For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.     
                                                                                                                                                                 2 Corinthians 5:21
In our day and age we don’t like the word sin – at least as it applies to us personally, to our habits, our short-comings, to the behavior groups to which we belong. For many of us the word sin carries with it all the images of an angry God who is hateful and punishing, just waiting to catch us out, and all wrapped in the cadences of a hellfire-and-brimstone preacher. That language strikes us as unseemly, over-the-top dramatic, a God we have no interest in believing in.

And yet, Ash Wednesday is all about sin – our sin, personal sin, corporate sin, the sin of humanity and human structures, and the very real ways we have all failed and fallen short of the glory of God. When we stand still long enough to really look, when we take our fingers out of our ears and listen, we will be able to acknowledge – at least to ourselves – that we have sinned in any number of ways large and small. In fact, St. Augustine, writing around the year 400 AD said that it was not possible for men and women not to sin; it’s baked into our human nature, at one level.

There are, of course, preachers, and teachers, and traditions that spend all their time talking about sin and its ravages. When that happens, it pulls our picture of God out of focus, gives a skewed sense of God’s nature. But we can also go too far in the opposite direction – running away from ever facing or addressing the presence of sin in our lives, and instead trying to bask solely in the warmth of God’s approval.

As with most things connected to God, the Bible, and the Christian life, sin and grace are a both/and, not an either/or. And really, as Episcopalians who have our roots as a Church in the via media, the middle way, this should not be too hard to wrap our minds around. Sin is real, and God’s grace and forgiveness are real, and we have to keep both of these in the picture.

The Collect for Ash Wednesday gives us a lot of help with this. We start by remembering and claiming that God hates nothing he has made – nothing; that includes us. It also includes the person or group who most vexes us and over whom we fret and fume the most. God does not hate us – and God forgives the sins of all those who come in humility and penitence to ask for forgiveness. There it is, right up front, the two together: love and sin; grace and penitence.

The Collect goes on to ask God to do what God does best – to create, to make anew, to bring order out of chaos, and goodness out of pain and sorrow: Create and make in us new and contrite hearts. We do not ask to be made perfect, but we do pray for God’s perfect forgiveness and mercy. This is the language of a God whose first impulse is to love, to create, to bless.

The hitch is, that if we stay stuck in out sin, if we refuse to see our condition – what is actually going on with us – then we will miss the grace, and mercy, and blessing. It’s not something God forces on us. We can close and lock the door from the inside, keeping God our...along with anyone else we don’t want to deal with.

So the Church in her wisdom has given us time to work on our aversion to the truth about ourselves. We get forty whole days – not including the Sundays – to take stock, to examine our behavior and attitudes and relationships. We’ll each have different things we need to bring to the surface, to let the light of the Holy Spirit begin to disinfect our hearts and minds. Some of us will have really big and hard burdens of sin to address. And for some people, this is where the practice of private sacramental confession can be helpful. Others of us will have smaller, less obvious, but no less painful on-going failures to address. In every case a good place to start is by asking oneself about Jesus’ Great Commandment:

• First: Am I loving God with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength? If not, why not, and what steps is God calling me to take to change that?
• Second: Am I loving my neighbor as myself, remembering that neighbor refers to everyone who shares the planet with you, as well as the person who lives next door. It also means that we are to love ourselves as God loves us. Are we doing that? Where is that hard? What practical steps do we need to take to be more loving toward others and toward ourselves?

God doesn’t point out our sin to us so that we will be miserable and feel ourselves beyond redemption – quite the opposite. God calls us out from our sin so that we no longer have to be miserable – to ourselves and to those around us. Wounds that fester need to be cleaned and bound up; infections need to heal; relationships that have been breached need to be mended; the brokenness of the world needs to be repaired. That is what God does, in God’s mercy, that is what is on offer this Ash Wednesday, this Lent.

It may not be possible for us not to sin, but God’s grace and mercy are greater than our human nature, if we allow God access to our soul.

Let us pray.
Almighty and everlasting God, you indeed hate nothing you have made and forgive the sins of all who are penitent: Create and make in us new and contrite hearts, that we, worthily lamenting our sins and acknowledging our wretchedness, may obtain of you, the God of all mercy, perfect remission and forgiveness; that we may live in your love and walk in your ways. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Victoria Geer McGrath
All Saints’ Church, Millington, NJ
Ash Wednesday
March 6, 2019

And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. Then he began to say to them, "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing." Luke 4:20-21

Have you ever had the experience of going back to a place where you grew up, or where you had once lived, but hadn’t visited in a long time? What was that like? Childhood places often seem much smaller when we see them as adults. One of my elementary schools was on a hill, and you got to the front door from the sidewalk by climbing a very long flight of stairs. When I visited it recently the stairs were as imposing as ever, but the hill from school down to Main Street was much shorter and less steep than I remembered from when I walked it as a nine-year old.

Or maybe your experience of return was one of a changed landscape – houses torn down, new buildings built, fancier or more run-down, much busier or lacking vitality. Going home can be full of surprises, and even disappointments. But going home or going back can also help us to get perspective on ourselves, on where we have been, on how we’ve changed, on what life has been like for us and what we have learned.

In the Scripture readings this morning we’ve heard two going-home stories: one from the book of Nehemiah in the much longer account of the return of Jewish exiles from Babylon to Jerusalem; and the other from Luke’s telling of Jesus’ visit as an adult to his hometown synagogue in Nazareth at the start of his public ministry.

Jews of Nehemiah’s day (5th century BCE) began returning to Jerusalem from their exile and were faced with the ruins of the Temple and the destruction of the city walls. Under Nehemiah’s leadership the walls were rebuilt, and the work of restoring the Temple continued. But what really restored the Jewish community – after all the work of physical building – was to hear the Torah, God’s Law, the Holy Scriptures such as they had them – read aloud at the gathering of the community. God was present with his people through these words which many of them had not heard read aloud in decades, and they were filled with life and joy and the power of God’s holiness. God was being revealed to them in a deep and life-giving way, and they learned that without God’s presence in their midst, their community was not complete.

In the Gospel we hear Jesus returning to his home congregation, the place he was raised, where he studied the Torah with the other men, the place where he prayed and learned and gathered with the rest of his community. I’m sure they felt they knew him well. They must have been excited and proud to have Jesus home, this young rabbi who was gathering followers and making a name for himself. He might even put Nazareth on the map! They might have said to themselves. So, the synagogue attendant handed Jesus the scroll to read the day’s Torah portion – a passage from Isaiah. Jesus read the passage and then sat down – the traditional posture of a teacher. Everyone was watching him. Everyone was eagerly waiting. What words of wisdom, what fresh insight into the Scriptures would he offer?

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me …” Jesus had read. And then he began his teaching with: "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing." He was claiming those words of Isaiah for himself. And in claiming God’s mission outlined here, by identifying himself as the fulfillment of these words, by identifying himself with God’s holiness, Jesus revealed a glimpse of his true nature and purpose: to bring good news to the poor; to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind; to let the oppressed go free; to proclaim the year of jubilee (the year of the Lord’s favor) in which ancestral lands were returned to their original owners, debts were forgiven, and the burden of indenture on servants were lifted. All of this coming together, here and now in Jesus – much more than just an ordinary rabbi, local boy made good. Clearly, those in the synagogue were being asked to see Jesus in a new light. And they were going to have to decide whether their picture of Jesus and of the Scriptures was large enough to see them both in new and surprising ways. We’ll find out what their reaction was next week (or you can always read ahead)!

Both Nehemiah and Luke touch on what it is like to return to a familiar place or group and have a fresh revelation of ourselves and the Holy One. It’s not easy; we can have our settled assumptions challenged. The way we always thought God would be present with us may be quite different, when we have our eyes and ears and hearts open. Sometimes God wants to tell us that God’s truth is counter to what we want to hear. When that happens, we can turn away and stick our heads in the sand; *or* we can be brave and curious and listen to what God is trying to tell us. What makes it especially tricky is that God rarely gives us a big, flashing neon sign with an exact message spelled out for us. Far more often God is whispering to us in the “still, small voice”, in the hints and glimpses that come to us in so many ways.

The Season after Epiphany is the time in the Church year when we pay particular attention to all the ways that Christ is revealed, is made manifest in human life, and to the world at large – first to the Magi; then at his baptism; in the wedding feast at Cana turning water into wine; in healings and other wondrous works; in opening up the words of the Hebrew Scriptures.

Another way that God can and does speak to us is though our connection and relationship with our fellow Christians, other members of the Body of Christ. In the twelfth chapter of First Corinthians St. Paul delves into his metaphor for the Church as the Body of Christ. And here he means each believer, each follower of Jesus connected to one another in the same way the human body is connected, with Christ as the head. 'The foot cannot say to the hand ‘I have no need of you’…and if one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it

Paul sees us all connected intimately; and the health of our community, our faith, and our witness to the world depends on our connection with one another. Christian life is lived as much on the horizontal, with our brothers and sisters in Christ, our fellow body-parts, as much as it is lived in a vertical dimension – our own particular relationship with God. Christian life is lived on the horizontal as much as it is lived on the vertical.

When we gather, when we pray together, when we study Scripture or do ministry together, when we have fellowship and fun together, we show one another an aspect of God that comes through us uniquely. In fact, I would go so far as to say that when we gather for worship and you are not here, someone else is being deprived of your encouragement, your light, your wisdom, your care, your particular expression of God’s holiness; your questions, your joy – any of which another person may need desperately on any given Sunday. The presence of Christ in you flows out to those around you, here in this church we call our spiritual home.

The presence of God and the nature and holiness of Christ keep being revealed to us – in the Scriptures read and proclaimed, in the gathering of the community and the ways we share our lives, and in the life and presence of Jesus in our midst coming to us through liturgy and prayer and an open heart. How is Jesus appearing in your life, making himself manifest to you and through you this Season after Epiphany?

Let us pray.
Lord Jesus, we come to you in faith, asking for a fresh revelation and sense of your presence with us. May we each be a light to one another and to your world. And may we never fear coming to know you more truly and deeply, so that we may become your People. We ask this in your holy Name. Amen.

Victoria Geer McGrath
All Saints’ Church, Millington, NJ
Third Sunday after Epiphany
January 27, 2019

All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field…. The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: but the word of our God shall stand for ever. Isaiah 40:6 & 8

Today is the hundredth anniversary of the armistice ending the First World War, the Great War, the “war to end all wars”, as it was thought to be at the time.

The causes of any armed conflict are always a mixture of economics, geo-political realities, territorial disputes, sometimes moral principles, bilateral misunderstandings, missed opportunities for reconciliation (sometimes opportunities deliberately rebuffed), defense of honor, fear of shame or retribution, honoring of alliances, defense of the realm or nation, even simple greed and pride – all in varied proportions. And World War I had all of these.

But it also had youth, confidence, optimism, and a certain cultural naiveté. The first declaration of war by the Austro-Hungarian Empire on Serbia, after the assassination of Austrian Archduke Ferdinand by Serbian nationalists, came at the end of July 1914. In a little over two weeks all the dominos began to fall: Russia, France, Germany, Great Britain, and Japan. They all declared war in support of their allies – as well as their own purposes. The first fighting began in August, and it was widely assumed – at least in England – that the war would all be over by Christmas; a brief dust-up, putting those upstarts in their place, a chance for adventure and glory, doing “one’s bit for one’s country.”

But the forces that had been unleashed were far greater and more powerful than anyone had really reckoned; the genii of war, once out of the bottle, could not be easily restrained. Turkey and Italy joined the war; Australian, New Zealand, and Canadian troops fought alongside the British; Belgium, Ukraine, and Polish lands were battlefields; the Balkan lands, Gallipoli, North Africa, parts of China and south Asia were all touched by war; in 1917 America came in to support the British. And by the time it was all over, not only had much of the map of the world been re-drawn, but “one in three” young men in Western Europe had been killed; a generation, and an optimism in the human ability to make progress, to be civilized, had died. Individual soldiers, military units, armies and navies served with courage and honor in the face of horrific and unspeakable conditions, and they deserve our gratitude and prayers.

But the façade of turn-of-the century confidence in merely human institutions and society had been exposed, leaving the world with a clearer picture of the sin, fallibility, and hubris of human nature. Yet in the moral, physical, and spiritual exhaustion at the end of the war our reach for true and lasting peace, and the conditions that support peace, did not go deep or far enough, and so many of those embers went underground and smoldered, until they erupted again twenty-odd years later, this time in metasticized form.

All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field….  The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: but the word of our God shall stand for ever, says the prophet Isaiah. The war showed us that there is no human achievement, no culture or civilization alone, that can withstand the promise and pull of unbridled power and glory. We all stand under the judgement of God, our Creator. We are all accountable to God, and to one another - the brothers and sisters in the human family our God has given us.

But just as we know in Christian faith that death is not the end, so we also need to remember that war is not the true nature of human society and the human heart. Countless times in Scripture God tells a different narrative, paints an alternative picture to what we would make, left to our own devices. In God’s vision, the goal of human society and the whole created order is to be living in God’s shalom – peace, wholeness, health, well-being, celebration. The holy city, the New Jerusalem of the Book of Revelation is the promise and the invitation God holds before us.

It is there for us to accept, to embrace, as God’s gift, but it requires our cooperation. Peace is not made merely by the cessation of hostilities and armed conflict. Peace is made as we go through each day, encountering the people we live and work with as neighbor, looking for the best in each other – even as we are not surprised when we see the worst. It’s what St. Paul said in Firsh Corinthians: Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. (1 Cor 13:4-7). This is not some fresh naiveté, but the spiritual truth of God’s purposes in and for the world, and it operates on the level of individuals, families, communities, and cultures.

We cannot wait for someone else to start first; it begins with us each and every day, even when love is inconvenient, even when it would feel good to lash out and insult or hurt another, even when we are tempted in our defense to go beyond merely meeting strength with strength.

The shalom of God’s Kingdom is a reality we are invited to join and help build “on earth as it is in heaven” through our actions and our prayers. Let us work and pray so that the hope for peace and a better world for which those men and women of the Great War and all wars gave their lives can come to fruition – with God’s help and in God’s way.

Let us pray.
Father of all mercies, teach us to be merciful, as thou art merciful.
Father of all forgiveness, help us to forgive others, as thou hast forgiven us;
knowing that, with what measure we mete, it shall be measured to us again;
for Jesus Christ’s sake. Amen. ~ Eric Milner-White*

** Eric Milner-White (1884 –1963) was a British Anglican priest, academic, and decorated military chaplain. He was a founder of the Oratory of the Good Shepherd, an Anglican dispersed community, and served as its Superior between 1923 and 1938. From 1941 to 1963, he was the Dean of York in the Church of England.

Victoria Geer McGrath
All Saints’ Church, Millington, NJ
Service of Peace and Remembrance:
the Centenary of the End of World War I
November 11, 2018

So they went out and proclaimed that all should repent. They cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them. Mark 6:12-13

This past week I went to see a new film, “Won’t You Be My Neighbor”, the documentary biography of Fred Rogers of “Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood” fame. I’m sure many of you knew the television show and appreciated it. Others of you may be only vaguely aware of it, or only know the spoofs and parodies of the show that appeared in places like Saturday Night Live.

I probably started watching the show soon after it began airing in 1966, along with my  younger sister and baby brother. It became enough of a childhood staple for me that when my own children came along it seemed only right that watching Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood would be part of our family life. One of the aspects of the show was that Fred Rogers never talked down to children, he never thought they were too young to have important questions, and he always had very high quality jazz, classical music, art, and dance featured on the program. And at the very heart of everything Mr. Rogers did was the belief that children should know that they were loved and valued – no matter what.

So I was shocked to learn in the film that at Fred’s funeral in 2003, members of Westboro Baptist Church showed up to protest at his funeral – you know, they’re the folks who protest at military funerals because the U.S. Armed Forces do not discriminate based on sexuality. And I was further distressed to hear from the film that a commentator on a cable news network some years ago, called him "an evil man" and claimed that young adults today feel entitled because Mr. Rogers told them they didn't need to earn love from anyone.

Well, I suppose that should be no surprise. Jesus is the One who incarnated and taught God's gift of unconditional love (which comes even before the need for repentance and forgiveness). And Jesus was clear that He would be a stumbling block to those who could not or would not hear Him; so those who share and teach Jesus’ love will also sometimes be a stumbling block to others. Fred Rogers was a Christian and a Presbyterian pastor, ordained and sent for the work of evangelism on television. The unconditional love he taught to children was God's love. There will always be those who are threatened by and rejecting of what they cannot control. And nobody can control the love of God – which is there for each and every person. And that takes us right to this morning’s Gospel reading.

Jesus has returned to Nazareth, and is preaching in his home synagogue, where everyone knows him and his family. But rather than appreciating what Jesus was teaching, or welcoming and honoring him, or even being curious and asking genuine questions, the townspeople were indignant, even resentful, in essence saying: ‘Well, look at who’s getting too big for his britches!’ All they could see was the boy they had known growing up in the carpenter’s family; their unbelief creating a climate where Jesus could not show them God’s power and mighty deeds – the signs of the Kingdom. They wouldn’t have believed him, anyway: ‘It must be some kind of trick’ they might have said. They rejected Jesus and his purpose and mission. They took offense at him.

So rather than try to cajole or argue with them, Jesus walks away. He goes on about his business, God’s business, Kingdom business. The home folks aren’t on board with the mission, but Jesus has another group who is: the disciples, specifically, the Twelve who were his inner circle, his training team. He calls them together and then sends them out, two by two, equipped with authority over unclean spirits, with a staff, no money or food or change of clothes; equipped with a message – that all should turn, should repent, should reorient their lives around Jesus. And if any group you go to will not listen, will not receive you with an open heart, don’t worry about it – just leave. Shake off the dust, don’t let it get you down.

We know this story – at least Luke’s version of it – because it is one of the Gospel passages we’ve spent a lot of time with in our Going Local efforts. Jesus sends disciples out into the towns and villages as his advance party. And one of the things we’ve learned is that while we can have some amazing and important encounters with people, while we can see that the Holy Spirit is out in front of us, working in the lives of people and in ways we might never have imagined, doing that work can seem very scary. We feel unsure, under-equipped, completely at sea about what to say or even sometimes what to believe in a world that often feels so un-lovely.

And yet, Jesus still bids us to go, to go forth – we who are disciples every bit as much as the Twelve were – to be part of Jesus’ mission of announcing the blessings of God’s love and goodness, to come alongside others in their struggle and their celebration, and their need to hear the truth of God’s unconditional love for them; to be an active part of the Jesus Movement that our Presiding Bishop keeps talking about. And now we’re going to get some help with that: some structure, some practices that we probably all knew about but may have forgotten or not considered, a pattern of living that can help us be rooted and grounded in Christ, that will transform us over time, that we can draw on as we are living and speaking Jesus’ mission in the world.

At the General Convention of our Episcopal Church this past week, Presiding Bishop Curry – in a very moving sermon – invited and encouraged all Episcopalians to adopt a Rule of Life called “The Way of Love.” A Rule of Life is “an intentional pattern of spiritual disciplines that provides structure and direction for growth in holiness”, in becoming the people God wants us to be. A Rule of Life is not new; it’s as old as Christian faith. A Rule of Life is not like waving a magic wand; transformation doesn’t happen overnight but takes long and sustained effort and time. But a Christian Rule of Life can be a tremendous vehicle of God’s grace and the power of the Holy Spirit to shape us and equip us for service in the Jesus Movement.

This particular rule, this “Way of Love” has seven practices – seven points or areas – and each one is important, and each goes back to the earliest days of the Church and has been used for centuries. Here in brief are the seven practices in the “Way of Love”:

• Turn: Pause, listen and choose to follow Jesus.
• Learn: Reflect daily on scripture, especially the life and teachings of Jesus.
• Pray: Spend time with God in prayer every day.
• Worship: Gather in community for worship every week.
• Bless: Share one’s faith and find ways to serve other people.
• Go: Move beyond one’s comfort to witness to the love of God with words and actions.
• Rest: Dedicate time for restoration and wholeness.
  

 
As I said, these are not new; they are what the Church has always known, and they are just as powerful today as they have ever been, and yet how far have we drifted or wandered away from them, or done some parts and not others, or depended on someone else to maintain our connection to God for us, or just need to be refreshed and revived in our life with God. There are resources for this Way of Love up on the Episcopal Church website and print resources will be available soon. In very short run, there is a small flyer with the basic information about this Rule of Life on the table in the Narthex; please take one home with you. I would also urge you to listen to Bishop Curry’s sermon introduced and launched this Rule of Life; I sent you the link in the Daily Prayer e-mail yesterday. And in case you were wondering, if you have been following along and praying the parish Daily Prayers for the last few months, you have already been working on the Pray aspect of the Way of Love.

Fred Rogers knew about the Way of Love, the Way of God’s love – it’s what he taught, and played, and sang about with the children of America. The Way of Love is the basic building blocks, the primary formation for service in the Jesus Movement. The Way of Love will always send us in generous, open, even sacrificial love for others. And God goes before us and prepares the way for us – always.

Let us pray.
Go forth for God; go to the world in peace
be of good courage, armed with heavenly grace,
in God’s good Spirit daily to increase,
till in his kingdom we behold his face.

Go forth for God; go to the world in love;
Strengthen the faint, give courage to the weak;
Help the afflicted; richly from above
His love supplies the power and grace we seek.
            ~ Hymn 347, J.R. Pearcy

Victoria Geer McGrath
All Saints’ Church, Millington, NJ
Seventh Sunday after Pentecost
July 8, 2018

Jesus said to the people, "Everything that the Father gives me will come to me, and anyone who comes to me I will never drive away. John 6:37

Charlie White wanted to live to be a hundred years old; a while back he was even reading a book about how to do that! And there were many of us who thought that Charlie would outlive us all. He did pretty well; he got to ninety-three. But it wasn’t Charlie’s actual age that was the important thing. He was an icon in our community; a presence; a representative from another time and place; an emissary, if you will, from God’s time and God’s realm.

And I don’t think any of us can really quite imagine what life in Long Hill Township will be like without Charlie. We will never be able to go to Shop-Rite without expecting to see him pushing his cart, or swimming at Stirling Lake on a summer’s day, or waiting for the train at Millington Station, or riding his bike on Long Hill Road, or sitting in his spot here in church, or crossing the intersection out here in front – onlookers being on pins and needles for his safety. So it is good for us to be here together to grieve his death and our loss, and to celebrate his life – and there is so much to celebrate!

Charlie and his parents moved to town in 1927 when he was two years old, living first on Central Avenue in Stirling, and then moving to Old Forge Road in Millington. Although the term was probably not used when he was a child, Charlie had Autism Spectrum Disorder, making his communications skills difficult. He went to local public schools and then spent a few years at a residential school, eventually returning home to live with his parents. Charlie was not able to drive, but he loved to read math books, especially calculus and trigonometry. He rode his bicycle everywhere, delivering Grit, a weekly newspaper for small-town America.

That paper route was emblematic of who Charlie was. He had grit, tenacity, even a stubbornness that stood him in very good stead as he learned to advocate for himself in the world, no doubt taught by his parents to do what he could do to his utmost.

Another way that Grit was an extension of Charlie’s life is summed up in the words of the paper’s editors to its employees in the late nineteenth century:
“Always keep Grit from being pessimistic. Avoid printing those things which distort the minds of readers or make them feel at odds with the world. Avoid showing the wrong side of things, or making people feel discontented. Do nothing that will encourage fear, worry, or temptation... Wherever possible, suggest peace and good will toward men. Give our readers courage and strength for their daily tasks. Put happy thoughts, cheer, and contentment into their hearts...”
That is our Charlie; that is the way he lived and the way he treated others, with loving-kindness, gentleness, gratitude, joy, and faithfulness.

Charlie was a man of deep faith, very rarely missing Sunday worship until two weeks ago. Charlie was baptized here as an adult in 1969 by the Rev. David St. George; he was prepared for confirmation by the Rev. Al Salt and confirmed in 1977 by Bishop George Rath who had known Charlie since he was sixteen; both Al and the Rev. Richard Wrede served as his guardians after the death of his father. And now we are here today to bury Charlie’s earthly remains and commend him to God’s loving care and presence.

One of Charlie’s aides in these last months, Ronnie, told me that as recently as a month ago, Charlie was still getting down on his knees by the side of his bed every night to say his prayers. His faith in God and his faithfulness were the foundation of his life and an example to us all.

Of course, Charlie was not able to live his life alone. That African proverb about “It takes a village to raise a child” is absolutely true for Charlie. It took Long Hill Township and All Saints’ Church to support him in living as independently as possible.  At different times, and in differing capacities, so many people played an important role in Charlie’s life, and on behalf of his parents Jessie and Harold I thank you for that. Their trust in the goodness of this community must have given them the confidence to have Charlie live at home, and not in an institution.

But in these last dozen or so years the people who have lovingly, generously taken on the ministry of Charlie’s care have been the Golden family – specifically Ann and Terence. I know that they were glad to do it, but I also know it was a great deal of work, some heartache, and responsibility. We all cannot thank you enough. And in Jesus’ words of the Parable of the Talents in Matthew’s Gospel: “Well done, good and faithful servants.”

Charlie has given All Saints’ and Long Hill Township a great gift. It is the gift of knowing that we are all bound together in a community of God’s love and compassion, that we can and do care for one another, and that the ones who are cared for have as much to give as those who are doing the caring, if we will receive it. This a real-life example of the kingdom of God that Jesus taught and incarnated lived out on earth as it is in heaven.

I said at the beginning that Charlie was an emissary from God’s realm, from that reality we call heaven which is not somewhere out beyond the planets but is right here with us, alongside us, unseen, but not unfelt or unknowable. If we look closely, if we listen attentively, we can see and hear God’s presence breaking through into our ordinary, day-to-day lives; an awareness of blessing, and goodness, and peace.

That’s what Charlie was so good at. He paid attention, he listened, he saw you, he knew you – in later years he might call you by your father’s name, instead of your own, but he knew you; you had a place in his world. He was a reflection of the God in whom he trusted who sees, and hears, and knows, and loves us – each one of us, deeply and tenderly, and calls us all by name.

So take this gift that God has given you through Charlie – the gift of loving-kindness, the gift of gladness and singleness of heart, the gift of courteous generosity, and the joy and wonder in all God’s works and put it into practice – every day if you can – with one another and with all those who cross your path. As we do this, we will continue to be the people and the community that Charlie knew us to be, and that God calls us to be.

It has been an honor and a privilege to know you, Charlie White; and we are all better people for it.
And so for all that has been, for all that is, and for all that is yet to be, we say: thanks be to God. Amen.

Victoria Geer McGrath
All Saints’ Church, Millington, NJ
Charles A. White Funeral
June 14, 2018

And one called to another and said: "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory."… Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, "Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?" And I said, "Here am I; send me!" Isaiah 6:3, 8

Can you think of a time when you had a profoundly moving experience of God, of the holy? It could have been when you were alone, or when you were in a sea of people, or when you were with only one other. Your experience of God may have come through your senses: listening to music, seeing the tremendous beauty of Creation, touching the face or holding the hand of someone beloved to you, singing with a whole group of people. Or it may have come from deep within you: a feeling or conviction of God’s presence in a powerful and incontrovertible way.

One such experience for me was when, as a 16-year old, I worshipped for the first time at the Church of St. Mary the Virgin in New York, a high church, Anglo-Catholic parish, whose tradition knows so well how to open the windows of the soul to the transcendence of God. The service was Solemn Evensong and Benediction, meaning that the prayers and canticles and Creed were chanted, the clergy vested in beautiful embroidered copes and other vestments, the consecrated host of the Reserved Sacrament was venerated with prayers and hymns, and there was incense – clouds of it. I had never seen, heard, or smelled worship like that, and it just blew me away. The sense of God’s presence and grandeur and holiness was palpable, and drew me in. And ultimately sent me out. Like Isaiah, with his vision of God while he was on duty in the Temple, I sensed what Isaiah did, hearing “the voice of the Lord saying, ‘Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?’ And I said, ‘Here am I; send me!’ It was a piece of the beginning of my call to ordained ministry.

This experience of God’s majesty and holiness and power need not – in fact should not – be limited to worshipping in church, because the whole earth is the realm of God, and all human beings have been made in God’s image and likeness – that is, with the capacity for love and life-giving relationship.

Today is Trinity Sunday, and over the years more dry and dusty sermons have been preached in an attempt to explain the meaning of the doctrine of the Trinity than you would care to imagine. Don’t get me wrong, doctrine is important; using the best of our intellect, and precise and careful language to describe matters of faith and theology is very valuable. But all the language and theological commentary in the world is secondary, an unpacking of the experience of the holy mystery that is God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; the holy and undivided Trinity, One God.

At the heart of God is a community of love, of relationships – Father and Son, Son and Spirit, Spirit and Father – each aspect or face of God sharing love within God’s self. If you need a visual image, think maybe of a model of an atom with the electrons whirling around the nucleus, the locus of incredible power and potential, always in motion, yet held together by its own internal force.

At the heart of God is a community of love and relationship; and if that is true of God, then it is true for us. We who are made in God’s image, we who have been baptized into the life of Christ, we who are guided and empowered by the Spirit, are to embody this powerful community of God’s love. Our vocation, our calling as followers of Jesus is to reflect the truth and goodness of God into the world around us, and it starts with being drawn into the circle of love among Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. It starts with being caught up into the dance between the Persons of the Trinity. It starts with being grounded in the atom-like movement that is the heart of God. This is what energizes us, this is what empowers us – being loved to our depths from the very source of love.

But that love is not for our benefit alone. The love of God and the life of God is always given for the other; that is the deepest meaning of the Cross. That is why Jesus says to Nicodemus in the Gospel: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved (rescued, made whole, be put right again) through him.”

So God’s love for you will always send you out, into the world, into human community, to build amongst those around you the same kind of network of mutual loving relationship that is within God. As God’s agents and representatives in the world we are to do on a small scale what God does on a large scale. If that seems like a daunting prospect – and it should – we only can do it in the strength and power of the Holy Spirit. And yet, we cannot shrink back. We cannot draw near to God only for our own comfort or peace or safety or wisdom. If we are truly drawing near to God, if we are really entering that community of love and dance of relationship, then we will be sent out to do God’s work, to be God’s people, to serve as the presence of the Triune God wherever we live and move and have our being.

Call to mind again your experience of the power and presence of God. Did you see, or, hear, or feel in it a sense of being sent out, of needing to do or be differently in the world? Was there joy or blessing that you could not keep to yourself? Or an urgency of truth you felt you had to share? The closer you come to God, the greater your sense of mission will be, because the Triune God has a mission for the world God loves so dearly – to heal, restore, set right all that does not reflect the love and goodness of God.

And this experience of the power and presence of God is not a single-use item, not a “one and done.” While not every day or week or even month will be filled with an over-whelming sense of God’s presence (because, really, we can’t always live in a rarified state of awe and wonder), we can lay the ground work; we can draw near to God through prayer, meditation, and worship; we can know every day that the community of love which is the Trinity – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – surrounds and enfolds us, and sends us out into the world as bearers of love.

Let us pray.
Day by day, dear Lord, three things I pray: to see Thee more clearly, to love Thee more dearly, to follow Thee more nearly; day by day. Amen. ~ Prayer of St. Richard of Chichester

Victoria Geer McGrath
All Saints’ Church, Millington, NJ
The First Sunday after Pentecost: Trinity Sunday
May 27, 2018
 

We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Romans 8:22-24a

Today is the Day of Pentecost, the day we celebrate the giving of the Holy Spirit to Jesus’ followers, the birth of the Church, the empowerment of the disciples to carry out and carry on God’s mission in and for, and to the world God has made. We may puzzle over Jesus’ words to his inner circle about the Spirit, which we heard in the Gospel. We may be astonished at the description of the descent of the Spirit in the Book of Acts. But it is in St. Paul’s greatest letter – his Letter to the Romans – that we ground ourselves here and now in our own experience of the Holy Spirit, the Advocate and Guide, the One who intercedes for us and through us without end.

What is Paul telling us in this passage? He’s telling us that the whole creation, all humanity, and all who follow Jesus, are in the process of being born into God’s New Heaven and New Earth. One of my current favorite television series on PBS is “Call the Midwife”, about an order of Anglican nuns and nurses in the East End of London in the several years on either side of 1960. The Sisters and nurses care for expectant mothers, run maternity clinics, deliver babies at home and in birthing centers, and act as social workers and nurse-practitioners for the medical, social, and spiritual needs of their neighborhood. The series does not shy away from showing the hard work of labor and delivery, and the noisiness of birth, when every fiber in a woman’s body and voice comes together to push a child out into the world.

It is that image of all creation groaning in labor pains for the birth of God’s kingdom on earth, and for our own redemption – for us to be born anew into God’s best purposes and intentions for us, that Paul is painting. And that work of new birth is the work of the Holy Spirit. And it is work, it is labor, as well as gift. We were saved in hope, Paul says, through Jesus’ death and resurrection, but that is only the first part of the story, God’s story of our redemption. The second part of the story began at Pentecost with the outpouring of the Spirit to guide and strengthen and shape us into the Body of Christ; and for us to grow into the full stature of Christ. As St. Athanasius put it in the fourth century, “God became man so that men (and women) might become gods.”

The 20th century writer C.S. Lewis said: “[The Lord] said (in the Bible) that we were “gods” and He is going to make good His words. If we let Him—for we can prevent Him, if we choose—He will make the feeblest and filthiest of us into a god or goddess, dazzling, radiant, immortal creatures, pulsating all through with such energy and joy and wisdom and love as we cannot now imagine, a bright stainless mirror which reflects back to Him perfectly (though, of course, on a smaller scale) His own boundless power and delight and goodness. The process will be long and in parts very painful; but that is what we are in for. Nothing less. He meant what he said.” (Mere Christianity)

This is the work of the Spirit – making us radiant with God’s life, and energy, and joy, but sometimes it s a very hard road, as I think we all know. How often have you struggled to make sense of bad news, a disappointment, or grief? How often have you resolved to speak and act like Jesus, only to find yourself far from that standard? How many times have you begun a daily program of prayer or Bible reading, only to abandon it in a fairly short period of time? How have you wrestled to hang on to the promise of God’s love for you, not sure whether or not you can trust that to be true? And yet, always we begin again, in hope, with the Holy Spirit himself interceding for us, with groans too deep for words.

This is the life that begins for us in baptism, this being joined to Christ in a way that is beyond our understanding, and yet our ultimate reality. This is the life that Brooks is beginning this morning, when his parents and godparents make renunciations and promises on his behalf, and he is washed with the water of baptism and signed with the sign of the Cross and the oil of chrism – a symbol of the healing, gladdening presence of the Spirit.

But the work of the Holy Spirit is not ended on the day of our baptism. It is a daily project as we grow and mature, as we go through life’s challenges and joys and difficulties, as we come face-to-face with the sin and brokenness in our world. The Spirit is always at work – poking us, prodding us, whispering in our ear, giving us a shove, blocking our path and sending us in another direction, inspiring and enlivening us. Sometimes it’s easy to see the Spirit at work, and other times it is much harder to recognize how and when the Spirit is acting.

I have always thought that the Holy Spirit window here to the left of our altar is a wonderful metaphor for the Spirit’s work in our life of faith. When you sit in the center section of the church, you cannot see the window. If you move over to the side, you can get a glimpse of the window, but people, or the lectern, or the paschal candle might block your view. It is only when you approach the altar, when you come forward for Communion – union with Christ and all who love and follow him – that you can see the Holy Spirit window in full. And then there are a few weeks in the year, when the rising sun comes through the window at just the right angle, that you can see the image of the Spirit projected on the wall behind the altar – a fleeting and surprising glimpse. But the window is always there, and the Holy Spirit is always present and active, whether we see him or not.

So on this Day of Pentecost – in the midst of so much change in our lives, in our diocese, in our world – let the Holy Spirit pray in you and through you. Let the Holy Spirit enliven you and direct your steps. Listen to the Holy Spirit whispering in your heart and mind so that you may grow more deeply into the reality of Christ; so that we may all work together under the guidance of the Spirit to build and bring to birth the better world that is God’s dream, as our Presiding Bishop Michael Curry so often says – the world for which God’s love was poured out so abundantly in the life, death, and resurrection of our Lord Jesus.

Thanks be to God; Amen. Alleluia!

Victoria Geer McGrath
Al Saints’ Church, Millington, NJ
The Day of Pentecost
May 20, 2018
 

While they were talking about this, Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, "Peace be with you." They were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost. Luke:24:36b-37
My father had a knack for running into people he hadn’t seen in a long time, and in unexpected places. It seemed like every few weeks he would come home from work or business travel with a story of someone he had met on the sidewalk or in a restaurant in New York, or in an airport waiting area. It could have been a childhood friend, someone he’d known from college or the Army, or even a former co-worker. Somehow, Dad was able to recognize the essential quality of a person – whether by their face or eyes or voice – even if it had been a long, long time since they had last seen each other. This ability fell into the category of what our kids used to call a “hidden talent” (as in, we all have a hidden talent), which served him very well in his work in public relations.

Inevitably, Dad’s reporting of these meeting to us involved not only the conversation they had, and catching up on news – some of it forty years old or more, and usually in a very brief space of time – but it also involved some reminiscing about how he first knew the person – some tidbit of their boyish hi-jinks, or a college prank, or a sailing experience, or the details of a business project they had worked on. His delight in telling these stories was obvious; he wanted us to share in the joy the encounter had given him.

In a secular sense, Dad was doing what the new definition of evangelism in the Episcopal Church is all about – some of you may have heard me talk about it when I came back from the Evangelism Matters conference a month ago. To refresh our memories, here’s the definition again: “Evangelism is the spiritual practice of seeking, naming, and celebrating the loving presence of Jesus in the stories of all people….and then inviting them to MORE!”

Dad was always on the lookout for people with whom he could make a connection or a recognition; he remembered their names and their stories; and then not only was he pleased to have seen the person again, but he shared the encounter with our family – seeking, naming, and celebrating, if you will.

In today’s Gospel reading, there’s a problem with recognizing – specifically, some of the disciples don’t recognize Jesus in his resurrection body. It is the night of Easter day. In Luke’s telling of the resurrection, the women who had been with Jesus even during the ministry in Galilee had gone to the tomb early in the morning with spices to anoint his body. When they arrived, the stone was rolled away, and two figures in white told them that Jesus was not there, that he was risen. They didn’t see Jesus then, but went back to the place where the small band of followers were staying, and reported to the apostles what they had seen and heard – what they had been witness to. But their report was dismissed, “seeming to the apostles an idle tale”; women in the first century, after all were not considered to be reliable or credible witnesses for legal matters.

Later that afternoon of Jesus’ followers – one called Cleopas – were walking out of the city to the village of Emmaus, and on the way they met a stranger with whom they talked all about their distress and sorrow over the death of Jesus, and now the strange account of his body being missing. The stranger talked with them all about what the Scriptures had to say about the Messiah, but it was only when they stopped for dinner and their guest blessed and broke the loaf of bread for their meal that they recognized Jesus, who then disappeared from their sight. So Cleopas and his companion rushed back to Jerusalem to tell the other disciples that they had seen, and spoken with, and walked with Jesus. The others had their own news: Jesus was risen and had appeared to Simon Peter.

And in the midst of all of this, Jesus himself stood among them. What was their reaction? They weren’t joyful, they weren’t celebrating; they were startled and frightened, thinking that they were seeing a ghost. But Jesus made it very clear that he was no ephemeral spirit, but had flesh and bones and was able to eat. Even more importantly, Jesus spent time reminding them of the story he had been telling them all along, reminding them of the Scriptures, and God’s purposes. He told them that they were witnesses to all that had happened – every one of them – and that they had a role in making known these events and the meaning behind them to the rest of the world.

This transition from being followers to being witnesses to the Resurrection had a rocky start: the women didn’t recognize the meaning of the empty tomb without a word from the angels, and the male disciples didn’t recognize the meaning, either; the two disciples on the road didn’t recognize Jesus until he was breaking the bread – a flashback, perhaps, to so many meals they had shared together, especially the Last Supper; and then the whole assembled company didn’t recognize Jesus when he came and stood among them.

How good are you at recognizing Jesus in your midst, the Risen Christ? Do you think to look for Christ’s presence in a variety of ways: in prayer? in Bible reading? in your relationships? in your conversations with others? in the suffering of the poor, the sick, the down-trodden, the marginalized? in the beauty of creation and the arts? There are many things that can keep us from recognizing Jesus – not that least in our modern-day reality of living life at warp-speed. I think many times we rush right past Jesus, never even thinking to keep an eye for him, and then we wonder why we don’t seem to see him. I’m not talking about seeing with our physical eyes, as the disciples were able to in the post-resurrection/pre-ascension period were able to – although I certainly wouldn’t rule that possibility out.

Most often, I believe, we are asked to recognize the Risen Christ through his felt-but-unseen presence in the very human-yet-divine activities of comforting, healing, strengthening, advocating-for, teaching, standing-up-for, creating, helping to restore broken lives, caring for Creation, respecting the dignity of all people, being a loving and true presence – activities we are all called to engage in, especially in relationship to other people.

We need to practice seeking the presence of Christ; recognizing or naming the presence of Christ (Yes, that is what is going on; Jesus is here); celebrating the presence of Christ – being glad, giving thanks. And we need to seek, name, and celebrate the loving presence of Jesus in our own lives, our own stories, and in the story of Scripture just as much as we seek, name, and celebrating the loving presence of Jesus in the stories of others. Recognizing the Risen Christ in our own lives will give us practice and skills in recognizing him in the lives of others.

We are the current generation of disciples. The commission that Jesus gave his followers on Easter night has not changed with the passage of time; we are not off the hook. We are to be witnesses to the power and purpose and promise of God in Christ, just as we vow in our baptismal covenant: ‘Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ? I will, with God’s help.’
So, practice this week. See how many times you can see and know and feel and recognize the loving presence of Jesus in what you do and say, and in situations in which you find yourself. And when you recognize the Risen Christ, when you meet him on the road or in the breaking of the bread or in a conversation – tell someone else; share that story with a friend or a family member - and celebrate the loving presence of Jesus in your life.

Let us pray.
Lord Jesus, give us eyes to see you, ears to hear you, hearts to love you, voices to praise you, and minds to be awakened by you, so that we may know that you are our companion in the way, revealed in Scripture, in the breaking of bread, and in the stories of all people. Grant this for the sake of your love. Amen.

Victoria Geer McGrath
All Saints’ Church, Millington, NJ
Third Sunday of Easter
April 15, 2018

But this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, says the Lord: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. Jeremiah 31:33
Have any of you ever had the experience of exile – whether a forced exile, or one that was self-imposed? Sometimes strained relationships cause a person to leave home, or they are sent packing by their family. Some people have to leave a place they love because it is no longer safe for them. Of course, there are those who are political or economic exiles. But they all share the experience of a separation from home and roots, and if and when they do go back, home has changed; the people have changed; and many things are not as they were before, and even going home brings a sense of loss.

The Israelites of Jeremiah’s day – the sixth century BCE – were in that place. They had been conquered by the Babylonian army, many of them captured and deported, and they lived in Babylon in exile for seventy years. Finally, the Persians conquered Babylon, and the person king Cyrus allowed the Israelites to return home.

But home wasn’t the same as when they had left. The city walls were broken down, strangers were living in their houses, those who had remained in Judea had married outsiders, and the Temple in Jerusalem had been destroyed. The people rebuilt the city, and the Temple as well, but it still was not the same as it had been before they had been taken into exile. The glorious presence of the Lord, whose sign had been the pillar of fire and cloud of smoke that had accompanied them all though their journey through in the wilderness, was not present in the rebuilt Temple; the most sacred place, the place here heaven and earth met. God had left the building, and they knew it. Things were still not right., and the people yearned for the day of Yahweh’s return to the Temple.

Into this situation, the prophet Jeremiah spoke a word of hope and promise on God’s behalf – long-term, but a promise, nevertheless. “The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah…this is the covenant that I will make with them… I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people” God promises that his people will have a new start, a new covenant agreement, one in which intimacy with God, the life-giving law of God will be written in the hearts of all God’s people. They will become a living temple, the center of God’s presence and God’s glory. This was hope, and good news, and promise.

This past week I spent four days at the Evangelism Matters conference. Four hundred Episcopalians gathered from across our church, including some of the international dioceses. There was a great diversity of people: young, old, black, white, Asian, Latino, gay, straight, people with tattoos, people wearing Brooks Brothers blazers, men, women, teens, introverts as well as extroverts, some from very large churches, some from tiny churches – all gathered to learn more about “the spiritual practice of evangelism in the Episcopal Church which is seeking, naming, and celebrating Jesus’ loving presence in the stories of all people – and then inviting them to MORE!”

There was tremendous energy, and joy as well as urgency in the workshops, and worship, and conversations. One very powerful example was an exercise that we did on the first day. We were asked to think of a time when we had reached the end of our rope, had hit the wall, and to remember the feelings we had at the time. And we wrote those feelings on one side of a piece of poster board. Then, we were asked how God had resolved the situation; what made it better, and we were to write those words on the other side. We walked around the room silently, showing our difficult feelings to one another, and then we turned the cards over and showed the other side. Some of the difficult feelings that people wrote down were: abandoned, loss, grief, confusion, sadness, fear, death, alone, ashamed. And then when we turned the cards over we found words like: comfort, meaning, friends, guidance, wholeness, healing, love, community. After we had shared silently with six or seven people, we very briefly told the story to one other person who listened to us, and then we listened to them. We all had a story about God’s love and care for us that had given us hope.

Just like the Israelites, we all had stories of despair and hope; of destruction and restoration; of being at the end of our rope, and being found by the love of God and by community.

And all of us have these stories – times in our lives that have been absolutely awful, and being held and loved by God through the faces and hands of others has made all the difference. That is Good News that we have experienced, the Good News of hope in the love of God.

In the Gospel reading some Greeks, some Gentiles, want to see Jesus. So they go to one of his followers, one of his disciples, Philip, and say “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” Philip then tells Andrew, and they go together to see and speak with Jesus. Now, we never get to hear if these Gentile folks ever connect with Jesus, but what matters in the story is that there are people outside of the Jewish community, outside of Jesus’ own circle, who are curious, who are drawn to him, who see in Jesus the presence of God in a powerful way, and want to know more.

God had promised to his people a new heart, and a new covenant, and it was coming true in Jesus, and people were hungry and thirsty for this true love and hope which held up even in the face of death.
People are no different today; they are just as hungry and thirsty for true love, and belonging, and hope, and goodness, as any ancient people ever were – especially hope, love, and goodness in the face of exile, despair, and death. But they don’t always know where to find it, or that it is even possible to be found.

I hope and pray that all of you in your times of pain, or alienation, or sorrow, or despair have been held by the love of God; that Jesus has met you in that dark and terrible place and brought light to your path, to your heart, to your life. If you have been through this you have a story of hope and love that you can share with someone else who needs to hear it, someone who is in their own dark place. Just by sharing your story with a friend, a co-worker, a neighbor in their need, you can be a messenger of hope, a conveyer of God’s love, one who helps others to see Jesus. Just by offering to pray for or with another in pain, you are conveying that they matter to God, that God notices them, sees them, listens to them; in the very same way that God notices, sees, and listens to you. You matter to Jesus.

Let us pray.
Lord Jesus Christ, you stretched out your arms of love on
the hard wood of the cross that everyone might come within
the reach of your saving embrace: So clothe us in your Spirit
that we, reaching forth our hands in love, may bring those
who do not know you to the knowledge and love of you; for
the honor of your Name. Amen.

Victoria Geer McGrath
All Saints’ Church, Millington, NJ
Fifth Sunday in Lent
March 18, 2018