Tag Archives: St. Matthew & St. Timothy Church

May 04 2014
Leave a comment
letter press

Christ is Risen—-SO WHAT?

Preached on the Third Sunday of Easter at St. Matthew & St. Timothy Church, New York City

For three Sundays now, we have been hearing stories of resurrection. Easter stories. Stories of Jesus’ friends responding to the mind-blowing reality of a resurrected Christ.

First we hear from the two Mary’s at the tomb. Together they go to the place where Jesus was buried, only to find the stone rolled away, the tomb empty, and an angel of the Lord indicating that Jesus has up and moved on to Galilee. Always going places, that Jesus. Can’t keep him down. The women are terrified! Not only is their friend missing from the place where they laid him, but their world is surely turned upside down and inside out, if what the angel says is true and Jesus has beat death after having been dead.

Then we hear from our doubting friend Thomas. I don’t know about you, but Thomas’ story always makes me feel a little better about myself. Like me on some days, Thomas has his doubts. And yet he is still counted among the faithful disciples of Jesus, and he even gets a whole story dedicated to his stubbornness as Jesus appears specifically to him saying, put your fingers in my wounds and your hand in my gaping side. And as Mother Carla reminded us last week, it is because Thomas doubts that he is later able to exclaim with confidence, “My Lord and my God!”

That brings us to this week. This week we’re on the road to Emmaus with Cleopas and his friend—both followers of Jesus. They seem to spend the whole day with an unrecognizable Jesus, who unpacks the scriptures for them and calls them “fools” just like in the good old days. It is not until Jesus breaks bread with them that they recognize him—and then he disappears. We sing about this at Eucharist sometimes: “The disciples knew the Lord Jesus/in the breaking of the bread.” And then they turn to each other and say, “Were not our hearts burning within us?” Aw, man! How could we be so dense!

Each of these vignettes speaks to our persistent and exuberant proclamation throughout the fifty days of Easter:

Alleluia! Christ has Risen!

The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia!

Only, the responses of Mary, Thomas and Cleopas don’t really resonate with our weekly exclamations. If you were to say to any of these followers, “Alleluia! Christ is risen!” They would likely respond: “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you sure? Oh. My. God.”

And if we really take seriously Mother Carla’s weekly exclamations, “Alleluia! Christ is risen!” Perhaps before we can say, “The Lord is risen indeed,” we, like the disciples, need to ask: Wait… what?

What do our lives look like after Easter? And I don’t just mean, well now we have eternal life thanks to Jesus’ victory over death, though that truth clearly has massive implications of its own. No, I mean what is the impact of a risen Christ today. And tomorrow. And the day after tomorrow. What does Easter look like in my everyday life right now.

Christ is risen. So what?

Christ is risen. What now?

Like Mary and Mary at the empty tomb, we need to take a moment to realize, with trembling even, that our world has been turned upside down. Death doesn’t mean what it used to. The God we worship is more powerful than any “end” or “finality” death once represented. And nothing can separate us from the love of God, not even death. Jesus has changed the world and there’s no going back.

And like Thomas poking Jesus’ wounds, we need to spend some time contemplating just how crazy this idea is. Rather than just accept the resurrection as if it’s simply an event we remember every Easter, we need to grapple with the unbelievable implications of Jesus returning from the dead with wounded hands, feet and side. And then believe it. We have to name our doubts before we can proclaim the mystery of our faith.

And finally, like Cleopas on the way to Emmaus, we need to be continually schooled by Jesus while our hearts burn within us.

Only then can we begin to live into the everyday reality of life after Easter. Only then can we live our lives as people who begin to comprehend the significance of a resurrected Jesus.

Peter tells us that it’s through Jesus we come to trust in God. It’s through our fear, doubt, wonder and celebration of Christ’s resurrection from the dead that we find faith and set our hope on God.

And it’s in response to that truth that we have what Peter calls “genuine mutual love,” so that we can “love one another deeply from the heart.”

This is what the every day Easter life looks like. This is what it looks like to be “born anew,” having received the Holy Spirit after Christ’s death and resurrection. First comes the trust in God; then comes the genuine love. First comes the grappling with fear, doubt and wonder so that we can believe the unbelievable with courage and conviction; then comes a love that is equally courageous and life changing.

And you know what I’ve discovered here at St. Matthew and St. Timothy? That just as courageous faith makes for genuine love, so does genuine love make for courageous faith. I know this because the love you have shown me over the past two years here has given me a new boldness and courage in proclaiming my faith in Jesus—in English and Spanish. This post-resurrection-Easter-courageous-genuine-love is life changing stuff—and I know that because your love has changed my life.

The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia.

Tagged , , , , , , ,
Feb 09 2014
Leave a comment
letter press

Beware of Bushels

Preached on Epiphany 5 at St. Matthew & St. Timothy Church, New York

Isaiah 58:1-9; Psalm 112:1-9; 1 Corinthians 2:1-12; Matthew 5:13-20

After much encouragement from Mother Carla, this was my first “off the cuff” sermon in English and again in Spanish at SMST.  As such, I only have notes on points I wanted to cover, but no text.  Still, here’s the gist of what was preached that day–and I have to say that preaching without a text in Spanish was a hugely liberating and spirit-filled experience for me! 

I love this text and I’ve preached it before, focusing on salt and light.

It was my senior sermon, and some of you were there.

But today I’m going to focus on bushels.

Jesus says you ARE the light of the world. You ARE the salt of the earth. As in now.

Saltiness and light are not something to achieve, but what we are.

Unless we’re hiding our light.

Under a bushel.

What is a bushel anyway? It’s not a bushel of apples snuffing our light out.

A bushel is more like a basket—something that covers our light without extinguishing it.

So the light is still there—you are the light of the world.

The question is: Are you letting your light shine?

 

Take a look at the reading from Isaiah:

“Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin? Then your light shall break forth like the dawn…”

What does fasting have to do with shining?

Soon we’ll be in Lent—a season of fasting for many.

For the Israelites and maybe us too, fasting is about righteousness.

It’s about doing what is right before God.

But sometimes righteousness becomes self-righteousness.

Sometimes our spiritual life or our following the law gets focused on this inner life—cultivating our light to shine in our own life.

Jesus calls us the light of the world.

Keeping the law and working on our spiritual life isn’t about us, it’s about our neighbor.

It’s not just an inward journey, but an outward breaking forth of light.

The prophet Isaiah describes righteousness as what we do for others.

 

So this question of letting your light shine boils down to two things:

1. What is it you can do for others? (ie: name your light)

2. What keeps you from doing it? (ie: name your bushel)

 

Let’s start with the first question: what does it look like for your light to shine?

What can you do for others?

>Check in on people—call them or send them cards to let them know you care.

>Bake something or bring someone a meal.

>Invite people to church or events.

>Tutor or coach students or adults—what are you skills and how can you share them?

>Shovel out your neighbor’s car.

>Pray for someone—let them know you’re praying.

>Forgive someone if you’re holding a grudge.

>Stand up for someone being bullied.

>Be an advocate for the oppressed.

 

And the question that follows: what are the bushels that hide your light?

What keeps you from doing the things we named help our neighbor?

>Fear of rejection.

>Fear of failure.

>Fear of change or discomfort.

>Lack of concern, lack of awareness.

>Greed or pride.

>Lack of communication.

>Poor prioritizing.

>Comparing ourselves to others.

>Romanticizing the past and clinging to it.

>Unrealistic expectations—over or underestimating ourselves.

 

“No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”

We come to church and to this table to light our lamps.

We come here week after week to keep our lamps lit.

What happens when we leave here?

Do we hide that lamp under a basket? Or put it on the lampstand?

The light of the world is not for itself.

The light of the world is to be shared.

You are the light of the world.

Discover what that light is—what it is you can do for others to shine.

 

It doesn’t have to be something huge.

You can start with something small and battle your bushels a bit at a time.

But let your light shine.

 

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

Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.

Hide it under a bushel, NO! I’m gonna let it shine.

Let it shine, let it sine, let it shine.

Tagged , , , , , , ,
Nov 17 2013
Leave a comment
letter press

Time to testify

Preached on Proper 28 at St. Matthew & St. Timothy Church, New York

2 Thessalonians 3:6-13; Luke 21:5-19

If you are at all familiar with the history of this church, St. Matthew & St. Timothy’s, you know the church building has been destroyed 4 times since its inception in 1797.  This very building that we are sitting in now was rebuilt in 1969 after being burnt to the ground in 1965.

If you have been around this church for the past 15 or 20 years, you know the neighborhood and the congregation have seen their fair share of change.  I’ve been here less than 2 years.  But I spent 5 weeks listening to the stories of people in this parish as we discussed Radical Welcome* in our October book study.

What I have learned from all of you is that this church was a safe harbor when the streets were too dangerous to walk down.  In a time when one could not walk from Columbus Avenue to Amsterdam unless first heading a few blocks North or South to circumvent drugs and violence, St. Matthew & St. Timothy was a haven of worship, learning, language and relationships.

The neighborhood is a safer place now than it once was.  But with increased safety comes increased rent, leaving many priced out of their homes—either forced to leave, or to stay but feel like outsiders.  And the changes have taken a toll on our Spiritual Home too.  We look around and feel anemic—nostalgic for the days when services were noisy with children and pews were full of friends.

We are not too different from the writer of Luke’s Gospel and the people who would have first heard it.  While the exact date of Luke’s Gospel is not known, many scholars believe that it was written after the destruction of the temple described in our reading today.  So while Jesus was predicting the destruction of the temple, Luke’s account is written in retrospect of it.

And if the destruction of the temple weren’t enough, the verses immediately following today’s reading talk about a serious neighborhood change—the rule of the gentiles in what was a Jewish land.

In short: this message is for us.  This Gospel is ours.

Jesus says the temple building will be thrown down, when not one stone will be left upon another.  This church has seen the same.

He says we’ll encounter false teachers to lead us astray.  Our world has known many.

He says nations and kingdoms will be at war with one another.  The Veterans we honored this week can speak to that truth.

He warns of natural disasters and epidemics.  We of course remember last year’s Hurricane Sandy even as we pray for the victims of this week’s Typhoon in the Philippines.

He warns of betrayal and hatred and death.  An every-day threat.

And in light of allllll that, Jesus says we will not perish.  We will endure.  And he tells us this is our opportunity to testify.

To give testimony.  To bear witness.  That’s not easy to do when your temple is in shambles and your community is a faithful remnant among strangers.

And I’m not trying to say that our church has fallen apart and our neighbors are our enemies.  This is not a perfect comparison—and thank God it isn’t.  But it is a chance for us to recognize the challenges of Jesus’ time and of our own time, and to hear Jesus’ call in the midst of it all to be the resurrection people who proclaim a resurrection story.

It’s easier to testify when things are going well—when we are feeling strong and sure of ourselves.  I tell people all the time that I intern at the best parish with the best mentor.  I tell people how wonderful the parishoners are and how welcome you all make me feel.  I tell them I actually get to do good work here—like working with the soup kitchen last year, preaching in two languages, leading a thought provoking book study.  For me, having only been here 18 months rather than 18 years, it’s easy to appreciate the thriving ministry that is St. Matthew & St. Timothy’s.

But we have to testify when we’re feeling down too, and I can understand how those who have experienced the transition in our community and church might find endurance and testimony to be hard work.

Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians is about hard work.  You would almost think he’s writing to employees at a business, but he’s really talking to Christians in the early church.

My favorite line is, “We hear that some of you are living in idleness, mere busybodies, not doing any work” (3:11).  Note that Paul does not equate busy-ness with work.  The Thessalonians were apparently quite busy even in their idleness.

New York is a very busy place—take it from someone clearly not from here.  My level of busy-ness has reached an all time high, and my guess is you feel pretty busy on most days too.  Sometimes I’m so busy I can’t seem to get any work done.

Here are some examples:

When I’m so busy worrying about an exam that I can’t focus on studying for it.

When I’m so busy writing a sermon that I forget to listen to the Holy Spirit.

When a seminary is so busy making ends meet that it forgets that it is an extension of the church first and a business second.

When we’re so busy preparing food for the soup kitchen that we forget to prepare our hearts to truly serve our neighbor with dignity and love.

When we’re so busy missing so-and-so who used to be here all the time that we either forget to check in on that person or forget to check in on the person who is actually here present with us.

Sometimes we’re so busy lamenting the destruction of the temple that we forget to testify to the promise of resurrection.

People occasionally ask me why I’m training to become a priest when churches everywhere are experiencing decline.  Where’s the job security in that?

The truth is I’m training to become a priest in a church that preaches resurrection—Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.  We practice resurrection every time we come to this table to receive the broken body of Christ, and we practice resurrection when we become what we receive—Christ alive in us, in our church, in the world.

And it’s true that we feel thrown down or betrayed at times.  But this is where we come for the spiritual food we need to endure.  Not enduring as busy-bodies, but as witnesses to a risen Christ.

In a few moments we’ll prepare this table for our Holy Communion—all of us, together.  And whether you’re robed at the altar or standing in a pew, you are integral in sharing Christ’s body.  Together we profess a bold faith and pray bold prayers.  Your testimony is just as important as mine, Deacon George’s or Mother Carla’s.  This is our work. But it’s not the end of our work.  We testify to a risen Christ in these walls with one another, and then we continue to bear witness when we “go forth into the world rejoicing.”

Jesus tells us: “This will give you an opportunity to testify.”  Lord, help us to see the opportunities here among us.  Help us to be your resurrected church.  Amen.

*Radical Welcome by Stephanie Spellers is an excellent read.

Tagged , , , , ,
Feb 24 2013
Leave a comment
letter press

I got to keep on movin’

Preached on the Second Sunday of Lent at St. Matthew & St. Timothy, New York

Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18; Philippians 3:17-4:1; Luke 13:31-35

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it!  How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!”

Oh, how Jesus laments for God’s chosen people.  He cries out in both frustration and love.  Ah!  Jerusalem!  I love you!  I want to care for you!  But you make it so hard!

For several weeks now, Mother Carla has been asking us to consider where we picture ourselves years from now—what we will be doing, who we will be with, how we will be spending our time and our talents…and then to consider where Jesus desires us to be.  Is it the same place?  Do my desires for myself and God’s desires for me coincide?  Or is there tension between how I want to spend my time and how God might be calling me to spend my time. 

Is Jesus calling out my name in frustration and love?  Is he calling out yours?

I have a confession to make.  I am a very stubborn person.  And I’m also someone who worries about what others think of me.  I want to be liked, to earn the approval of others.  Several years ago, I was living in Benin, West Africa as a missionary.  I had intended to live there two years, but it soon became clear that I just couldn’t cut it.  I had to go home. 

And with that realization came the fear of how others would perceive my decision.  Would they think I was weak?  A quitter?  A wimp?  Would they think my faith wasn’t strong enough?  At some point, I knew in my heart that going home was the right thing to do, that God would care for me despite the many unknowns, and who cares what people think?

After figuring out this whole—you’re going to be ok, God will care for you, don’t worry about what others think—revelation, I got a little perturbed with God.  I said to God, “Really?  Did you have to bring me all the way to Africa to figure this out?”  And in my heart, I could hear God’s response plain as day: “Yes, Lauren, you’re just that stubborn.”

It’s true.  I’m stubborn.  And sometimes God has to go to great lengths to teach me something. 

Like Jerusalem, we are God’s people.  During baptism we are “marked and sealed as Christ’s own forever.”  We use Christ’s name to identify ourselves as Christians.  And Like Jerusalem, we too can cause God to call out in lament and frustration. 

Are you familiar with the term “face-palm?”  It’s when one smacks their palm to their forehead—like so:

Here are some Jesus face-palm moments I can imagine:

When Westboro Baptist Church holds up signs reading, “God hates Gays” at the funeral of a fallen soldier.  Face-palm.

When a priest apologizes for participating in an interfaith memorial service for the children of Newtown.  Face-palm.

When a church tries to cover up clergy pedophilia.  Face-palm. 

When I am too self-absorbed to make eye contact with the homeless man sitting outside the seminary gate. 

When I gossip about a peer because it makes me feel more secure. 

When I ignore a call from a friend or family member because I’ve got more important things to do. 

Face-palm, face-palm, face-palm.

Jerusalem, Jerusalem!  Christians, Christians!  You!  Me!  Us!

And even in his exasperation, Jesus longs to care for us.  “How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings.”  It’s as if he’s shouting, “HEY!  Let me love you!”

Gosh, we can be stubborn.  The good news is: Jesus is stubborn too.

Jesus is traveling in much of Luke’s Gospel.  From chapter 9 to chapter 19, Jesus is making his way from the region of Galilee to the city of Jerusalem.  I imagine it takes him as long as it does because he is so busy healing people.  When the Pharisees tell Jesus he needs to get a move on because Herod is coming to kill him, Jesus says, “Tell that fox I’m busy healing people and casting out demons!”  And then he reminds us that he’s on a journey to Jerusalem.  Jesus knows what to expect in Jerusalem.  He knows he’s journeying toward death.  But dying is just as much a part of Jesus’ ministry as healing people and casting out demons.  Indeed dying is integral to Jesus’ ministry—he’s got to die if he’s going to conquer death.  And so he keeps journeying, keeps healing, keeps fighting evil despite Herod’s threats and Jesus’ impending death.  This is a stubborn Jesus.

Here’s why I’m talking about stubbornness and journeying.  Because we too are on a journey to Jerusalem.  And we too know what to expect—a dying savior.  During this season of Lent we think about the sacrifice Christ made in love for us—He stretched out his arms of love on the hard wood of the cross.  “Jerusalem, Jerusalem!  How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings.” 

We are preparing ourselves to accept God’s love for us.  We are preparing ourselves for the life that Love calls us to lead.  We are on a journey.

And this preparation, it takes time.  Habits are hard to break and make.  30 days remain in Lent.  Is God calling out to you?  Do you hear frustration?  Do you hear love?  Perhaps both? 

What will it take for us to let God’s love rule our lives.  What will it take for us to live risky, messy, Christ-like lives.  What will it take for me to align my plans with God’s plans as Mother Carla has challenged us to imagine.  You may be stubborn like me.  But Jesus is stubborn too.  And we’ve still got 30 days. 

Lets make them count.  Amen. 

Tagged , , , , , ,
Dec 02 2012
1 Comment
letter press

Beginning at the End: Jesus in Reverse

First Sunday of Advent, Preached at St. Matthew & St. Timothy Church, New York City

Jeremiah 33:14-16  *  Psalm 25:1-10  *  1 Thessalonians 3:9-13  *  Luke 21:25-26

It’s here!  It’s here!  It’s finally here!  The season we’ve all been longing for—the season, in fact, of longing.  Here we are in the first Sunday of Advent, the start of a new church year.  You might think our Gospel reading would say something along the lines of: get ready—a baby is about to be born who is going to change the world!  Instead we have Jesus speaking, as a grown man, about the end of times.  Why are we starting at the end?  It’s like reading the last page of a book before even looking at Chapter 1.

Here’s the thing about Advent.  We are preparing the way of the Lord.  We are singing, Oh Come, Oh Come, Emmanuel.  We are checking our advent calendars in expectation of the coming of Christ (I prefer the kind with different chocolate shapes to eat each day).  But the best way to prepare for the coming of Christ, whether it’s the first coming or the second, is to be present.  Jesus tells us in Luke’s Gospel to live in the present—and those words ring just as true as we prepare for Christmas as they do in preparation for the end of time.

What exactly is this “end of times” notion?  When Jesus says, “People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world,” Jesus is speaking of a certain kind of world.  Not just the world in general—the Greek word for that is kosmos.  But the Greek word used here is ouikoumene, which refers more specifically to the economic and political world.  Gosh, you’d almost think that Jesus was right here in this room speaking to us today.  Jesus isn’t shouting, “It’s the end of the world!”  He’s saying, “It’s the end of the world as we know it.”

In Jesus’ time, Rome was the oppressor everyone longed to be free from.  Our reading from Jeremiah likewise points to the various powers of oppression that ruled over Jerusalem.  What is it that oppresses us?  What is it that we long to be freed from?  Is it economic hardship and political unrest, like in Jesus and Jeremiah’s day?  Sure.  What else do we long for?  Social justice and equality?  Healing in our world, church, and bodies?  Restored relationships and love?  Or do we long for something as simple as an extra hour of sleep or a few days to catch up on life and work?

The funny thing about longing is that it never goes away.  Even if we attain what it is we long for, another idea or person or thing soon captures our longing once again.  Two years ago I was preaching during Advent, and I mentioned how I was longing for my boyfriend at the time to ask my hand in marriage.  Well he did, and I went from longing to be engaged to longing to me married.  And now that we’re married I long to have kids.  It’s always something, isn’t it?

It’s hard to be present when there is so much to long for.  Jesus gets that.

Advent is a season of longing.  True.  And we start that season off today with Jesus’ words: “Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life… Be alert at all times.”  Prepare for tomorrow by paying attention today.  Don’t let your longing for the coming of Christ get in the way of you seeing Christ’s presence in the here and now.

Jesus tells us that the coming of the Lord will be plain as day.  That no one will have to point it out to us, but that we will recognize it for ourselves, just as surely as we know that the buds on the trees signify the coming summer, and the leaves falling off the trees signify the coming winter.

Well… do you? Do you see the signs of Christ present in your life?  Do you see glimpses of the kingdom of God in your every day world?  Or does our longing for what is to come keep us from seeing that which is already here?

That is what Advent is really about.  We are preparing for the end of times even as we prepare for the birth of Christ because we live in that space in between—we live in the tension that spans what has been and what is yet to come.  We live in the present.  And Jesus reminds us and teaches us and exhorts us to live in the present so that we do not miss that which we hope and long for.

You want to be ready?  Well then, “stand up and raise your heads,” Jesus says, “ because your redemption is drawing near.”  Don’t sit there and day dream—stand up and raise your heads.

Have you seen how some of the crosswalks in the city, usually ones on a wider street with a bike path, some of them have the word “LOOK” painted right there in the stripes as you’re stepping off the curb?  Well I imagine these words are meant to grab the attention of people looking down, perhaps texting on their phones as they walk, oblivious of what they might run into or what might run into them.  But I find that the word “LOOK” painted on the crosswalk has the opposite effect on me.  One such crosswalk happens to be on First Avenue, right out in front of Bellevue Hospital where I worked this summer.  On more than one occasion I was nearly hit by a turning car or a cyclist simply because the word “LOOK” grabbed my attention, so that I forgot to actually look up.

Jesus says, “stand up and raise your heads.”  He says,  “you can see for yourselves.”  He says, “be alert at all times.”

Jesus says, “when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near.”  The kingdom of God is near!  The kingdom of God was present when God became incarnate in the person of Jesus over 2000 years ago.  And the kingdom of God will reign when the world as we know it comes to an end—whenever that will be.  But the kingdom of God is not just way back there in the past or way up there in the future—the kingdom of God is near.  It is right here in the present, right here with us, caught between what has been and what is to come.

We know the beginning of the story—we know the end of the story.  We live in the tension in between, we live in the present, and we live in hope.  Stand up!  Raise your heads! The kingdom of God is near.

Amen.

[Spanish Translation]

Tagged , , , , , , , ,