The Renaud Street Renegades

A Sermon for Pentecost XIII, Proper 18, Year C

September 8, 2019

Christ Episcopal Church, Milford Welcome Back Sunday

Killen's Pond State Park, Felton, NJ

When I was a kid – oh, maybe about aged seven or eight – I was a member of a group in my Fall River, Massachusetts, neighborhood we called the “Renaud Street Renegades”. 

It was a harmless group – sort of like Spanky and Our Gang. Or, was it Dennis the Menace who had a Club?  Well, anyway, we met in secret, in the far corner of my grandfather’s part-barn, part-garage, way back behind the sacks of dried beans and corn and rolls of hay. 

It was a “members only” club – and only girls could be members. We actually had a sign that said: “No. Boys. Allowed.” Just in case the boys ever found our secret meting location.

We even had our own chant, "Renegade girls, best in the world!"

The boys, of course, had their own club. I don’t remember the name of their club but I think it was something really obvious and uncreative like “The Renaud Street Boys Club”. They had a sign that said, "No. Girls Allowed."

We know because we saw it.

They met in this secret-not-so-secret location in the wooded area across the street where they would sometimes light fires and tell stories in the dark with flashlights under their chins. Which was why their secret location wasn’t so secret. We could see the fire and the flashlights. Duh!

We had an initiation ceremony which involved pricking the top of your pointer finger with a needle to draw blood – everyone had to do it – and then everyone squeezed their bleeding fingers together to share blood. 

This was, of course, before the days when we knew about blood-borne pathogens and AIDS was a horror story on the distant horizon, still waiting to happen.

Message to kids: DO NOT SHARE BLOOD. Ever. Okay?.

The point was, once you were a ‘Renegade Girl’ you were a ‘Renegade Girl’ for life. The small sacrifice of a pinprick on your finger and the sharing of blood sealed the deal. 

If it meant you had to go up against a member of your own family in order to defend sister who was a 'Renegade Girl’, well, that’s just what you had to do. The logic was that you may have the same blood as a family member, but you had SHARED blood with a ‘Renegade Girl’, which made her your sister.

Thankfully, that promise was never tested, but there was this one time when we all grew up and realized that there was something even more important than being a member of a secret neighborhood club - whether you were a boy or a girl.

As I remember, it was early winter and it was cold enough for the water in the pond next to our house to start to freeze. A call went through the neighborhood: "ICE!” and we all knew what that meant. 

We grabbed our ice skates and off we went to The Pond. The ice did groan a few times when one of the older boys stepped out on it, but he said it was fine and well, he was an older boy so he should know, right? We trusted him implictly.

And, just like that, the pond was filled with young children twirling and laughing and having a grand time. This went on for some time – long enough for us to be completely unaware of any danger that might have been lurking about. 

One of the little ones – a young boy of about 5 or so who didn’t have any skates – decided to make his own fun by throwing a stone onto the ice to watch it slip and skid.

Mostly he was annoying to some of the kids who really wanted to skate so no one paid much attention when he pick up a fairly large stone and, with some force, threw it onto the ice. 

That was enough to plunge a hole into the ice and, in a synchronicity that couldn’t have been choreographed, one of the boys skated right over it, his one leg plunging into the icy cold pond water.

I don’t remember his name but I can clearly hear his cries of pain and sheer terror as he screamed and flailed about, his body in a weird split, one leg in the water and one leg on top of the ice. 

At first, some of the kids started to laugh, until we heard the loud “crack” and “groan” of the ice, and saw the crack begin to move out in a slow, dangerous, jagged line from the boys body toward the other skaters.

We all stood still, as frozen in place as the ice beneath our feet. 

No one knew what to do. 

Except Eddie. "Steady Eddie" we called him.

Eddie was the oldest and after a few seconds of immobility, he was the first to snap into action. He skated as close as he dared to the boy on the other side of the crack in the ice, talking to him gently and quietly and then gripped his hand around the kid's forearm. Then, he called to the others to take his forearm in their hand and form a chain.

Within seconds, there we were, everyone - boys and girls - holding tightly onto another kid’s forearm as we formed a human chain back onto the land on the edge of the water. 

Eddie looked down the chain and when he saw there were enough of us, he yelled out, “Okay, now slowly, gently, pull!” And, that’s just what we did, until the kid’s leg emerged from the hole in the ice and we pulled him to the cold, hard, dry earth around the pond.

At that point, we all cheered and clapped and patted each other on the back. Boys and girls. Everyone had worked together, even though we were in different secret clubs and not all of us had shared the Blood Ceremony with each other. 

Eddie gathered us together and got someone to go and get some dry pants and socks for the kid, but before anyone left, he made us all promise never to tell our parents what had happened. If our parents ever knew, Eddie warned, they’d never let us go skating on the pond again.

I can tell you this: My parents went to their graves not knowing of the time a kid’s leg went through the pond off of Renaud Street. 

I’m sure every parent of every kid on Renaud Street never discovered our truth. We were united in the bond of that pledge which, turns out, is even stronger than the bonds of blood. 

I think our individual clubs met a few times after that, but then, well, for some reason, it just wasn’t the same. The Renaud Street Renegades eventually went defunct.

Hearing Jesus tell his disciples that they must put loyalty to him and his mission first, before any family ties, reminded me of that childhood memory. 

“Hate” is a pretty strong word. Jesus said, “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.”

A colleague of mine in UK wrote, "Sometimes, I think, Jesus is not very lovable." 

I don’t know if you’ve noticed it before but sometimes, Jesus exaggerates to make a point, and that can be offensive to some people. 

The point  I think Jesus is making is that being a Christian, following The Way of Jesus, must come first. And, if you do that, if you put Jesus first, you’ll find that all the other things of life don’t matter as much as you once thought they did. 

That's because, once you put Jesus first, everything else matters in a whole new way. It matters a great deal. You begin to know that Jesus lives in you and Jesus lives in me, and so you look for Jesus in others and put Jesus first. 

That's the promise we make at Baptism, "to seek and serve Christ in others". 

When you put the Jesus you meet in another person first, that person matters more than all the things about you that are different.

What matters most is loving life so much that you are willing to put aside all the things you thought separated you from others and work together with others to cherish life – just as St. Paul encouraged the release of the slave Onesimus and his full acceptance into the community as an equal – even if that meant doing something those you love might object to or reject.

As the Lord said to the young prophet, Jeremiah, we can be fashioned into something new, for we are clay in the potter’s hands, for the potter is able to take was is old and spoiled and making it into something new, “as seems good”.

And, if God can do that for a former blood-sworn member of the “Renaud Street Renegades,” God can do that for you, too.    

Amen.

Angels with Dirty Feet

Pentecost XII- Proper 17 C

September 1, 2019

Old Christ Church, Laurel, DE

NB: I have been delighted to have spent the first Sunday of each of the summer months at Old Christ Church. Built in 1771 it is one of a hand-full of pre-Revolutionary War churches on the East Coast which has not been modernized, i.e. no plumbing, no electricity. So, yes, no running water, no toilets (well, a port-a-potty in the back yard), and no AC or heat. It gets HOT in there. I've learned to bring water and wear a black dress over which I wear my white surplice. It's too hot for a cassock. I've also learned that the "congregation" is not a congregation in the traditional sense. There are people who attend faithfully, but only once a year; others only go to church - any church - the months OCC is open. Some people drive from VA or PA or New England because they want to experience a worship service from the 1789 BCP in an historic church. Except for the small handful of volunteer board members, it's a different composition every time. I've found it very difficult to preach to a congregation like that. So, I've learned to keep it light, short and to the point. It's an interesting exercise in homiletics. 
 

How many of you have a FaceBook Page? Now, how many of you spend at least an hour a day on FaceBook? Okay, how many of you spend more than an hour a day – total – on FaceBook? (I won’t ask how much more than an hour.)

Yup, my hand was up for that last one, too. Once I get on the Internet or FaceBook, it’s like falling down a rabbit hole. I’ll put something in the oven or a load of clothes in the dryer and the next thing I know the buzzer is going off and I’m annoyed because I haven’t finished reading this one last thing.

So, if you’ve spent any amount of time on FaceBook, you start to ask yourself, “Does anyone on FB have a bad day or a bad meal? Does everyone but me have fabulous vacations, a great car that never breaks down, and families that all seem to smile a lot and everyone seems not only to get along but like each other?” 

And, by ‘like’ each other, I’m not just talking about that silly blue thumbs up icon.

After a while, I get caught up in it, too. I confess that when I’ve experimented with a recipe and post a picture of the finished product on my FaceBook page, I do like all the blue thumbs up and hearts and wow emoticons I get. And, I very much like the comments that gush, “That looks FABULOUS!” Or, “Gee, I wish I could cook like that!”

At some point in the midst of one of those times when I have felt very self-satisfied and was very close to the point of gloating, I realized that I had fallen right into the FaceBook seduction of self-promotion. 

Which, I suppose, can be a fairly harmless exercise. The problem, however, is that we can start believing our own press releases.   It’s just a very short slide from the top of that slippery Hill of Hubris to believing that the fabulous persona we have created on FaceBook is real, instead of the fabulously flawed person we really are.

I suppose that’s what happens to people who begin as a public servant and become a politician. They start off truly wanting to serve their country and change things for the better and make a difference in people’s lives and run for public office. 

You may have noticed that in order to do that, you have to be able to get really good at aggressively tooting your own horn. You not only have to be good at self-promotion, you have to be president of your own fan club.

Suddenly, that nice person who used to talk about “we” is talking about “me”. The language is all about “team” but it’s very clear that this is a “one man/woman show”. It’s ‘I’ this and ‘I’ that. 

As Tex Winters, assistant head coach for the Chicago Bulls, once said to Michael Jordon, “There’s no ‘I’ in team.” 

“Yes,” said Michael, “but there is in ‘win’.”

Now, obviously, a super talented athlete like Michael Jordan can say that and probably win a basketball game hands down purely on the strength of his performance. But, for the rest of us, our path to victory is highly dependent upon “a little help from our friends”.

Humility seems in very short supply these days, but that’s exactly what today’s Gospel message is extolling. Apparently, arrogance is an age-old problem in the human condition and Jesus is addressing it directly. He says, “ . . . all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted."

But then, being Jesus, he pushes it even further. He says,  

"When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous."

Well, that changes everything, doesn’t it? If you’re going to have a party, invite those who can not repay you for your kindness, for your reward will be waiting for you in heaven.

Imagine that?! Doing something that costs you something and not expecting anything in return? Not in this life, anyway, in this day and age of transactional ‘what-have-you-done-for-me-lately’, ‘show-me-the-money’ culture in which we live.

You know, just the other day I did read a story – it was on FaceBook, as a matter of fact. Actually, someone took a picture of a sign that was posted on the entrance to a pizza parlor and posted it on his or her FaceBook page. 

The sign read, “Will the person who has been going through our garbage cans at night please stop doing that? Instead, please come into the store and we will give you a couple of slices of pizza and a glass of water. No charge. No questions asked.”

Over in another corner of  FaceBook someone posted a picture of four quarters lined up in a neat row and taped to the top of every washing machine and dryer in a local Laundromat. A yellow sticky paper also attached read, “Cleanliness is next to godliness but wearing clean clothes is heavenly. Pay it forward.”

You can also read stories on FaceBook of people “paying it forward” in a variety of ways. Someone discovers that the person in front of them in the drive-through line paid for their order. Or, the person ahead of them at the tollbooth paid their toll.

Just the other day, someone very dear to me got sick at the grocery store and was sitting on a bench waiting for a family member to pick her up. Out of nowhere, a man in a wheelchair rolled by and asked her if she was okay. She told him that she had gotten sick and was waiting for a ride home. 

The man stayed with her, engaging her in light conversation, until her ride arrived. “You okay?” he asked while she was regaining her composure. 

“Actually, I’m feeling better than I did a few minutes ago.” 

He chuckled and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a white person look quite as white as you did. You look much better now.”

Now, in that last case, I don’t know how much it actually cost that man to sit with her until he knew she was going to be okay. I only know that he provided for her the best medicine there is: companionship. That’s an especially precious commodity when one is not feeling well. 

As I thought about my friend’s story, I wondered if the gift of companionship he gave to her was something he didn’t have himself. 

Which made the gift even more precious.

Jesus uses the word "humble" in this morning's Gospel lesson. 

The word humble is derived from the Latin humus meaning earth, ground, or soil. It is reminiscent of the name given to the first biblical figure Adam whose name is derived from the Hebrew word for ground or dust. 

As Adam learned, humility teaches us that life is fragile and we are mortal.

“Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” We heard that piece of wisdom in this morning’s lesson from Hebrews.

A sense of humility reminds us that some angels can have dirty feet, covered with the dust of the earth. That can only happen if we don’t believe our own press releases. 

Instead, we need to look for the good in ourselves and others – on FaceBook, in the grocery store and even in some politicians.    

Amen.

Lenny at 15

The Vet said, gently, lovingly, "Well, he's hit the Old Dog Trifecta: He's blind, deaf and he's got arthritis, but he's got some good years left in him. Just love him, that's all."

That was two years ago.

He turned 15 years old today.

His full name is Lenny Bruce Brisco Kaeton Conroy, named for our eldest daughter's two favorite celebrities: The ribald commedian, satirist and social critic, Leonard Alfred Schneider, better known as Lenny Bruce, and the wearily sarcastic Detective Leonard W. "Lennie" Briscoe, played by Jerry Orbach on the long-running television show, "Law and Order".

Our daughter, Jaime, had gotten him as a birthday present, November 7, 2004. Lenny was by her side when she died on December 2nd of that same year.

While each one of our pups holds a special place in our hearts, Lenny is inextricably linked to memories of Jaime. Which gives him special status in the family. The other pups seem to know it and understand.

Actually, so does Lenny.

Lenny, circa 2006

This summer, Lenny has had two serious episodes of what we think is the beginning of Congestive Heart Failure. He coughs and wheezes and then becomes very unsteady on his feet.

This last time, about a month ago, he wouldn't eat or drink and slept most of the day and night. We really thought, when we woke up in the morning that he'd be gone.

Not Lenny. Not this time. He was still a bit weak but he made his way over to the kitchen where he slowly but surely ate all of his breakfast and then took a big drink of water.

Twenty minutes later, he was scampering in his own, peculiar, comical way, out of the kitchen and into the living room - a sure sign that he had pooped on the floor in the laundry room, which he considers his own, personal toilet.

Well, sometimes, he goes into the main bathroom and leaves a deposit by the toilet because, you know, like his namesakes, he does have a sense of humor.

We've always said, in hushed terms, that Lenny "takes the short bus to school". Jaime's husband used to call him a "dope", but he knows better than to say that in front of us.

Lenny may have diminished intellectual capaciites, but he's not stupid. Let's just say that what Lenny lacks in intelligence he makes up for in the sweetest disposition of any dog I've ever met.

When Ms. CoCo Chanel, the Upper East Side Havanese, was alive, Lenny and she provided us endless hours of entertainment - what we called "Dog TV".

The rectory in Chatham had a full basement, which was where we watched television in the evening. At some point, Ms. CoCo would feel called to patrol the house - going upstairs to the back door in the kitchen,  upstairs to the bedrooms, then back down to check the front door in the living room before one more check at the back door and down to the family room where her 'pack' was safe and sound.

There was no doubt that she was the Alpha Dog - of the whole family.

Ms. CoCo Chanel 2006

Every now and again, CoCo would make her rounds and come back to the family room to find Lenny sitting on Ms. Conroy's lap. Welllll . . . . that would not do.

She would commence to barking a very alarming bark. You could almost hear her saying, "Lenny! Listen! Burglers! I think there are burglers at the back door. Careful, they may be rapists, too. Better come with me and check this out."

And, Blessed Lenny would jump up and off Ms. Conroy's lap, barking all the way up the stairs and at the back door. Seconds later, Ms. CoCo would strut down the stairs, jump up in Ms. Conroy's lap, and settle in for the evening.

Meanwhile, Lenny is upstairs, barking at the kitchen door.

What else could we do but giggle, and then one of us (me) would head upstairs to assure Lenny that all was well and he could returrn.

Dog-TV. That's what we called it. It was their own brand of entertainment, even if that was not its intention.

Well, Ms. CoCo developed a brain tumor and has crossed the Rainbow Bridge. Now we have another Havanese, Ms. Sadie Gene Waggy-Tail and a Poodle, Jack Russell mix, Mr. Theo Wonder Dog, who is now the Alpha Dog of the pack.

It's pretty amazing how bonded these three pups are, how obvious is their genuine love for each other, and how they tend and care of one another, especially the Old Man, Mr. Lenny.

We've been trying to prepare ourselves for his eventual journey over the Rainbow Bridge but it has become an exercise in futility. My personal prayer was that he would make it to celebrate his 15th birthday, and my prayer has been properly answered.

Not that it really matters to Lenny. He seems as oblivious to the significance of the day as he does to everything else in his life at this point.

Oh, he sometimes skips a meal, he often sleeps late, and, even though he wears a "pee-pee pad" and owns a collection of decorative bands to hold it in place, he has recently taken to standing on Sadie's "Just-In-Case" wee-wee pad in the kitchen where he unceremoniously pees in his pants.

He's also developed a new habit of barking when he wants something.

BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK!

It may mean that he wants to be picked up. It may mean that although he thought he really didn't want breakfast, he'd like it now, please. Yes, at 2:30 PM. Yes, even though he knows he'll eat again at 5:30 (and, he will).

So, we pick him up and bring him into the kitchen and put a dish of food in front of Prince Leonard. He'll look at it and then, he'll bark for, oh, sometimes a full minute before he finally huffs and then sneezes and then begins to chow down.

We have absolutely no idea why he does that, but he does.

We just call it Dog TV for Senior Pups.

Lenny at 15

One last thing: Ms. Conroy and I have recently finished our Will and our funeral arrangements are complete.

We have an agreement with the funeral director that, when the priest is looking the other way, he will slip in the cremains of our beloved dogs, including Bogart, our beloved Boxer, who died in 2006 and whose cremains grace our living room in a lovely walnut box.

The funeral director knows that the first priority is for Boggie and Lenny to be interred with us. If there isn't enough room in the niche, the others can have their ashes spread around near our grave sites.

Yes, that's how important these blessed creatures of God are in our lives.

So, it's happy birthday, Mr. Lenny Bruce Brisco, Prince Lenoard of Quite-A-Lot of the Canine Realm of all that is Sweet and Mild-Mannered, if Not Just a Bit Slower Than The Rest.

We are grateful for the 15 years of love and life you have given us and we will be gratefull to take whatever more you can provide.

You still look like you've got a few good years left in you, but you know, like the rest of life, you never really know.

We just love you. That's all. Always have. Always will.

And, come to think of it, isn't that all any one of us really needs?

Sankofa

"It is not wrong to go back for that which you have forgotten"

Pentecost XI - Proper 16C - August 25, 2019

Christ Episcopal Church, Milford, DE

It’s hard to imagine what it must have been like to have lived in another country, in another culture entirely different from our own, and in another time in history. So, it is a difficult task to get our minds wrapped around what is really happening in today’s Gospel from St. Luke (13:10-17).

It’s the Sabbath, and Jesus is teaching in one of the synagogues when a woman who has been crippled for 18 years catches his eye. And Jesus, being Jesus, calls over to her, lays his hands on her and, immediately, she stands up straight and begins praising God.

These are things we have come to expect from Jesus. We have come to expect miracles. We have also come to know that he has a great affinity for getting into difficult situations whenever he’s around religious leaders. 

That comes as no surprise. 

And, as it strains both our intellect and reason to imagine being witnesses to that miraculous healing, we’ve also come to know that this is just part of who Jesus is and what Jesus does. We’re almost numb to the wonder of it all.

What is always confounding, well, to me, anyway, is the indignation and outrage and anger that Jesus did this miraculous healing on the Sabbath. I mean, seriously? Jesus does this amazing thing, this wondrous healing miracle – without even having been asked – and the only response is indignation because there are six other days when that could have been done and he chose to do it on the Sabbath? 

Seriously? Don’t these temple guys have their priorities just a little out of order?

Viewed from our comfortable, post-modern, very American lens, it can seem more than a bit ridiculous. In that culture at that time, women were considered ‘lesser children of God’ whose standing in society was entirely depending upon having a husband. 

Children had even less standing and anyone who had any illness or imperfection was considered even lower than cattle, which could at least be bartered or sold.

Indeed, slavery was normative in that culture, a factor which was not lost on future generations who looked to Holy Writ to normalize their own proclivities about the status of women and children and people with disabilities and, of course, slavery.

So, what’s up with the Sabbath? Why did the religious authorities of that day get so bent out of shape? Did this upstart Rabbi from, of all places, Nazareth in Galilee, not know that keeping the Sabbath is one of the ten direct commandments from God?

The answer, of course, is of course Jesus knows the Ten Commandments. He knows them like the back of his hand. I mean, it says so in the Bible, right? 

The Fourth Commandment is: “Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.” Not only does it go on in very specific terms about how to keep the Sabbath, but we’re also told, “the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and hallowed it.”

So, of course the leader of the synagogue got upset. This is not just a social or religious custom, it is a rule that was created and blessed by God. And yet, Jesus, acting under the authority of no one except himself and for no other reason than the fact that he was deeply moved with compassion at the suffering of another, laid his hands on the woman and healed her and set her free.

Love, for Jesus, trumps rules. Compassion, for Jesus, knows no bounds of social or religious custom, or gender or age or geographical boundary.

The love of God in Jesus is unconditional. 

It is against the backdrop of this Gospel story that we come to this day in the life of the church in our day and time and with all of our own cultural nuances and influences, to commemorate the 400^th anniversary of the arrival of the first enslaved Africans to North America.

Their story is difficult to hear. It was late August in the year 1619 when a Dutch man-of-war ship called The White Lion arrived and docked in Port Comfort, the present site of Fort Monroe National Monument in Hampton, Virginia. 

Its cargo, as recorded by historian John Rolfe, was “of the burden of a 160 tunnes  . . .the Commandors name Capt. Jope. He brought not any thing but 20 And odd Negroes, w[hich] the Governo[r] and Cape Merchant bought for victuals.”

The “20 And odd Negroes” had been captured from “the Kingdom of Ndongo” in Angola. They were packed with more than 350 enslaved Africans aboard the Sao Joao Baustista, a Portuguese slave ship that set sail from the coast of Africa, bound for what then was called Vera Cruz, on the coast of Mexico.

The ship was overcrowded and suffered horrible mortality on the voyage – of the 350 Africans originally on board, only about 40 of them survived. In the middle of the voyage on the high seas, the ship was attacked by two English pirate ships — the Treasurer and the White Lion — hoping to steal gold. 

Instead, they found human cargo. 

The English boarded the ship and split the human cargo between the White Lion and the Treasurer. Weeks later, the White Lion arrived at Point Comfort in Virginia, where its captain traded the enslaved people for food.

Among those traded: a man and woman who were later named Antoney Negro and Isabella Negro and whose baby, named William Tucker, would become the first documented African baby baptized in English North America. They were listed in the 1624 census in Virginia.

What followed was more than two centuries of brutal enslavement. By the time the Civil War began in 1860, census figures showed the slave population in the United States at nearly 4 million.

Even though this is part of our history, it’s hard for us to get our minds wrapped around the horrors of slavery. It is inconceivable to me to think that any human being could be owned by another human being – bought and sold like cattle or horses, separating children from their mothers and siblings from each other and their parents – and all for the financial betterment of the owners. 

What is even more inconceivable is that all of this was justified by good Christian men and women who faithfully read the bible. They pointed to admonishments from St. Paul’s letters to the ancient church in Ephesus (6:5) as evidence of God’s blessing on slavery “Slaves, obey your earthly masters with respect and fear, and with sincerity of heart, just as you would obey Christ,” as well as in Colossians (3:22) “Slaves, obey your earthly masters in everything; and do it, not only when their eye is on you and to curry their favor, but with sincerity of heart and reverence for the Lord.”

Slave Castle at Cape Coast, Ghana

In 2006, I was privileged to spend three weeks in Ghana, West Africa, as part of the faculty and student requirement at the theological school at Drew University where I served as adjunct faculty and earned my doctorate. 

I will never forget visiting the Slave Castle in Cape Coast, Ghana, not far from the thriving capital city of Accra. 

Today, the city of Accra boasts an airport, several five-star hotels, an excellent hospital and a sprawling university which attracts scholars from around the world. 

I should note that the Slave Castle is right across the street from the Anglican Cathedral where I was later privileged to concelebrate Eucharist with Bishop Daniel of Cape Coast. 

I remember standing in one of the slave dungeons which was in a cold, dark and dank stone enclosure, which served as part of the foundation of the building. Just above the room where the slaves were kept, shivering and languishing in their own filth, was the chapel. 

Yes, the chapel. Apparently, the good Portuguese and later the Swedish, Danes and then Dutch and British Christians who were officers and traders and their families who lived there saw absolutely no incongruity – no hypocrisy – between what they said they believed and the people chained to the wall just below their feet who would soon be sold to their profit. 

Apparently, they all went about their normal day-to-day life completely detached from the unfathomable human suffering they were consciously inflicting.

It’s as difficult for me not to judge those slave traders as it is for me not to judge the leaders of the temple in ancient Israel who condemned Jesus for showing mercy and compassion in healing that woman who was bent over with a crippling disease. 

That judgment is ultimately between them and God, the same God they worshipped and to whom they prayed; the same God who said to Jeremiah (1:4-10), “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you.” 

Apparently, they believed those words only applied to them. Apparently they believed those words did not apply to those whose skin color was not the same as theirs.

Symbols for Sankofa

While in Ghana, I learned about a Ghanaian concept known as Sankofa, which comes from the language of Akan tribe – one of 9 major tribes in Ghana.  

Sankofa translates to mean: “It is not wrong to go back for that which you have forgotten.”

I think, sometimes, we get so caught up in the details on the surface of stories – especially Gospel stories – that we forget there is a deeper meaning. 

Yes, the human heart has a capacity for evil, but it also has a capacity for mercy and compassion. 

Jesus echoes the prophet Hosea (6:6) when we hear him say in Matthew’s Gospel (9:13) “But go and learn what this means: 'I desire mercy, not sacrifice.' For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”

In the sprit of Sankofa, it is good for us to go back and remember that Jesus calls us first to love. 

Love is the only law of the Realm of God, and compassion is its highest value. Love, for Jesus, trumps rules. Compassion, for Jesus, knows no bounds of social or religious custom, or gender or age or race or geographical boundary.

The love of God in Jesus is unconditional. This is why Jesus did not hesitate to break the laws about the Sabbath with an act of deep love and compassion to heal the woman bound for 18 long years in the slavery of her infirmity. 

It is when we forget the unconditional love of God as revealed in Christ Jesus that we diminish our capacity for love and increase our capacity to do evil. 

God desires mercy, not sacrifice. Jesus came not for the righteous but for sinners like you and me who need to go back, from time to time, for that which we have forgotten, so that the future we build together will be stronger for the lessons of wisdom we will learn.

At 3 PM today, churches and people of other faiths across America will ring for a full minute as we remember the 400^th anniversary of those “20 and odd Negroes,” among them Isabella and Antoney and their son, William Tucker. 

Michael Curry, our Presiding Bishop, has invited all Episcopal Churches to accept the invitation of the National Park Service and commemorate this event as a part of our ongoing efforts of racial healing and reconciliation, which General Convention has designated among three programatic and budgetary priorities, along with evangelism and creation care.

A special ceremony will be held in the State Park at Ft. Monroe, Virginia, the landing point of the first enslaved Africans in the English Colonies in 1619 as well as the site of the first emancipation policy decision during the Civil War. 

Thus, Ft. Monroe marks both the beginning and the end of slavery in the United States.

We will be ringing our church bells at the end of this service and joining in prayers specially written for this commemoration. I will invite you then and again at 3 PM to pause and lament the centuries of suffering and wrenching grief of slavery and racism in our land and ring a few bells in your own homes, if you've got them. 

The seeds of the sins of slavery and racism were planted 400 years ago and have spread through the active participation and complicit passivity of nearly every American institution. 

As we grieve, may we dedicate ourselves to addressing systemic racism and the multigenerational impact of enslavement and discrimination faced by all of the African diaspora.

“It is not wrong to go back for that which we have forgotten.” 

I want us to go back to the song we sang before I read the Gospel. 

While there is some controversy about the origins of this song, it is believed that the song “This little light of mine” originated in the slave plantations between the late1600 and to late1800. 

The light referred to can have multiple meanings: the light of the love of God, the light of Christ, the light of the Gospel, the light of the divine spark within us, the true light that is already shining in the darkness.

 

Under the influence of Zilphia Horton, Fannie Lou Hamer and others, it became a Civil Rights Anthem of the 1950s and 60s. It was a code of sorts, which conveyed a strong message about the importance of unity in the face of adversity. 

The song tells of the light in each individual and how, whether standing up alone or joining together, each little bit of light can break the darkness. 

I want us to sing that song again, and this time, sing it as our commitment to let the light of the Gospel – the light of Christ – the light of the love of God – shine. 

Sing it in celebration of the light in the woman bent over which attracted the healing power of Jesus in that Temple. 

Sing it in memory of Isabella and Antoney Negro and their son William Tucker and the 12.5 million Africans who were sold into slavery – 500,000 of them to these United States. 

Sing it as your commitment to the Law of Love and let the light in you break the darkness of individual and systemic racism. 

This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.

Everywhere I go, I’m gonna let it shine.

Amen.

“You may choose to look the other way
but you can never say again that you did not know.”
—William Wilberforce, speech to British Parliament, 1791

Who is that masked person?

A Sermon for Pentecost X - RCL Track I - Proper 15 C

August 18, 2019

Christ Episcopal Church, Milford, DE

“It’s been a busy week in Lake Wobegon,” Garrison Keillor likes to say.  

I don’t know about you but my week does not slow down just because it’s supposed to be “the lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer,” as Nat King Cole used to sing.

I don’t know about you but there have been meals to cook and laundry to do.  I’ve done marketing, fed the dogs and watered the plants. Additionally, I’ve made pastoral calls, studied sacred texts and, well, written this sermon. 

I’m sure you’ve got your “to do” list which creates a constant hum of busyness. And that hum of busyness that can create the illusion that we’ve got all things all under control. 

We come into church, some of us, feeling tired or exhausted, or, perhaps fairly satisfied, wanting to be inspired and nourished. Instead, here comes Jesus this morning, calling us ‘hypocrites’ and threatening to bring down hellfire and brimstone upon our blindness and foolishness. 

And you thought last week’s sermon was passionate! Jesus has me beat by a country mile - or, two. Then again, he always does.

So, let’s spend a few minutes understanding why Jesus is saying what he’s saying to his original audience and what we might take away to better understand ourselves and the world in which we presently live. 

I want to do that by looking at the word, “hypocrite,” which is the word Jesus used, the name he hurled at his followers. 

Let’s look first at the baptismal stress Jesus says he’s living with, “until it is completed”.

Jesus and his disciples are on their way to Jerusalem for the Feast of the Passover. If you can remember the events of Holy Week, you understand what happens there. After being greeted with “Hosanna’s” and having palm branches spread at his feet, Jesus is brought to trial by both religious and secular forces and is betrayed, scourged, mocked and beaten and then crucified and left to die on the hard wood of the cross.

Jesus knows all this is about to happen. The stress of that knowledge must be unbearable. No wonder he’s upset and lashing out. 

He says, “I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!”  

But, make no mistake: that fire is a fire not of destruction but of purification. 

Jesus desperately wants to change and transform people’s lives from one of blind obedience to rules and laws and the humdrum routine of life into lives that are in a passionate relationship with God, with themselves, with others and the world.

I suspect he’s feeling a bit of a failure to the purpose of his baptism, and that feeling is especially strong, as he knows his days are numbered. He’s running out of the time he has left on earth and his frustration gives rise to anger. 

That is a human pattern of behavior we all know all too well. When things are not going the way we think they should, we often lash out at others - sometimes the ones we love the most - and, often for the same flaws and faults we see in ourselves.

As my grandmother used to say, “Remember, when you point a finger, there are three more pointing right back at you.”

As Jesus understands his earthly life coming to a close, he wants people to snap to attention and feel the same urgency he’s feeling. 

He says, “You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time?”

Let’s look for one minute at that word, “hypocrite.” What does the Bible say about hypocrisy? 

In essence, “hypocrisy” refers to the act of claiming to believe something but acting in a different manner. The word is derived from the Greek term for “actor”—literally, “one who wears a mask”—in other words, someone who pretends to be what s/he is not.

There are many levels of hypocrisy, some so subtle that we often don’t realize that it’s happening. So, we slip into roles – we put on a mask – and pretend to be what others want or expect us to be rather than living into the fullness of who we are.

Let me give you an example (you knew a story was coming). 

A long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, I was once a young, impressionable 30-something seminarian (I know. I know. And, that was about 30 or so pounds ago, too.) 

I was doing a summer of CPE – Clinical Pastoral Education – at Boston City Hospital. I worked mostly on the oncology unit and the newly developed AIDS unit, where people were held in isolation. I also worked on call and on weekends so I had to be available to all the units, as well as the ER.

Let me admit, straight up, that I was scared. I would never have admitted that at the time, but there was no denying it. I was scared. 

My bishop had insisted that I wear a “seminarian collar” – just like the collar I’m wearing now, except with a black stripe down the middle. I put that collar on and felt like an imposter. Like I was pretending to be something I was not, possessing skills I did not have. 

In short, I felt like a hypocrite. And, yes, I was acutely aware of experiencing the stress of not living to the purpose of my baptism. I was even beginning to question whether or not I was really called to this business of ordained ministry.

One weekend I was on call and had to cover the cardiac ICU. Now, as I said, this was in Boston. And, Boston was – and still is, really – a very Roman Catholic town. 

The rule at Boston City Hospital at that time was that every chaplain had to “swim in their own lane”. Roman Catholics could not visit with Protestants and Protestants could not visit Roman Catholics. That firm rule was made very clear to every CPE intern from day one of our rotation.

I was asked to visit a woman, I’ll call her Mary, who was recovering from a serious heart attack and had asked to see the Chaplain. At that time, the ICU at Boston City was a 16 bed open ward. I introduced myself and pulled the curtain mostly around us to create at least an illusion of privacy.

We had just begun our conversation when I heard a priest come bounding into the ICU. He called out to the person in the next bad, “Ho! Hi, Joan! And how are we this fine Sunday morning?” 

I could see them through the curtain. Joan looked ashen white. She said in a raspy voice, “Oh, Father, they’re taking me up for open heart surgery tomorrow. I’m so scared, Father.”

To which the good, corpulent cleric responded, “Oh, now don’t you fret. You’re in excellent hands here. The best hands in the world,” he practically yelled, turning and winking and nodding to the nurses at the desk. 

“Now, I’ll be giving you some communion, we’ll say the Our Father, and you just see how much better you feel,” he declared.

I could hear the click of his pix which carried the reserve sacrament as he said, in a loud majestic voice, “The Body of Christ.” 

I don’t think Joan had had a chance to get the host past her lips when he started to say The Lord’s Prayer, very loudly, looking ‘round at all the other patients as he nodded and winked at them.

Then, just as quickly, he blessed her forehead with holy oil, admonished her again not to fret, and left in a flourish of waves and goodbyes to all the patients and staff in the ICU.

An uneasy silence fell over the ICU. I looked back and Mary, my patient, just as I started to hear some sobs coming from the next bed. I peaked out around the curtain and saw Joan weeping softly.

Mary saw the look on my face and said softly, “G’won. Go to her. She needs you right now more than I do. Go to her and then come back to me.”

And, even though I knew the rules, even though I had no idea what I could possibly say to make the situation better and feeling every bit an imposter and afraid I would be found out, still, I pushed through all my concerns and fears and stepped over them on the floor as I moved to Joan’s bedside.

I softly introduced myself and then asked if I could sit by her for awhile. After a few minutes of silence, I gently took her hand in mine and, as our eyes met, she looked deeply into my soul. 

Finally, she took a deep breath, smiled a very wry smile and said, “Well, there is one small comfort.” I moved my head to one side, ready to hear her response. 

“Well, as scared as I am,” she said, “it would seem that poor Father is more afraid than I am.” (What a great insight, right?)

I returned her wry smile and said, “Well, let’s talk about that fear.” And, she did. And, she talked and we talked and  we cried together and eventually we laughed together and then prayed together.

Turns out, what she wanted in someone else was what she, herself needed most: Someone who would take off their mask and be as fully present to her while she was feeling so vulnerable and naked and afraid because her mask was off. 

I don’t know if the time I spent with her or that prayer we prayed together changed anything for her. The thing about ministry is that you often plant seeds but never see the growth, much less taste of the fruit of that plant. 

It can get frustrating, but you learn that that’s just the nature of ministry.

I only know this much is true: I was changed and transformed by her honesty and I was never again the same. I learned that when you are ministering with people in pain, the best medicine you can provide is to be with them in their pain. 

Don’t try to mask it or pretend it doesn’t exist. Don’t try to fix it, either. There is enormous spiritual and healing power in the real presence of communion, but the healing nature of the sacrament is to be real and fully present to each other in the midst of the real and full sacramental presence of Jesus.

I learned to take off the mask of being a ‘pastoral person’ and, instead, to be real and fully present to the people of God, one human being to another. 

Yes, it can be scary, but in my experience, it’s far more scary to put on a mask or an act and then wonder if and when you’re going to be found out.

Oh, yes, that has gotten me into some hot baptismal water over the years. Turns out, there are some folk who have real difficulties with real presence. I understand. Happens to the best of us. 

Which is why some of us would much rather keep moving, because, you know, it’s true: It’s much harder to hit a moving target than one that is stationary.

Besides, in our culture, a busy person is understood to be an important person, and the busier one is the more important one is perceived to be. It’s a clever trick that many of us play with great success, but some of us, having worn that Mask of Importance, can also spot it a mile away. 

 

I’ve been caught at it more times than I care to remember, mostly by those who know me well and love me still. Thing of it is, we all wear masks at different times, which can be really helpful in different circumstances. 

It’s when we start to believe the illusions we’ve created about ourselves that we get into trouble.

As my ordaining bishop once said to me, “You are not the saint some people think you are, but neither are you the demon some will try to make you out to be. Just don’t believe your own press releases; be who God created to be.”

Or, as Oscar Wilde once said, “Be yourself. Everyone is already taken.”

I suggest that this week, you try to be intentional about enjoying the “lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer.” Slow down and think about the masks you wear. Some masks are useful as protection, but most masks keep us from knowing the fullness of who we really are.

Slowly, we eventually come to believe the stories we have carefully crafted and told about ourselves, or the story of who we are that was told to us by our parents or teachers or siblings, instead of more deeply knowing and believing in the story of who we really are, who God created us to be.

When we take off our masks, others feel emboldened to take off their masks as well. And, we discover, as Rachel Held Evans said, that, “The church is God saying ‘I’m throwing a banquet and all these mismatched, messed up people are invited. Here, have some wine.”

In the busyness of the week ahead of you, whether you’re in Lake Wobegon or Milford, DE, take time to be with yourself. Take some time to be more of your real self and bring all of who you are to the Real Presence of Jesus.

It’s a pretty humbling exercise to face the truth, especially about yourself, but you know, you just may be surprised by the person you find, way down deep there, in the middle of the middle of you.

You may have more goodness than you give yourself credit for having. You may be smarter than you think you are, more capable of doing more than you think you can.

You may just discover the truth that the person your are is able to live more authentically the beliefs that you hold dear. And, if you did that, you would never be in jeopardy of Jesus ever calling you ‘hypocrite’.

Because here's the truth of it: This world desperately needs more of that you, the you with the mask off, the you that is not afraid to be changed and transformed, so that you may passionately serve the people of God as a vehicle of change and transformation.

In the words of William Sloan Coffin,

May God give you Grace never to sell yourself short! 
Grace to risk something big for something good!   
Grace to remember that the world

is too dangerous for anything but truth

and too small for anything but Love!    

Amen.