Compassion is the Plumb Line

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

A plumb line is a weight attached to a length of string that a builder uses to determine if a wall is straight up and down, or whether it's leaning dangerously to one side or the other with the possibility of falling. There are instruments in construction today that use lasers for the same purpose, especially on high rise buildings.

One of the jobs I held during my college years was for a construction company as an assistant to a field engineer. It was our job to make sure all the lines were straight, those that went sideways and those that went up and down. You can imagine the dilemma that would arise if foundations were set for walls that didn't quite match up. Window frames, doors, in fact all the facets of building are based on precise measurements, regardless of how big or small the job. We were given the wiggle room of 1/8 of an inch, whether the distance was 30 feet or 300, it could only vary by that much. Anything else would have to be torn up and reset, or seriously redesigned.

But any builder has to use whatever equipment is available to do the job. Apparently when God was talking to Amos, there were no lasers. So a plumb line had to suffice. The metaphor was one of several Amos writes about in which he receives the message that the nation of Israel is in real trouble. To bring the metaphor a little further, if the plumb line is used in time, it can detect the problem and save the wall before it falls over.

Jesus uses a different kind of plumb line in his story of the Good Samaritan. He takes the measure of a person by the kindness he or she shows. It's a familiar story, but some of the details are interesting to reflect on.When the Priest and the Levite saw the man beaten and bleeding, perhaps already dead, they crossed the street. I had always assumed it was because of apathy and not wanting to get involved. That's certainly a possibility and gives plenty of grist for the mill. However, I've come to see it rather as the scrupulous following of the law. The codes of purity are quite clear in the books of the law. If the priest or Levite -- or anyone else for that matter, touches a body in such condition, they become unclean. They break a law. They were actually obliged to cross over and not touch the man.

The Samaritan allowed the law of compassion to override the legal code and is the hero of the story. He is the neighbor to the man, and follows the commandment to love our neighbor as ourselves.

While it's interesting to talk about the role of apathy as a possibility in this story, I like the clash of laws better. It's murkier and both sides can claim to be right. The fact that Jesus weighs in on the side of Samaritan shows his cards, but Jesus was always getting in trouble with the established authorities for turning laws on their head. Healing on the Sabbath, eating meals with sinners -- the very things we praise him for these days were sources of trouble that ultimately got him crucified.

Jesus offered a different lens for his followers to see through. Compassion trumps legalism. The implications for that teaching in our day are far reaching, and disturbing. The conduct of our nation and every nation is based on laws. They are strictly codified, and the equality of their enforcement is debatable, but most reasonable people are agreed that laws are imperative for a society to exist. There are sticky issues we deal with currently with immigration, gay marriage, gun control, accountability for financial or ecological disasters that stretch the laws and seem to go beyond comfortable territory. As God holds the plumb line which I shall call "compassion" based on the Gospel lesson, some will call the wall straight while others won't. It will be argued about until the wall falls over and then it's too late. That's sort of what happened in Israel with the unfortunate demise of King Jereboam and his advisor Amaziah, and the conquering of the nation of Israel. If the wall is seen to be the righteousness of the nation, Amaziah, in effect, kept saying the wall was straight, and Amos said it most certainly was not. And it did fall very hard.

In all the debates about current issues, I hear voices of anger, fear, bigotry, greed, apathy, and denial. I hear very few about compassion and asking the question, "Who is my neighbor?"

Like the priest and the Levite in the Gospel story, it's easy not to challenge what's legal or "always been done this way." It's hard to seek the good of others over the false security of doing business as usual. Whether on the global level or in our everyday lives, it's murky to look at issues that pit compassion over what we've always believed to be right. But if we're going to build the kingdom of God we've got to make sure the building is strong, on a good foundation and won't topple over. Jesus is the foundation and the compassion evidenced in the parable of the Good Samaritan is the plumb line.

Amen.

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

Resting, Silence and Allowing God In

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

Among the healing stories in the scriptures, the story we read today is well known. I did flinch, however, to discover that the story of a demented man plagued by demons, was assigned for Father’s Day! The good news, though, is that the man is healed and the demons were cast out. But before I spend more time on this story, let’s take a look at the first lesson.

Last week we read a story about the confrontation between the prophet Elijah, King Ahab and Queen Jezebel. The king and queen had conspired to kill a good man simply to take possession of his land. This week we have another story from the trove of stories which pit these ancient adversaries against each other.

The background for today’s story gives a context for why Elijah ran for his life. Jezebel was a foreigner, a Phoenician princess in a political marriage to Ahab, the King of Israel. She successfully converted Ahab from the worship of the Israelite God to the one called Baal. Elijah, as a prophet of the Israelite God with access to the throne room, locked horns with Jezebel on this issue. The two contrived a strange bet in which 450 of the priests of Baal would offer a sacrifice on one altar and Elijah by himself would offer a sacrifice on another. Whichever sacrifice God accepted would demonstrate the real religion. Not surprisingly a bolt of fire from heaven consumed the sacrifice prepared by Elijah and in a gruesome caveat to the bet, namely winners kill losers, Elijah cut the throats of all 450 priests of Baal. By now we also know enough about Jezebel to know that she would not be a gracious loser. She set out for revenge and Elijah ran out of town before she could make good on her threat.

It’s at this point that our lesson today begins. Ultimately Elijah is hiding in a cave where he is cold, hungry and really discouraged. Like many prophets before him, he did as God told him and he got deeper into trouble running for his life. It’s little wonder that the first word out of anyone called by God to serve as a prophet is "NO"!

It’s what happens at the cave that is of particular interest. God tells Elijah that he will come to him and presumably set things right. While waiting Elijah experience a great wind, an earthquake and a fire - each time running out of the cave thinking that each huge phenomenon must be God’s approach. But it’s not. Only when the silence envelopes him does he hear God’s voice clearly tell him what he must do.

Our point of entry into this story, and even how this connects to the Gospel story of Legion, is in how to find God in the midst of struggle. Whether we’re talking about Elijah or the man possessed by demons, each was beset by a cacophony of noise in the midst of crisis. Actual noise and the noise in the head. As an interesting aside, Baal is also the God of thunderous elements in what might be another comparison or competition between the God of Israel and the foreign god. In this second struggle, Elijah holds fast and meets God in silence. In the language of story and symbol, progress is made when the noise ceases and we allow silence to enter in. Quiet brings a sense of balance and the ability to hear God in a profound way.

One of the obstacles to meditation is the wandering mind. During attempts to meditate, the brain is sometimes compared to a dozen monkeys on caffeine. It’s difficult to clear the noise in our heads at times of crisis. Noise and frenetic activity generally accompany problems, accidents, arguments or any type of stress or struggle. Finding a calm moment is very difficult, and yet, until that is achieved, little progress can be made. Whatever crisis arose for the prophets of old or those of ours today, come in so many forms and from so many different corners of our lives. Physical, emotional, spiritual; individual, societal or ecological crisis come and in their wake a swirl of noise and confusion. Healing is the restoration of balance and the discovery of resolution. The first thing doctors tell us to do when recovering from an illness or procedure is rest. We don’t want to and we pay the price if we neglect their advice. The condition will get worse and continue to do so until we do as we are told.

As difficult as it is to rest when a doctor tells us, it’s even more so when we’re told that the solution to an emotional or spiritual crisis is in resting and silence and allowing God in. And yet we pay a larger price if we do not.

Sometimes I take my own advice and when I’m under stress or dealing with a problem, I will stop and pray and meditate, listening for the voice of God. It does come in the deep sense of knowing what needs to be done. My difficulty is often that I don’t’ like the answer. I get into deeper trouble when I do what I would prefer, rather than what I know deep inside to be God’s voice, and what is right.

Just as our illnesses take many different forms and the healing takes many different forms, the common denominator is God as the source of that healing. God is the essence of life and love and it is in this essence that we find healing for whatever troubles us. When Mary Davis was ordained Deacon a couple weeks ago, the preacher reminded us of an old acronym when telling us that our egos usually get in the way of doing God’s will. She said that ego stands for Edging God Out.

Elijah in the cave did a lot of that while he was feeling sorry for himself and the man possessed of demons was unable to be healed until he allowed God to touch him in that place of pain that kept him so tormented. The demons were self destructive as so many of our modern day demons are as well. We are plagued by so many of them, actual mental illness, addictions, guilt, shame, fear, anger, insecurity, and they are legion. But until we stop and allow God to come in through the door of silence we create in prayer the tormenting cycle will continue. Whatever solution or resolution will bring healing, it will arrive through the still, small voice that so caught Elijah’s attention.

This sermon has been a rather long appeal to use prayer as part of your daily life to cast out the demons which may plague you. Find prayers in books, even our own Prayer Book, online find one through St. Google - the new patron saint of seekers, or when all else fails, speak from your heart to the heart of God. It’s a direct line, and doesn’t need fancy words or prose, just honesty. We don’t always like the answer, I warn you now, but we don’t have to. God seems to be more interested in giving us what we need rather than what we want. Prayer works and it leads to healing. Perhaps not all at once, but gets it going.

From the psalm we read this morning, "As the deer longs for the water brooks, so longs my soul for you, O God." I believe God longs for us to drink of that brook too. Amen.

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

Death, Healing and New Life

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

In the first lesson from the first Book of the Kings we heard the widow say to Elijah, "Now I know that you are a man of God, and that the word of the Lord in your mouth is truth."

The Old Testament and Gospel lessons are linked today most certainly because of the similarity in them about the raising to life of the sons of these two widows. At first glimpse it seems that the miracles were for the sons. But, I believe, the miracles were really for the mothers.

In the first lesson it is Elijah, one of the great prophets of the Old Testament who performs the miracle. It's actually one of several miracles he performs for this poor family. At the urging of God he arrives at the house of the widow and her son as they are about to eat the last of their grain and brace themselves to starve to death. The first miracle is one of abundance. The grain and oil that never run out. They did not starve but had plenty. It is a statement of faith, and a beautiful story. It says so much about the importance of giving, even at the last. By itself, it would have been a wonderful and complete story full of lessons of hospitality and generosity - how giving provides a limitless well of love and spiritual nourishment.

But the wisdom of scriptures take this story the next step. Sometimes even after the giving tragedy strikes and anger arises. The widow is furious at Elijah. He had given them hope in the final moments of their despair and brought them back from the brink of death. When the widow's son dies, it seems too cruel for her to imagine that after what they had gone through, the boy would die and she would be left alone. She does not take this last bit quietly. She accosts Elijah and unleashes her anger, frustration and grief. Elijah prays and the boy is restored to life. Not only Elijah's credibility, but God's is restored.

The echo of this story in the Gospel is unmistakable. But in the Gospel it's a little clearer as to whom the gift of life is given. As Jesus sees the funeral procession go through the town, it's the widow, the mother of the dead boy, on whom he has compassion. We would assume that he had compassion on the boy and brought him to life. But that's not the case. Jesus, like Elijah, had compassion on the mothers and raised their sons. There is the natural grief of a parent for a child in the story, but the details provided about them being widows and their sons being their only child is important. The best hope for these women to be cared for in their old age was their sons. The burden of grief would be multiplied in both cases by falling into lives of destitution and further poverty. The sons were beyond any need in their deaths, but Elijah and Jesus after him had compassion on the mothers, and brought their sons back to life.

Healing stories are all throughout the Bible and each has a deeper meaning past the miracle it tells. Stories of death and life are the most profound since they plumb the depths of human emotion and need. Our point of contact with them is in our deepest moments of emotion and need. I recently spoke with a woman whose partner of many years died. She spoke of her anger at God. "How could he do this to her," she cried. I knew her pain and have felt it also. I too survived a partner's death and felt the anger aimed at God. In time I came to a different conclusion though. In time I came to realize that death is a release to the person who is ill. It is, in fact, the ultimate healing. The heaven I believe our loved ones are in far exceeds any pain or tragedy they endured here. In my case I finally had to admit to myself that my anger at God had more to do with the question, not how could you do this to him, but how could you do this to me? The ones who are left behind to grieve have horrible pain as well. We experience a death in our own right. Our lives are emptier and filled with many unresolved issues, and the dreams of the future fall into shards of stabbing pain. While the dead are born to new life in God's love, we who are left behind, are faced with searching for new life, and it's painful and lasts a long time.

This, I believe, is where the widows' felt their anger and grief, and it was in this pain that Elijah and Jesus offered them new life. Wouldn't it be wonderful if all our loved ones could be told to rise off their death beds. But in the wisdom of scripture, it is we who are still in this life that have to rise off ours. We can turn to God for healing and the new life that grows. It does not grow immediately, unfortunately, but it does over time. I shared my story with the woman and validated her pain and disorientation. I told her it was going to hurt for a long time and that she was not going to feel comfortable wherever she was. Moving wasn't going to help. Changing churches wasn't going to help. For a while, nothing was going to help. The pain lessens in time, though it never goes away fully. But out of that grief comes a new strength and a new life. She was a bit taken aback by my bluntness, but at the same time seemed grateful. Sometimes we pad difficult truths too much, and they need to be taken head on.

The deaths in the scripture lessons prompted my telling this story, but I think the same is true for any deep pain we feel that can go deep into our souls. Ultimately, it's not the son of the women who are told to rise, but the women themselves. Whatever has happened in our lives that threatens our spiritual, emotional, or even physical well being - we are in further danger of falling into despair. As the oil crises worsens in the Gulf of Mexico, the shadows of death lengthen there in the untold number of deaths in the ecological sense, the animal and fish life, and the ways of life for those dependent on the sea for their livelihood.

God's love, in the form of Jesus' command comes to us, "Do not weep... I say to you rise." Sometimes we need a stern command to snap us out of our pain. Healing is in the rising. Ironically, even those preparing to die, can rise to a healing place in their acceptance and preparation.

In his letter to the Galatians, St. Paul talks of his new life rising from the death of his old one. His conversion has become well known to us in the revelation of Jesus to him as he rode to Damascus. In this lesson he says again how far up in the Jewish hierarchy he had gotten and how all that changed when he encountered the risen Christ. A new life opened to him that he could never have imagined. He, who had persecuted the church, became one of its staunchest advocates and evangelists.

Yesterday, two women were ordained deacons in the Cathedral in Newark. One of them, Mary Davis, did her field work here for two years and was very much part of this congregation. It was a real pleasure for me to be one of those who presented her to the Bishop for ordination. I was proud to see so many from St. George's there to support her on behalf of our church. As the preacher told them, "Everything's changed!" And for them it has. They will grow into their new lives as ordained clergy, discovering what that means in the particular ways in which God has called them into service.

Themes of death and life constantly cross our paths. Actual deaths of loved ones, loss of jobs, leaving homes we love, disappointments in love or family. The temptation will be to die inwardly. But the love of God is and always will be on the side of life. We may weep a little bit, but after a while the voice of Jesus will find ways to come to us and say, "Do not weep, I say to you arise." When this story comes into our lives, we may find ourselves in the role of the widow, perhaps the son, or perhaps Elijah. There will be anger, there will be pain, there will be confrontation. But ultimately there will be the healing love of God bringing new life and giving new meaning to the words of the widow of Zaraphath, "Now I know that you are a person of God, and that the word of the Lord in your mouth is truth." Amen.

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

Ascension Day

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

The feast of Ascension Day, which we observe this morning, was actually this past Thursday. It enshrines one of the doctrines of the church and is in the Nicene Creed, which we’ll recite after the sermon. In those words we will say "...he ascended in to heaven and is seated at the right and of the Father."

After the resurrection of Jesus, the scriptures say he appeared to them for forty days until he ascended in the manner it was described in our lessons this morning.

When I was a child this puzzled me. I enjoyed the story of the disciples gathered with Jesus on a hill and he began to ascend in front of them, saying that it was necessary and that he would return one day. That’s when it became puzzling to me. Where did he go? My childhood occurred during the sixties and that was also the decade of early space flight. Since the body went up in the air, like the helium balloons I’d let go of, something had to happen. Balloons popped, I understood that. Presumably Jesus didn’t pop, but kept going. Did he go into space and would the astronauts see him, I wondered. Would he need the same breathing apparatus they needed, or does being God’s son make it OK. Who does he talk to? I was an inquisitive child with many questions. All of them got the same response. It’s the response our Sunday School kids often get from their parents, "Ask the Rector."

I was afraid of him and so my questions went unanswered. By the time I was no longer afraid of him I had made peace with my ignorance. Frankly, I still don’t have the answers to those specific questions, and I still think they’re good ones. However, I have a different way of looking at the issue.

The Ascension is the completion of the incarnation of Jesus. He came into the world mysteriously and he left the world mysteriously. He was born as a result of the promise of God voiced through the prophets for generations and departed with a promise to return. He reflected the love of God which transcends the physical world that we know and is a Spirit that is immortal.

God accesses flesh and spirit. God stepped into the world in human form incarnated in Jesus and also flows though Spirit in the world now as God did before and always will. St. Paul says that we are the temple of the Holy Spirit. It’s a wonderful way of saying that God is in us. The creative love of God is spirit that flows through us. It’ humbling, it’s reassuring, and it’s exciting. Through the inspiring Spirit of God within us, we become the body and blood of God in the world - the hands and feet of God beating with the heart of the Holy Spirit. None of which can be proven by the way. But none of which can be denied either. That’s what makes faith so much fun, and our beliefs, what St. Paul called in another place, a stumbling block to those unacquainted with our faith.

The Ascension of Jesus is a reflection on what we can hope for. I’m not talking about whether we will ascend in our bodies the way some Christians insist. I’m hoping for an updated model myself. Car manufacturers are not the only ones whose chassis have planned obsolescence.

I’m talking about a very different hope. And it has to do with the life of faith and love. Consider this: Jesus grew and developed. At the peak of his strength he was beaten, crucified and died. His resurrection was miraculous and breath taking. And his ascension brought him into the realm of Spirit which continues forever.

Also consider our lives. We grow and develop. The peaks of our strength may be physical, but they may also be emotional or psychological. Inevitably something happens and we fall, to where it feels like something inside us dies. But we don’t. We get up, stronger than we thought possible, and continue. In faith, we will hopefully learn from the experiences life brings us, and in our new strength, we ascend into a different spirit. We transcend and in so doing we are transformed. Our spirits are different.

You don’t have to be a theologian to figure that out. All of us have gone through heartbreaking, horrible experiences. Experiences that could have broken us, broken our wills or our spirits. Perhaps in some it might even feel like that. But we are here and we have survived whatever has hurt us. The death of loved ones, divorce, addiction, abuse, war, physical and mental illness, unemployment, bankruptcy, the list can go on. You name it, one of us in here has had it. But we have also survived it, and that is the spirit of God in us that cannot be killed, that resurrects and ascends. We are transformed through our life experiences.

The best of what I have to offer as a priest and pastor, came at the price of the worst things that have happened to me. I’m not getting into them here, don’t worry, but suffice it to say that because of what I have endured and survived, I can counsel and encourage others who go through similar things. And when I go through new things, I can be open and listen to others who have something to tell me. During my life, I have been transformed a few times, and I suspect some more are on the way. It’s inevitable. We all have.

As the disciples watched Jesus ascend into heaven, Jesus said, "...(Y)ou will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the Earth."

We witness the power of the Holy Spirit when we tell another person of our experience of the Spirit of God working in us to transcend the struggles of this life - our own and those of our neighbor. Ascension is that point of transformation from body to spirit, from struggle to triumph. And we are witnesses. Each one of us, because the power of God has flowed through each one of us, guided and protected us, and will continue to do so. We are witnesses.

I no longer worry about the same questions I had as a child about the Ascension. I suppose it’s like worrying about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. We’re all disciples in different places, hearing the word of God and sharing the word of God in different ways. But it is the same spirit blowing within us and among us. We can’t prove it, we may not always feel it, but sometimes we do and as a result, we cannot deny it. The spirit of God is real and transforms us. We are witnesses. Amen.

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

Easter Sunday

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

Alleluia, Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia! The ancient greeting rings out with a truth first described as an idle tale! How about that? The women come back from the tomb of their beloved Jesus telling the disciples about the empty tomb and the angels and the message of Jesus being raised for the dead and the disciples dismissed it as an idle tale. As though the women thought the disciples were being a bit too gloomy and thought they’d perk them up a bit with a resurrection story. Peter goes to verify and him they believe. Somehow the women who stood by Jesus the whole time were making things up, but Peter who denied him was credible. Now that’s an idle tale.

The details of the resurrection the women spoke of are vague and lost in the mist of time and layered story. But something happened. Something so profound as to propel the disciples, not to return to their former lives, but to turn to a lives of missionaries to proclaim the resurrected Jesus. Lives that often led to deprivation, ridicule, persecution and martyrdom. People don’t do that for an “idle tale.” They do that because of some truth that has deeply transformed them. They do that because their lives have so profoundly changed that there was no going back.

In the first lesson we read this morning from Isaiah, we hear the author in the voice of God saying, “..I am about to create a new heaven and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating...” People of faith have always believed in God’s ability to create something new from something old. Order out of chaos. And even life out of death. Over and over again, the stories differ in the details and times, but the essential similarity is the triumph of life over death. The victory of truth and justice over that which is evil and self seeking. There has always been a belief in resurrection.

The story of Jesus’ resurrection is so compelling because it is a victory over death itself. Prior to that, most resurrections had to do with health or life’s circumstances, not life itself. What made Jesus so miraculous is that God’s action created something new. A new heaven and a new earth.

I believe in resurrection. I believe in Jesus’ resurrection and I believe in my resurrection and I believe in your resurrection. I believe in the resurrection of Haiti and Iraq. I believe in the resurrection of people and places where life is in danger or lost. Because I believe that resurrection is life itself and that life doesn’t end, it transforms.

The disciples become interesting case studies for me. They had pretty decent lives before Jesus showed up. Steady jobs, families, they pretty much knew their way around and probably felt relatively secure and comfortable in their lives. Jesus shows up and turns everything upside down. They hit the road, have a little hint of glamour and fame, but that ends badly with an arrest and Jesus’ execution.

But in the midst of all this, they got a taste of a deeper life they didn’t see or know about before and they couldn’t pretend it didn’t exist. They saw and felt the love of God in a powerful way they could no longer live without. They chose a more difficult life, physically, in most of their cases, but we have to assume that the serenity they had in their spirits was worth the price. What an amazing depth of knowing God that would lead them to live the lives they led. For as vague as the details of the Gospels can be about the resurrection, the lives of the disciples who continued to follow Jesus after his resurrection are testimonies not only to Jesus’ resurrection, but their own.

I have experienced resurrection myself through new life that has risen from the ashes of divorce, addiction and the deaths of loved ones. I have seen the resurrection of so many others whose faith in God and the promise of resurrection has changed their lives, especially when they thought it was over. There is a living death that occurs in so many ways, that each of us can testify to. And I’ll bet that without much prompting, many of those stories of living deaths can also be understood to contain the seed of resurrection. And these are not idle tales. They are real.

I’ve seen people in the throes of addiction, what I often call the living dead, who have found new life through recovery. I’ve seen sections of towns and cities come back through the efforts of hard working activists, organizers and regular people on the street. I’ve seen people who faced the deaths of spouses or partners with faith that their lives would continue and did.

I’d like to tell you a particular story of resurrection that I saw last year. While I was on sabbatical last year, the first leg of the trip was to the Holy Cross Monastery in Grahamstown, South Africa. During the month I was there I got to know the small community of brothers pretty well. One of the brothers, Josias, told some of his personal story in a Lenten sermon he preached while I was there. He took for his text Psalm 22 that begins, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me..” It’s a very important psalm since Jesus quotes it from the cross. It’s verses describe the desolation of the speaker and how beaten down he is. The verse Josias focused on was the 6th verse that says, “but as for me I am a worm and no man...”

He stopped there and told a little of his story as a black man born in Johannesburg during the last days of Apartheid. The struggles and tensions in those final days of that evil system, the danger and the temptation to be beaten down by it. His lips trembled with emotion as he told of the assaults on his humanity and how often he was treated like a worm and no man.

He told of his early conviction in his faith and how the love of God in Jesus pulled him out of despair and gave him new life. This shy, soft spoken, sweet young man riveted the congregation when he looked up from his sermon text and declared in full voice, “I am a man, and no worm.”

Resurrection is claiming life from that which appears dead. Josias spoke for all of us in the life circumstances that make us feel “less than”. In God’s love we are people and not worms. We are worthy enough for God to have been incarnated in the life of Jesus, to have given us miracles and healing. To have taught us and shown us the love of God. To have died for us and risen, as proof that life does not end. It changes and deepens, but it does not end.

In truth some people still call stories of resurrection “idle tales”. They are not. Once you’ve seen them or lived them, you can’t deny them. They are wonderful stories of hope and love, and they are worth telling, despite what anyone else thinks.

From the psalm today, verse 24 speaks for us - On this day the Lord has acted, we will rejoice and be glad in it!” Amen.

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

Good Friday

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

A man hangs on a cross. The pain is unimaginable - even by those who inflicted it. Perhaps it’s because they couldn’t imagine it, that they were able to accomplish it. I wonder if anyone who has endured agony can willingly inflict it on someone else without reliving it, without experiencing it again.

When Jesus hung on the cross he said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” They didn’t. On the different levels that people exist, they didn’t know. Physically, none of the Centurions had experienced the pain of crucifixion and drove the nails in without knowing what they were doing. The people gathered around had no idea what it was like to be ridiculed unjustly and tortured. They didn’t know what they were doing. The disciples hadn’t been betrayed and set up for a mock trial, and they didn’t know what they had done.

Perhaps it’s because none of them knew that they were able to do the horrible things they did. And still Jesus forgave them, because they didn’t know. Or rather, they didn’t fully know.

Two thieves hung on either side of him. One ridiculed him in the same way the crowds did. The other asked to be remembered, finding in his pain a relationship with Jesus that he didn’t have before. It’s a curious scene between three men, presumably strangers, now bound by history and the common experience of hanging on a cross.

That grim tableau is a microcosm of our world as well. People causing pain to others in crimes and battle without really knowing the fullness of their actions. I wonder if Presidents who have experienced war are more reluctant to declare it than those who have not. I wonder if those who have experienced crime committed against them, or the pain of attack could ever easily commit such things themselves. But in our world, people do things all the time that create pain and havoc while not really knowing what they do from an experiential level.

And in relationship to Jesus, there are people who hang in pain that reflect the reactions of the two thieves. In the moments of their most excruciating pain, some turn toward God while others turn away.

The focal point for all of this is Jesus. The one who hangs in the middle with arms outstretched to gather into one embrace those who ridicule and those who come for comfort. Earlier in his interview with Pontius Pilate, Jesus said that he came into the world to testify to the truth. Pilate asks “What is truth?” For Pilate, truth was no doubt malleable, subject to the spin given it. What people believe to be true is not always truth. People in positions to create the impression of truth understand this and use it to their advantage.

How threatening it is to have someone who embodies truth. That same person will become a light that shows where lies have been told. The truth of Jesus is the unconditional love of God. It’s not earned, or stolen, sold or won. It’s freely given. Because he told this truth, because he lived this truth, because he was this truth, he was arrested and killed. It was too much to bear. I think there is a secret fear common among people - that we are not lovable. Many people have a hard time accepting compliments because they don’t believe the one giving the compliments. Others have a hard time accepting love, because they do not believe themselves worthy of love, or they are hiding some secret truth that if the one offering love knew, would withdraw that love. The simple truth of being loved gets very complicated. As Jesus embodied a truth almost unbearable to accept, he was taken and hurt.

But he forgave them, because they didn’t know what they were doing. He forgave them, because they didn’t know what HE was doing. But in the end it was not in their power to kill him, but it was in his power to help them live.

When I was a teenager my uncle was working on a house from a ladder and fell. He was hospitalized and hurt his back very badly. I drove my grandmother, who at the time was in her late eighties, to the hospital to see her son, who was in his early sixties. I remember being so struck by her quiet tears as she held his hand, saying in a voice meant only for herself, or perhaps it was a prayer - that she could be the one in that bed who was hurt so that her son could be alright.

A mother’s love is a powerful thing. And the desire to relieve the suffering of her child even at her own physical expense is extraordinary. No matter how old the mother, or how old the child the love remains the same.

She was not able to take the place of her son, but that story has become a way for me to understand the depth of love that would have God take the pain of the world to himself as a way to relieve the suffering of humanity. I think the worst form of suffering isn’t even the physical as bad as that is. I think the worst suffering is to be without hope or love.

By knowing, by truly knowing what human suffering is, God enters our world and lives in a way that we cannot know. And in God’s willingness to bear that pain, to take the insults, ridicule and torture God not only embodies the truth of God’s love beyond our knowing, but also the hope that it’s still freely given in the forgiveness of that which we do not know. It simply is. God’s love simply is.

What we do here in story and song is to celebrate that love that would hang on a cross and still not be defeated. It is a wonderful truth. Amen.

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

Maundy Thursday

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

Holy Week captures the themes and drama of the love of God in a way that is beautiful, tragically poignant and mystically triumphant. The Tenebrae service last night previewed the themes of the shadows of desolation creeping over the light. With readings of lamentations and psalms that voice the cries of those who are suffering and lost, the spirit touches the depth of pain in any person. Regardless of the circumstances that may have caused the pain in our lives, we are connected to the writers of lamentations and psalms, not in their physical reality, but in their spiritual reality. When the psalmist writes, “Save me O God for the waters have risen up to my neck. I am sinking in deep mire, and there is no firm ground for my feet....” we don’t know what that writer was experiencing that caused him to write this, but we deeply and viscerally understand the emotion behind it.

Quite literally water is rising in this state causing great suffering to those displaced from their homes. I watch the news of my home state Rhode Island also suffering from floods. The cries of “Save me O God..” call out from those facing a literal flood.

The cries from Haiti, the Middle East and so many other places torn by natural disaster and war also need saving from the waters of suffering as they rise. The shadows of Tenebrae give voice to this as they try to overcome the light. But at the end of the service, it is the light of Christ triumphant that will not be put out. The presence of God giving strength and hope to those in need, to those who rescue and those who rebuild.

The service of Tenebrae is abstract in it’s witness. Maundy Thursday, by comparison is much clearer. The Latin word, Mandatum, from which we get the word “Maundy” means command. Jesus gave his disciples the command to love one another as he had loved them. It sounds simple enough, but is so difficult. How can we ever plumb the depths of Jesus’ love for us in order to show that love to each other? As if in response to this unspoken question, Jesus shows them a simple way. He washes their feet. And he expects them to wash each others feet.

The action is bother literal and mystical. Jesus does in fact wash their feet, in much the same way we read the story of Mary washing his feet with her tears in an earlier story this past Lent. It is a sign of humility and love. But it is also a sign of trust and humility on the part of those whose feet are being washed. Jesus’ humility allows them to be vulnerable.

There is an intimacy in washing feet. Many people keep their feet hidden, especially if they are scarred or disfigured, or discolored. Often our feet bear the marks of physical difficulties, a metaphor for the pain traveled along this life’s road. To show another person our feet is to risk them seeing something that is painful for us to let others see.

Again, while that is literally true about our feet, it is also spiritually true. We try to hide and mask the pains and emotional scars that have accumulated in our lives. We do not want others to see them and feel vulnerable if they do.

When Jesus took the disciples feet in his hands to wash, he cleansed the dirt from their feet in a physical way, but also invited them to share their spiritual pain as well. To make themselves vulnerable to his love and healing touch. Love one another as I have loved you, he commands them. Interesting that he does not ask, but commands.

Tomorrow during Good Friday we’ll see just how vulnerable he made himself. The command is to be completely vulnerable and completely trustworthy of another’s vulnerability. It’s both simple and threatening, and difficult. And yet, here we are.

In our ceremony there are four chairs set up. I’ll invite anyone to come forward to sit in any of them and I’ll begin washing the feet as the shoes and socks are removed. I also will invite anyone who wishes to do the washing as well. Some may choose to do both - have your foot washed and then wash another person’s.

Reading bible stories is a rich experience. Beneath the story itself is a layer of human and spiritual truth. That’s what we delve to find. Holy Week is the richest mine of these stories since the themes go the deepest beyond the stories which are powerful in themselves, but even richer in the spirit which moves through them. It is that spirit of God which finds us and invites us in. It is that spirit of Jesus which commands us to learn from Him and love one another as he has loved us.

We’ll have a few moments of silence to meditate on this love and then as I move to the stations I’ll invite those who wish to participate in this part of the ceremony to do so. Amen.

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