bible study. The words were all written well after the fact. They are not transcripts of actual conversations. They were written in a way that interprets history. By the time the book of Isaiah was written many battles and wars had been fought. The land became desolate and without inhabitants. Isaiah’s warning’s had, in fact, fallen upon deaf ears at important times. He was part of the King’s inner circle of advisers, but the King didn’t always listen, and he made some tragic decisions.

By the time the book was written, it definitely seemed as though the people heard Isaiah, but didn’t comprehend; and looked, but didn’t understand. They ears were stopped, and their eyes were shut, and they did not turn.

The key to the passage we read this morning is in the last phrase, talking about a stump that remains after the tree is felled. The phrase is this: The holy seed is its stump. The seed is hope in the time of desolation. When willful people get into trouble, whether individually or as a nation, there is always a seed of hope that remains. In the midst of the turmoil of his day, Isaiah planted that seed, and his words gave comfort not only to the original people of Israel that heard it, but every generation that’s heard it since.

The people of Haiti have experienced desolation beyond description, and their major city is not inhabited as it was just a few weeks ago. There is a lot of hope they can cling to with the international aid they are getting and there is always hope that this crisis will inspire necessary changes in their government and the way they do business. Our own economic crisis has caused desolation in the financial topography of this country and the ripple effects felt around the world. Ears that were stopped, eyes that were shut; and the open question with all our crisis, “How long, O Lord?”

In the New Testament stories about Jesus’ healing, the word “Immediately” is often used. That word is not used in the stories of the Old Testament where healing takes a long time. Seeds take a while to grow. And the seeds of hope that are planted in our current crisis will grow, but not quickly. It’s an unpopular message, but one that still needs to get out there. “Whom shall God send, and who will go for us?”

In the Gospel lesson, Jesus meets Peter and Andrew for the first time and invites them to join him. In a fairly comical image, the carpenter is telling the fishermen how to do their work. “Go out a little further, you’ll be fine.” Of course, they do and like fish, Peter and Andrew are hooked. And this story becomes a parable for making disciples, for being fishers of people.

The key to this story, I think, is in Jesus’ direction for them to go deeper. In the language of story, Peter and Andrew had to follow the directions of someone they didn’t know and be willing to try something different. They needed to move away from the relative security of being close to shore and let down their nets deeper than they had before. They were amazed at the results.

This story becomes a model for us about how we get out any message about God. Believing Jesus, whether we know him well or not, moving away from that which is comfortable and being willing to go deeper. Peter and Andrew were transformed by this event, and so were those who eventually listened to them.

When we follow this model we can be amazed. Going deeper involves going into deeper truths. Sometimes gently, sometimes persistently, going deeper enters the place where hidden hurts, fears and anger live. It’s the place that is often too painful to recall or visit, but often the place that needs the most healing. It’s in the deepest parts of our being that we meet Jesus and where the healing we so desperately need can occur.

We have healing prayers as part of this service as well as the Wednesday night services. For those who want to go deeper, they can share with the intercessor a deep cause of pain or concern. Whether it’s physical, spiritual or emotional the very act of bringing to the surface that which is deepest in our troubled spirits and verbalizing it to another person for the purpose of prayer, is itself a healing action. Once our concerns are in the form of prayer a seed is planted that will grow into hope and healing.

It means leaving behind the safety of a familiar shore. Silence is for many a familiar shore, or hiding or subtle lying, or denial. Jesus invites us to leave the familiar shore and drop the net deeper. That’s where the real work is and the real opportunity for growth and health. The value of these biblical stories is in the spiritual truths we can gather from them and apply to our lives and circumstances.

February is Black History month. Our parish has a group called the Absalom Jones Committee (named for the first African American priest in the Episcopal Church), and this group has planned several events during the course of the month which are listed in the bulletin. Racial divisions in this country and around the world remain a painful and persistent illness in our human psyche and every day experience. Part of the value of having a month set aside for Black History is to drop the net of our attention deeper into the experiences of our African and African American brothers and sisters and those of European background as well. Racism is an illness that impacts people of color but truly infects white people around the world. For just as a history of oppression needs to be told by those who have felt its dehumanizing pain, there is a similar history of those whose inhuman actions have caused another form of spiritual disease. Slaves and slave masters were both dehumanized by the scourge of slavery. Prejudice today injures the targets of it as well as those who perpetrate acts of prejudice. Telling the stories of history raises to the surface the pain that needs to be told, and allow the healing to happen. Pretending racism and prejudice doesn’t exist is a form of denial that actually perpetuates it.

But it’s also a time of pride in telling stories of accomplishment that have not been widely told. There is a rich history of diversity that is not shared very well and dropping the net deeper catches some of those wonderful moments in history, and some of the wonderful things happening today.

As the month goes on and the events and forums happen, it’s our hope that as brothers and sisters in this community we can hear each others stories, reflect on the depth of pain and the possibility of healing. And also share joy in the stories of triumph and accomplishment. We can push out from the safety of familiar shores and drop the net deep into the waters of truth. We can do this because Jesus has invited us to do so.

Healing is transforming and it fans out from the one healed to the ones who need healing who will be drawn to it. The disciples discovered this, and so did the people of Israel so many years ago who first heard Isaiah plant his seed of hope. The healing of racism will not be immediate, but with God’s help the tree of righteousness will grow. The crisis that we face in our world and in our lives will not heal immediately, but with God’s help the healing that we need will grow. It’s so important that we embrace the truth of God’s invitation and whether we feel we’re worthy or not, realize that God calls us as we are to share in this work. To embrace and to share the love of God. Whom shall we send, and who will go for us. Here am I, send me. Amen.

©2010 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

Ye Watchers and Ye Holy Ones

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

We began our service singing “Ye Watchers and Ye Holy Ones”. It’s one of the great hymns of the church singing in glad alleluias of the Joy shouted in heaven in praise of God’s goodness and grace. Let all that have voice shout alleluia, let those whose hearts are full live alleluia.

This season of Epiphany is a recalling of the manifestations of God’s love active in the world and the Gospels stories over these past weeks describe how Jesus made manifest the love of God and put flesh to the words of praise sung for countless generations.

Ye watchers and ye holy ones. People of St. George’s, visitors and all gathered here - you are the watchers and the holy ones singing the praises of God today. You are raising the glad alleluias. You are continuing the songs of the angels, the bright seraphim, the prophets, the martyrs, the holy twelve and all people of good will around the world. Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.

This last Sunday of Epiphany is sometimes called “Alleluia Sunday” because it’s our last chance to say them liturgically before it is silenced by the solemnity of Lent. The children will symbolize this by putting away the “A-bugs” that on Easter will become Alleluia butterflies. These are the church seasons that mark the year liturgically, and make flesh our understanding of the grace of God in chronological and thematic ways.

And just as we mark the changes in the liturgical year, our cultural calendar changes seasons as well. We’ve observed Black History Month in February and next week, the first week of March will usher in an observance of Women’s History Month.

God is manifest in the lives of people and in the trends of history. The writers of scriptures understood God’s character by analyzing history and interpreting the movement of societies as God's guidance. When Martin Luther King said that the arc of history bends toward justice, he captured the ancient understanding of God’s manifestation through time.

So we observe segments of society and listen to their stories, hear their music and prayers. Hear how God has spoken to them and lifted them up on their own journey towards justice and fulfillment. Liberation for one group of people is a liberation of all others as well. When the slaves sang spirituals they gave voice and alleluias to God in a code of hope that still stirs people who feel enslaved by societies prejudice and injustice. Even captors and bigots are slaves to their anger, fear and hate and without knowing it, the freedoms grasped by those who are captives set even their captors free.

Over the past few weeks we’ve heard stories focusing on the complex history of African Americans from first hand and historical points of view. Tragic stories, hopeful stories, inspiriting stories from the points of views of black and white people. As brothers and sisters our histories are not lived apart except in artificial ways. The history of one people is a history of all people whether they are aware of it or not. We are all participants in this world, we have a share in how it unfolds and a responsibility to see that it unfolds in a way that is peaceful and just.

It’s good for us to include observances of the stories of people working toward justice, whether that justice is for people of color, for women or gay and lesbian. Everyone’s story is our story and God is manifested in them.

I want to say a word about the clothes I’m wearing. On the occasion of my 50th birthday a year and a half ago - you can do the math - Moses Chimezie and his family presented me with this traditional Nigerian men‘s clothing. Mr. Chimezie’s career in Nigeria was in the fabric and garment industry and his love of the fabric and eye for detail and quality is a joy to experience.

I wear this now in pride aware that it combines several themes for us today. As Black history month concludes we recall the Africans torn from their homeland and viscously enslaved. We recall the work for freedom, the industry and pride in a heritage that is beautiful and strong. We recall the blending of cultures and the gifts each now can offer to the other.

Another theme these clothes represent is a trip I am about to take to the great continent of Africa. For weeks we’ve been talking about and planning the next three months of my sabbatical. My travels will take me to Africa for a month, England for a month and Europe for a month. My travels will be chronicled via a blog I promise to maintain. The parish will welcome The Rev. Anne Bolles-Beaven as my substitute while I’m on this trip, and the wardens and Sabbatical Planning Committee have come up with activities, events and forums that reflect some of the themes of my trip. It will be a time of reflection and renewal for all of us. Sorry to say that I’m the only one who will get frequent flier miles out of it, though!

The scripture lessons this morning fit in quite well with these themes. They are about change and transfiguration. They are about continuity of leadership despite the people who are in those roles, because ultimately it is still God in control whose love is manifested in the good will of God’s followers.

I’m staying in monastic houses and with communities of people of faith in various cultural and social settings. I want to experience how different people understand God, pray to God, sing alleluia to God, live with God and reflect God in their music, words and lives. I want to see the colors and hear the rhythms of faith in this world. Even though my trip only scratches the surface of human experience, it’s far deeper than I’ve ever gone before. I’m excited and scared and determined.

When the apostles saw Jesus transfigured on the mountaintop, they too became transfigured. They walked back to the others as changed people. Our experiences and stories change us. The telling of those stories changes others. Over the next few months we’ll create some stories to share and we’ll be changed by the experience.

Although I’ll still be at St. George’s this coming Wednesday, Ash Wednesday, today is my last Sunday with you until I return on June 7. In one sense it seems long, but we all know too well that three months also passes in the blink of an eye. But I’m also missing you already. I love you all and I love my ministry in this wonderful church. It’s really painful to leave even for this short time, and yet my hope is to be a better priest for you when I return.

Spiritual healing is an important part of my ministry and I’ve been so happy that the prayers we offer during the service and the interest in healing has taken root here so well. Much of the preaching and many of the classes I’ll be teaching during my trip will center on this topic. My life in this ministry has been a seeking for healing myself. I’ve had a very happy life, but there have also been serious personal issues. Some of these struggles I’ve been able to share with you, and others may come in time. As an adult coming to terms with these issues I’ve found in God the source of healing and love. I’ve discovered that a ministry showing others what I have found and continue to seek is the most important thing I have and can offer.

We are all in need of some kind of healing. The stories are different, but the end result of need is the same. And the solution is the same also. God’s love. When we pray for each other after communion or on Wednesday evenings at the healing Eucharist, in the hospitals or homes, around this altar or anywhere, it’s how we manifest God’s love. It’s how we offer healing.

The opening of the hymn trumpets the watchers and holy ones of all ages in all sorts and conditions. Our common shout is Alleluia - a word of unsurpassed joy. That joy transfigures us. Good people of St. George’s, you are watchers and holy ones. Raise the glad strain, Alleluia, cry out dominions, princedoms powers, virtues, archangels, angles choirs, alleluia, alleluia. Let’s add another verse to this great hymn - O children in your schools, actors in technicolor dream coats, committee members, altar guilders, readers, and greeters. Computer geeks and business people. Raise the loud strain, Alleluia! Those afraid or hidden doubters, those with secret pains or unjust scars. Raise the loud strain, Alleluia. God’s love reflects your joy and heals your wounds. Share your stories and sing your songs. God is good, and we change and grow and make our histories arcing toward justice, transfigured in God’s grace and always within God’s sight and love. Alleluia, Amen.

© 2009 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

"Every Day"

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

In the psalm we heard, "Hallelujah! I will give thanks to the Lord with my whole heart, in the assembly of the upright, in the congregation." What a fitting verse to use on the occasion of our annual meeting - to give thanks to God in this assembly. The best of what we do here is in relationship to God. Today we will hold our annual meeting, we will usher in Black History month with a series of events and speakers and I will offer some reflections on the annual Diocesan Convention held yesterday. What a tall order!

But then again, maybe not so tall, because it’s all ways in which we give thanks to God as an assembly of upright and a congregation. The common denominator of all that we do is the worship of God and the mission God calls us into.

Yesterday at the Parsippany Hilton delegates from over one hundred Episcopal churches gathered as we do every year to elect people to offices, review the budget, debate resolutions which reflect the mind of the Episcopal Church in the Diocese of Newark which comprises the upper third of this state. It is a diverse mix of over 500 people from a fascinating cross section of this complex state we live in. The content of the resolutions varied from speaking out against torture in all places under all circumstances to support of marriage equality for gay and lesbian people in this state. There was conversation of what is fair and equitable compensation for clergy and lay church workers. There were presentations called Mission Minutes which began last year and highlight in large screen projection format the ministries of churches and agencies around the Diocese. Bishop Beckwith reiterated his image of gates of spirituality that we pass through in our work - namely Worship, Radical Welcome, Peace and Justice and Christian Formation. It is through these gates that the work and witness of the Diocese is refracted into a splendid and hopeful rainbow of ministry giving thanks to God with our whole heart. I was particularly proud of our parishioners Michael Francaviglia and Diane Sammons who serve on the Bishop’s staff and whose work is vital and recognized throughout the Diocese.

After the service this morning we as a parish will conduct our Annual Meeting which serves the same purpose as the Diocesan Convention, but on the local level. We have practical business as a church in the midst of the worship and ministry that goes on here. My report on the highlights of the year and some of the challenges we face will be distributed as part of the Annual Meeting Packet. We have much to thank God for and how wonderful it is to do so "...in the assembly of the upright, in the congregation."

Part of our ministry is recognizing and celebrating the diversity which is in the fabric of our church and which gives us interesting dimension and spiritual texture. February marks Black History Month nationwide and it’s a gift to all of us to celebrate with so many the unique witness and contribution African Americans bring to the national community. It’s often said that which does not destroy you, makes you stronger. The devastatingly cruel and sadistic spiritual violence done to Africans brought against their will to this country in chains and who endured centuries of slavery and prejudice cannot be minimized or overlooked in any discussion of Black History. It is indelible and reverberates in every aspect of race relations. The response it brings out of us, both black and white, is the challenge we face and live with, even as we struggle to recognize the depth of it’s influence.

With the inauguration of President Barack Obama it is abundantly clear that we are living Black History. The worldwide response is unmistakable. The sense of community and hope in the majority of the world right now is an electric charge that has the potential of doing such good in a world so sorely challenged and fragile at this moment. We teeter, however, on an almost messianic expectation that is unfair to Mr. Obama, but the breath of fresh air at this moment is too exciting not to enjoy. No doubt, the everyday grind of political machinery will resume, but the symbolism of this historical breakthrough will last. The presidency of the United States is a pinnacle of power and prestige recognized throughout the world and having an African American in the Oval Office speaks of a hope justified in the fairness of our system. It certainly hasn’t been all sweetness and light, there have been many vitriolic and racist reactions to the election as well. But that is also part of our process. Who ever wins, bears the scorn of those who did not support the candidacy.

But the effects of slavery and prejudice are not erased overnight or with a successful presidential election. The wide range of discrimination based on skin color is very much alive. But that which does not destroy makes stronger. Black History is not only about slavery and discrimination. It is about faith, courage, creativity, persistence, witness and love in defiance of the very slavery and prejudice that sought to break the spirit. History books have been largely silent about the contribution of African Americans to exploration, medicine, law, church, invention, in fact every aspect of common life. That is changing slowly but it is changing only through the continued persistence of the Black Community and the widening support of an awakening white community.

As the white community awakens to the oft hidden and sad truths of the past, one of the reactions is guilt. A knee jerk reaction to profound guilt can be denial. And that’s where people of faith can offer a contribution. The truth is not to be feared, it is to be embraced as God is embraced. Jesus said "I’m am the way, the truth and the life." In another place, he said the truth shall set you free. Where prejudice exists, two people are spiritually injured, the one being discriminated against and the one discriminating. Both are captive to two different sides of anger and both need to be set free. The truth is how freedom starts. And the truth is told in story. It is up to all of us, black and white , to listen to each other’s stories without denial or fear, but openness and trusting God to be in the midst and bring healing to the wounds of history.

I have a personal story I’d like to share. Some years ago I was in a relationship for eleven years with an African American man. He was an avid jogger and marathon runner. One hot summer day he went for a long run and when he returned it was clear something was wrong. It got to the point where we called an ambulance and he went to the local hospital in Queens where we lived at the time. It turned out to be nothing serious and related to dehydration, but he stayed in the hospital for a while for some tests. Now, my partner was, at that time, a high profile official in New York City government. It did not go unnoticed the he had been admitted and the hospital administrator rushed to the room with a great entourage. Even though he did not know my partner, there’s a political protocol to these things. There were several beds in the hospital room, only two were occupied. The one by my partner and the other by a white man.

As the administrator and entourage hastily arrived at the door, there was that moment of indecision on the face of the administrator about whom to approach. On the one hand there was my African American partner sitting in the bed, arms folded, with that city official/ Yale persona he was good at presenting - and in the other bed was an older white man with blank eyes, scruffy beard and disheveled hair. Under his breath, my partner told me, "Watch this."

After the moment of hesitation the entourage went to the bed of the white man, who became alarmed by the energy of the group approaching him. Being a relatively small room we couldn’t help but overhear the conversation. Turns out the man was homeless and while he enjoyed some of the city’s services, he was not the one in the position of funding them.

The entourage turned in a sheepish fashion to meet the bemused gaze of my partner. They came over to the bed, dispensed with their official duties, ignored the elephant which had entered the room and left as quickly as they responsibly could. The bemused smile left my partner’s face and he simply said, "Every day."

Over the years of our relationship, I didn’t experience that every day. I often experienced getting the check when we went out to dinner, or being the only person addressed when meeting new people. I often did see the slights and hear the tones and words that could be taken differently. I heard his stories and frustration, and felt the helplessness of someone who cared but couldn’t change the world.

In the Gospel lesson Jesus threw out the unclean spirit and all were amazed. In the healing stories, Jesus often exorcized the demons by calling out their names. It seems to me, that the demons of the past continue to remain dangerous as long as they are unnamed. Telling stories and being open to the truth calls out the names and uncovers the demon hidden within. We are not the demons. Whether black or white, we are not the demon. The demons names are fear and anger. Those demons make us do awful things to other people and to ourselves. The love of God casts those demons out with truth so that the good inside each of us can flourish.

The work we do in this church and in this Diocese is to witness to the truth as well as we can and improve as much as we can. History does not happen separately, but together and together we can grow in faith and cast out the demons which hurt and threaten us. Together we can "...give thanks to the Lord with (our) whole heart, in the assembly of the upright, in the congregation." Amen.

© 2009 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

Jesus and the Samaritan Woman

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

The Gospel presents the beloved story of Jesus meeting the woman by the well. It's a long story, to be sure, and it's remarkable for its length and its imagery. Most of the Gospel stories are simply not this long, and because of its length, it implies an importance worthy of particular study.

First of all the story takes place in Samaria. By Jesus' day the state of Samaria used to be part of Israel but over the centuries it had been divided from the main country and its Jewish inhabitants had inter married with the non-Jewish neighbors and adopted foreign customs to the extent that the Jews in Israel did not recognize them as "real Jews." Samaritans were not only looked down upon, but the object of ridicule at most and shunned as outcasts at the very least. In the Gospels Jesus encounters several Samaritans and in one famous example uses a Samaritan as the hero in one of his better known stories, the one we now call The Good Samaritan.

The fact that Jesus was in Samaria at all, catches the reader's attention. Why was he there? Why was he in the land of the outcasts? Well, the answer is not far behind. There are no outcasts in Jesus' love and his mission included all the outcasts, even Samaritans.

The next surprise in this story is that when a woman approaches the well, he speaks to her and engages her in conversation. She is shocked, since she is both Samaritan and a woman, two reasons why a male Israelite should avoid her. But again there are no outcasts in Jesus' love. Everyone is precious, everyone valued, everyone spoken to.

The word play that follows between her and later the disciples underlines the confusion between immediate, limited goals and much farther reaching spiritual ones. Jesus offers the woman living water, she hears the term as it usually refers to moving water which is most desirable since its movement usually means it's clean and good for drinking and cooking. Jesus means the water for the soul, to refresh her spirit with an understanding of love and healing. He brings up her relationship with men, which is somewhat vague, but clearly does not put her in a good light! He does not offer her condemnation, but comfort. He welcomes her into fellowship and continues to hold out the offer of living water for her soul. He identifies himself to her as the Messiah, a rare disclosure in the Gospels and she races to her village to tell the others. They come eventually and see for themselves and believe.

The form of misunderstanding repeats when Jesus' own disciples find him and are shocked to see him speaking with the woman and eventually try to get him to eat. He says he has food they know nothing of. They again think he means food literally, but again he refers to the spiritual food of a nourishment which reaches far beyond the needs of the stomach.

Jesus continues the metaphor of food and expands it to the harvest. He explains that the harvest is ripe. The people are hungering for food that satisfies the spirit. Food of love, food of forgiveness, food of hope, food of healing. Though sometimes challenging, people can always find the food that will satisfy the body, but it is only through God that we will find the food that satisfies the deeper hunger of the spirit. It is this food and drink that Jesus offers and no one is prevented from coming to this well, or this feast. No one.

When God's people hunger and thirst in spirit, God will provide abundantly. When God's people hunger and thirst in body, it is our will though God's generous grace that can and must feed them.

The General Convention of the Episcopal Church adopted and committed itself and by extension all its member churches to work toward the UN's Millennium Development Goals. These 8 goals address worldwide issues of poverty education, violence (particularly against women and children), health (particularly AIDS and tuberculosis) and economic opportunities especially among the poorest in our world. Progress is being made and there are many wonderful stories around the world that illustrate this. The Episcopal Church expends millions of dollars around the world through relief and development aid as partners in the Millennium Development Goals. The money they give is money that comes through the member Dioceses and individual churches. At St. George's, we have contributed thousands of dollars through the years to Episcopal Relief and Development taking action in ways that we can. Occasionally we send out appeals for this fund and our members are generous and this is one important way that we witness Jesus' love that no one is excluded and that all are important. The nourishment we receive for our souls at the altar of God, in the bread and wine, the prayers and fellowship allow us to extend the grace we receive to feed the bodies and protect the lives of our brothers and sisters around the world.

During this month of February, designated Black History Month, we've heard other stories of people approaching the well looking for the living water of God's promises. Through forums and personal witnesses we've heard individual accounts of lives lived in the shadow of racism and prejudice. Lives of African Americans and lives of Americans of European descent. What has not been said yet, and needs to be said publicly and from the pulpit is that racism is a white person's disease. While prejudice is an equal opportunity character flaw, racism not only includes it but extends further to the abuse of power exercised by one race over another. When the race that is in the majority of power, systematically uses that power to keep another race down, it is racism. In this country racism is rampant and despite our desire to be blind the truth of it transcends our education, economic and justice systems.

The impact of racism is felt overwhelmingly and tragically by African Americans and indeed most people of color. But the sin of racism is felt keenly by white America in ways we can't even recognize. It takes a lot of energy to hate. It takes a lot of energy to fear. It takes a lot of energy to push others down. It takes a lot of energy to turn away and pretend nothing is happening. But all that energy has a twisting, negative effect on the ones perpetrating it. That energy is violence and spiritual disease. Violence harms both the victim and the victimizer, and both are in need of healing.

Black History Month is a wonderful way of celebrating the stories of black Americans who achieve wonderful goals and give pride and energy to those chafing under the effects of racism. It's also a time for white Americans to be honest and as Dr. Raboteau so movingly said in his address to us a few weeks ago, repent for the evil that is the legacy we carry.

Therapists who work with family systems and counsel troubled individuals, can often find the impact of harm done generations before through a variety of diseases or hushed stories. Often referred to as the understated "family secrets," these illnesses may include alcoholism, incest, murder, or even neglect. Damage done in one generation is somehow passed down until it is recognized and the generation who does so has the opportunity to break the cycle and work through God's grace to find healing and only then can the dysfunction turn around to find balance and harmony. Only then is peace and love restored and cleaned through the living water of God's love.

The scourge of racism is like the whip whose fiery lash was felt on the backs of African American slaves but held in the angry fist of the white slave owners. Though the legality of slave owning racism is generations old, the shameful legacy exists today and as part of our commitment to Millennium Development, as part of our commitment to love one another and as part of our commitment to God, we must all seek God's healing. As victims and victimizers. We can break the cycle of violence but we must first recognize its past and how it lives in the present and repent it.

In the words of the Rite 1 confession, I address this to our African American brothers and sisters and to all people of color who have been victims of racism and on behalf of the descendants of slave owners and all those of white America who have benefited from the scourge of racism "I am heartily sorry for these our misdoing. The memory of them is grievous unto me, the burden of them is intolerable..." I ask your forgiveness for me and all others who recognize this sin and invite us to a moment of silence to beg God's forgiveness also.

Jesus reached out to the woman at the well and even in her private shame offered living water. He did not send her away, punish her or ignore her. He satisfied her thirst for God's love. As he does for us and all who ask for it. Amen.

© 2008 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

Martin, Malcolm & Me

By Cheryl L. Thompson

When I was asked by Marlene to speak to you, my first reaction was, how do I get out of this, I don't even sit on the pulpit side of the church. But I remembered that Jesus often asks us to step out of our comfort zone for some reason. I don't know the reason for this, but I guess I have a story to tell. I have always been a believer. I have many conversations with God and am always grateful for the way things turn out and believe that he or she has a hand in that outcome. I don't really believe in coincidence, and sometimes, small things happen that are evidence to me of God's presence in my life. My big blessings, are my husband, although not always, and my son, again, not always, but I feel that my life could have taken so many turns, that would not have left me in the place that I am now. Another blessing is this Church. I feel like I have a home. I didn't feel that way for many years.

I was raised as an AME or Baptist depending on whether or not my mother was going to send me to church or attend church herself. My father briefly attended church and then stopped, but I believe he was typical of a preacher's kid. My parents met and married in New York, so that I am a native New Yorker. Most people believe New York is an integrated city or at least people get along peacefully. I'll get back to that later. When my father stopped attending church, he found a group called the African American Cultural Society; this was a group of mostly black men with thick glasses who sat in my father's room and discussed books they had read about African history. I was seven years old and I served the role of typical hostess, which I learned from my mother. I would serve them tea and cupcakes which I had made on my little stove and I would listen to some of what they said. Other times, my father would have me read to him from these books, so that I have forgotten more African history than most people ever learned.

By the time I was eight, my father became interested in traditional African religion, which meant Voodoo here, but Yoruba in the outside world. My father traveled to Cuba to become initiated in the religion. He changed his name to an African name, taking on the name of one of the Nubian Pharaohs. He changed his clothing to African attire, which I had to make for him, because there was no store or on line ordering for such clothing. He found that he could escape some of the rules about black limitations in this attire. Because people assumed he was not American. He enjoyed this greatly. When it was time for the second phase of this initiation, he could not return to Cuba because a revolution had happened. He then traveled to the village of Ife in Nigeria to complete his training. After several years, he became a Yoruba priest. He explained to me that the gods had two sides, a good and bad, that some of the gods were tricksters. He had altars for several gods in our house and a bloody cross on the inside door of our apartment. The cross represented the belief in the connection between the ancestors and the living with the horizontal representing life on this plane. Thus, the cross had a symbolic connection with the African slaves in their religious experience. In addition, he always had food for the dead on the floor in a New York City apartment, I don't believe that food was consumed by the dead, but it was eaten. I was terrified. There were blood sacrifices of birds, chickens, goats, and lamb, in my house. I told other people and they didn't believe me. They would say to me your father is just ahead of his time, or that my imagination was overly active. At one point, he was involved in a ceremony that involved cutting spots in his head and mixing his blood with the blood of others. I was convinced that this would kill him. It didn't, but it sent me running to the Roman church. I learned there that it was a sin to conjure up the evil spirits and I believed that my only protection was the power of God and the saints of the Catholic Church. I attended CCD alone. I spent hours in the church lighting candles and praying, I mostly prayed for safety. I was baptized when I was 15 years old, alone. Only my godmother and the priest were there. When my father finally found out what I had done he was totally outraged. He wanted to know how I could become a part of the oppressor: didn't I know that Catholics was purveyors of the slave trade. He believed that I had lost my mind. I believed that I was saving my soul.

While these events were occurring in my house, the outside world was also affecting me. When I graduated from 6th grade, I was notified that I would be attending a junior high school in upper Manhattan because of my grades and IQ score. This was in 1957. I was 12 and I was once again terrified. I had seen what was happening to the children in Little Rock and had no reason to believe it would be different for me in New York. There were streets in New York that you could be hurt on just because of your race.

I was so afraid, I asked my mother to come with me to school on the first day. She was afraid too, but would not admit it, because she believed she had to be there for me. My entrance into the school was uneventful, but I was never included in any social interactions. I was once told that I might have been invited to a party, but no one wanted me there. I learned to be with myself and to do my work. But I also learned to be quiet. I did my work and never shared unless called upon because my classmates were not happy with my ability. I even had a teacher who accused me of cheating on the Iowa Exams, when I had the highest score in the class. I simply asked her whom could I have cheater from. We never got along after that and my grades in English were always lower than my grades in Spanish, a language I have not mastered to this day.

Needless to say my faith has been shaken and stirred, so James Bond, I am not. Shaken came first, John Kennedy was assignated, it was the first Sunday that I did not go to Mass since my conversion. My father and I sat together glued to the television. When God did not reach his or her hand out of heaven and destroy me, I realized that I would not die if I didn't go to church.

A man I adored was killed, my heart was broken, I was angry with God. At a time of such hope, there was national despair. I could not believe that weekend. Two years later, I man I had quiet respect for was the next assignation: Malcolm X. He was a soft-spoken man who adored his wife and four daughters. His intelligence and charisma brought him to a place he never expected to be. He was a child of limited resources and hope. He visited our home on several occasions because my father was involved in the Black Nationalist movement so that they developed a relationship based on shared beliefs. His fiery public rhetoric stood in stark distinction to his private life. His ability to see that his situation was a result of circumstances was his strength. He was able to express the dark side of Martin Luther King's hopefulness. Martin was a man who came from circumstances that were hope filled. Martin was entrenched in the black middle class. Malcolm was entrenched in the black underclass. These men saw the world differently and while both were deeply religious, their needs and sense of society were diametrically opposed. I never met Martin. I simply loved him as I did JFK. There was such principle, hope and conviction that life could be better

Malcolm did not share a belief that life in America could be improved without a revolution. Malcolm was clearly bright but understood a piece of American life that is often missing among the middle class. Martin understood this, and wrote an essay to social scientists saying that while he understood the morays of the South and that a non-violent movement was the most powerful tool for that area, the cities were different and he did not know what tools would be appropriate. He called upon the social scientists of the time, to teach and to help with the ways in which cities were responding to the civil rights movement. He did not want to see riots but he couldn't find a tool that would be responded to in the cities.

Malcolm believed a revolution was necessary. This is not such an unusual thought; Thomas Jefferson thought there should be a revolution in every generation. Martin appealed to the educated, those people who were ready to move into an integrated society. Malcolm appealed to those people who were not going to be released from the barriers of discrimination. His rhetoric was extreme, but it resonated with black people who felt defeated and hopeless. Martin's rhetoric resonated with blacks who just needed to be unshackled. Around 1964, Malcolm X did what Muslims are supposed to do. He made the Hodge, the visit to the Holy City of Mecca. It is here that he met Muslims from all over the world. People dressed in the same garments, there was no way to determine who was rich or poor, but he saw people of many ethnicities. He came back to the United States feeling a need to express his new understanding that much of the problem in the U.S. is economic discrimination. He became Islamic in a broader sense of the word and was no longer limited to beliefs of the American Nation of Islam, which may or may not be interpreted as a cult. His awareness that some people were held in poverty and that the political system needed to address this. He saw the problem as one that exceeded race. He spoke of all people deprived of the American dream. His ideas became inclusive; he understood that many groups in America were deprived of the chance to achieve. This awareness resulted in his alienation from the Nation of Islam and ultimately resulted in his assignation. He was aware that he was in danger. I knew him as a father who adored his daughters and loved his wife. His ideas changed over time, but I believe that Martin needed Malcolm. The two standing in apparent opposition allowed people to choose a civil rights activist they could trust and follow. Martin had appeal to blacks and whites because he acknowledged the need for the humanity of all people to be recognized. He did this from a deep belief in Christianity, a conviction that most of us could relate to.

His non- violence in the light of the violence we saw on TV raised our commitment to the civil rights movement. He was the right man for the majority. Malcolm was the right man for the minority.

In 1965-66 Martin Luther King began to speak about poor people, he began to speak about the Viet Nam War and to talk about discrimination of black, brown, red and yellow people in this country and in the world. He planned a Washington, D.C. Resurrection City after the Memphis garbage man strike. This would move Martin from a black civil right leader to a leader of oppressed people. Just as Malcolm had come to the awareness that poverty is a major problem for Americans and for all people all over the world; Martin also began articulating the same belief. When he spoke about this with the plan for all people to come to Resurrection City on the great lawn between the Jefferson and Washington Memorials, he was killed. He was killed in 1968. While I know I can be a conspiracy believer, it is striking to me, how these two giants of the civil rights movement were killed at the same point in their thinking. The recognition that there is a deep philosophical and economic basis for the maintenance of the status quo appears to me to have resulted in their deaths, my final shaking of hope and belief was the assignation of Robert Kennedy. I remember listening to the radio through the night, and saying to God, I know this is wrong but if someone had been killed let it be McCarthy, I wasn't really wishing him dead but was so overwhelmed by the loses in the public arena, I didn't think I could accept another one. At this point, I was so angry with God that I stayed away from any formal practice of religion for almost 20 years.

Then my faith was stirred, I had given birth to a boy who needed moral development, I know people believe that this can be done without church, but I still believe that Jesus is present when two or three are gathered in his name, which to me means a community. I was not concerned about his spiritual development because I know or believe that we are hard wired to seek God. I wanted him to have the comfort I had once enjoyed in the Roman church but I wanted him to have none of the craziness. I knew he could not be catholic, but I had been so nurtured by my local priests, the church was always open in those days, you could sit in safety and silence. There was time to be with God. While I am not always happy with his current practice of his religion, I trust his belief because I have seen it since early childhood.

I was at once afraid that I had left the one true church, until I saw the consecration of Bishop Barbara Harris. That experience helped me understand, that God is the base of the Church and humans do whatever they do but it does not change God. This stirring set me free.

Back to Malcolm and Martin, without them with their diametrically opposed approach to civil rights would anything have happened? The Northern States could have felt comfortable in their de facto segregation and the South would continue to feel justified in their de jure segregation. I have lived through both and have seen the value of both perspectives. One could not have existed without the other. The more frightening Malcolm, even though dramatically changed after the Hodge, was killed first. The other, Martin, entrenched in the black middle class, began to talk about economic deprivation in the richest country in the world was killed also. For me hope died and did not find resurrection until 1982. At that point, I was ready to return to an interactive relationship with God. I am not without fear and doubt, but belief helps me get through life's challenges. What I have learned from all of these experiences is that God is always present. And we must learn to listen to what God is trying to say to us. We cannot reject anyone because he or she may be the return of the Messiah. We must see God's presence in each and everyone we encounter, despite the difficulties we sometimes experience.

Amen.

© 2008 Cheryl L. Thompson

Long and Dusty Road

By The Rev. Deacon Christine McCloud

And so, our long and dusty journey into the wilderness has begun. Lent not only helps us to recall the forty days that Jesus spent in the wilderness as he prepared himself for his ministry but it also gives us an opportunity to go inward and prepare ourselves all over again for the reality that God has for us. It's an opportunity for us to ask ourselves "Where am I as another Lent begins? Where am I on my faith journey at this moment in time?"

When we look closer at today's Gospel, there is an invitation there for us to understand more abundantly what it means to move from the river into the desert. Jesus, after having been baptized in the River Jordan was led into the desert by the power of the Spirit. It is in the barren desert, rife with temptation and angst, that Jesus comes to understand what the will and purpose that God had for his life. And while Satan or the devil or whichever axis of evil tempted him, we find that the choices Jesus had to make were quite similar to those that we confront in our own personal and spiritual decisions.

Forty days is a long time to roam in a barren desert. But imagine what it would be like to roam in a barren desert for 40 years or more. A desert that borders a land rich with resources; where it borders a land touted to have equal opportunity for all; where it borders a land where all you had to do was work hard to achieve the so-called "American" dream. What do you think would happen to your psyche if intermittingly during those 40 years of desert roaming, you came ever so close to leaving the dustiness of that place only to have someone block your exit and push you even further into the thistle and brush of the desert? Many of us would crumble and fall prey to the vultures circling above. Some of us would compromise our very souls to buy our way out that place. And then, there are others like Absalom Jones, Sojourner Truth, Harriet Tubman, and one in particular whose story I'd like to share with you briefly, The Rev. Dr. Pauli Murray, who not only lived barren, desert lives, but who emerged with absolute resolve, from their personal deserts as significant contributors to our American and African-American history and heritage.

The Rev. Dr. Pauli Murray was the granddaughter of a slave and a great-granddaughter of a slave owner who overcome extraordinary barriers throughout her life. She was born during the height of Jim Crow segregation in Durham, North Carolina in 1910 and was forced endure the wholesale burdens of being a black person in a segregated society. Murray had considerable talents as a writer, activist, and attorney, yet these talents would and could not spare her from the prolific racism and sexism that denied her other educational and career opportunities throughout her life. She lived a lifetime on the margins of racial identity and came to a deep understanding of the connectedness that bound all people together and scoffed at the absurd cruelty of segregation. Murray believed strongly that whites, as well as blacks, had much knowledge and experience to gain from racial interaction and she spent most of her years refuting the shallow myths of segregation. Murray's racial policies centered on inclusiveness of all of the races and later on when her gender became another barrier, she focused as much energy and verve on addressing yet another oppressive system that proved to slowly strangle and kill the spirits of those affected.

As I was pulling my thoughts together for my sermon this week, I took a few minutes and I called Rev. Sandye Wilson who was a protégé of Pauli Murray and I asked her to share some thoughts of Pauli. Rev. Sandye told me that Pauli's life was very much like today's Gospel story – a life of living in the desert. Rev. Sandye went on to tell me, that when Pauli emerged from her wilderness, she ended up doing some extraordinary things in the midst of constant conflict. Pauli she said evaded and eluded many temptations to sell out her soul and principles and oftentimes, was soundly rejected by her own people and community. Yet, Rev. Sandye went on to say, "Pauli remained strong in the face of incredible odds and adversities – she was never afraid because she knew she was never alone." From the little that I've been able to read of Pauli, she refused to be kept down by regrets or expectations of her past. Instead, she lived on the fringes of history and in many cases, just pulled history along with her.

Pauli's journey that eventually led to a law degree from Howard University, a master's degree from the University of California's law school and a Ph.D. from Yale was neither a clear or straight path – she travelled many a long and dusty road in pursuit of her dreams.

Pauli took leading roles in both the civil rights and feminism movements. A friend said of her, "Murray was a civil rights activist before there was activism and a feminist when feminists could not be found." Pauli was a living testament to the ability of a black woman to garner achievements to the match of anyone, black or white, male or female. Her political activism challenged the exclusion of blacks and women before many of these issues were even on the national forefront. She fought for integration before it became a goal of the leading civil rights organizations such as the NAACP whose primary focus was on achieving equal rights, not integration. In 1940, Pauli along with a friend were arrested, jailed and fined for refusing to go to the back of a Virginia bus. This was a precursor to the "jail-no bail" strategy that would gain popularity 20 years later. While a student at Howard in the mid 40's, she participated in sit-in movements to desegregate Washington D.C.'s restaurants and other public facilities long before sit-in's were the mode of choice for the civil rights movement in the 60's.

She was rejected early on to the University of North Carolina law school because of her race and later on, after winning a fellowship to Harvard University, was denied admittance there because of her gender. These experiences guaranteed that Pauli would be both pioneer in civil rights and women's rights. In 1945 Murray successfully completed her Masters of Law degree from the University of California, Berkeley. Her master's thesis was The Right to Equal Opportunity in Employment, which Thurgood Marshal labeled the "bible" for civil rights lawyers. Twenty years later, she was the first African American to be awarded a Doctor of Juridical Science degree from Yale University Law School.

She was a trusted friend and advisor to Eleanor Roosevelt, although their relationship was often called "mercurial and contemptuous." The First Lady sought Pauli's wisdom and council on matters of racial and gender equality. In the 60's, she became a founding member of the National Organization of Women where she is fondly remembered as the one who bridged the gap between race, gender, culture and class with passion and dedication, but without bitterness or malice.

How I came to know about Pauli Murray was that I knew her to be one of the "infamous 11" women who were ordained on January 8, 1977 in Philadelphia. I was 15 years old at the time, a sophomore in high school who secretly dreamed of ordained ministry one day. What a cathartic event that was for me! I remember cutting out and saving the picture from an article from whatever magazine and seeing Pauli Murray's face among the women. Not only were there female priests, but there was one there who looked like me to boot. I carried that picture in my prayer book for many years. It served as a constant reminder to me that things were possible even when they didn't appear to be possible. Somewhere along the way, I lost that picture, but by that time, I no longer needed it because the image was indelibly seared into my brain. The spiritual fortitude and boldness of these women allowed a young teenaged girl to one day realize her own dream.

At 67 years of age, Pauli Murray became the first African-American woman ordained priest in the Episcopal Church. In her autobiography, Song In A Weary Throat: An American Pilgrimage, she wrote: "Several days before ordination, I was suddenly seized by an agony of indecision, as though I had been assaulted by an army of demons. The thought that the opponents of women's ordination might be right and that I might be participating in a monstrous wrong terrified me… I prayed fervently for some sign that I was doing God's will." As the story goes, during the ordination service, Pauli was the last one to be ordained. At the very moment when the bishop laid hands on her head, the sun broke through and streams of colored light shined down through the stained glass windows. The audience gasped, and later on, Pauli was told about the moment. She took it as a true sign of God's will. Her ordination to the priesthood was a powerful sanction of her identity in the oneness of God. One month after her ordination, Pauli had the opportunity to celebrate the Holy Eucharist in the Episcopal Chapel of the Cross in Chapel Hill, the same chapel where records show that on December 20, 1854, her grandmother, Cornelia Smith, a slave child of Mary Ruffin, was baptized. Pauli said of her experience at Chapel Hill that she finally believed that "all of the strands of my life had come together."

Pauli Murray worked incessantly to obliterate any barrier that kept us apart as people. She not only dreamed of a world and society where all of God's people could come together regardless of their differentness, she worked tirelessly to be a model of change. She did not waiver or falter in the face of her own oppression nor did she cower or run from the inevitable opposition from those who were staunchly against any type of change. Pauli knew, better than most, that any type of oppression is a sickness that is a sure killer of the spirit and mind. She knew that the only way to continue the liberation of the human spirit was to "soak ourselves in the waters of our baptism."

Pauli Murray died of pancreatic cancer in July, 1985. With all that she accomplished with her life, for the good works she manifested during our country's most difficult times, her fight for inclusion and connectedness continued and still continues after her death. She forced people to look at the entire picture of oppression. "Don't make me choose which issue to fight for," she once said, "I am as oppressed as a woman in a man's world as I am as a Negro in a White world." Some people – black and white, men and women – hated her for that. As Rev'd Elizabeth Kaeton said, "Why even in ECUSA (the Episcopal Church), it's 'easier' to remember Absalom Jones than Pauli Murray. And this has remained so. It has taken our Church nearly 20 some odd years to even consider Pauli important enough to be included in our Lesser Fasts and Feasts.

None of us will ever have to endure the obstacles that Pauli Murray had to in her life. And virtually none of us will have the opportunities to be leaders in so many different aspects of history as she had. However, all of us do have the opportunity to accept God's invitation to wade in the waters of His absolute love and truth and to set our hearts on fire in passionate service to Him.

Amen.

© 2008 The Rev. Deacon Christine McCloud