Gone fishing

Today’s sermon is based on:   John 21:1-19.

+ + +

If I had spent a month looking for it, I could not have picked a better lesson than this one assigned for today from the Gospel of John.

Let’s recap: After Jesus dies, the disciples go fishing, and when they get back to shore, a stranger cooks them breakfast on the beach.

They don’t recognize him as Jesus until he breaks the bread. And then Jesus proceeds to instruct Peter on what needs to be done:

Feed my sheep.

Today is my last Sunday with you before my sabbatical leave-of-absence begins. I will be away until August.

For the next three-and-a-half months, I will be working on a book.

And I’m going to do a little fishing and have breakfast on Fridays with old newspaper friends back in Sacramento.

They may not look like Jesus, or his disciples, but you’d be surprised at their hearts of gold.

You should know that a great deal of planning has gone into what will happen while I am gone.

Christie Thomas, our senior warden, John Reid, our parish administrator, and Peter Carey, our senior associate rector, have devised a detailed 28-page plan for who will be doing what in my absence. You are in very good, able and organized hands.

Sabbaticals are normal and positive occasions in the rhythm of parish life. Sabbaticals are a time of renewal for your rector, and for all of us to step back to reconnect with the foundations of our shared ministry.

While I am gone, the Vestry will be engaged in a process known as “mutual ministry review” and will be guided by the Rev. Pat Wingo, who is the canon, or chief assistant, to the bishop in our diocese, Shannon Johnston.

That process will culminate in an all-day retreat with the Vestry, Canon Wingo and myself when I get back in the fall.

I have been here almost five years, and we have experienced many changes together both personally and collectively.

We’ve welcomed new people, said goodbye to others, and grieved the deaths of still others. We ended some ministries, strengthened others and developed a few new ones.

The life of a congregation and rector unfolds in chapters. We’ve been through the getting-to-know you chapter, and the getting-down-to-work chapter. This sabbatical will mark the beginning of a new chapter.

How that new chapter will unfold none of us yet know. It will be written not just by us, but will be the work of the Holy Spirit working in all of us – of that I firmly believe or I wouldn’t be here. As a clergy friend pointed out to me last week, I will be on sabbatical, but the One who creates us and redeems us is never on sabbatical.

And that brings me to this remarkable story of Jesus feeding breakfast to his friends on the beach. Jesus tells Peter to “feed my sheep.” And as if to underline it, Jesus tells Peter three times, feed my sheep.

So, Peter, feed my sheep.

Biblical commentators speculate that Jesus told Peter to “feed my sheep” three times as a way of closing the episode before the crucifixion when Peter denies knowing Jesus three times.

That has a nice literary bookendish quality to it, and the fact the Jesus entrusts Peter, with all his flaws, is a statement that God’s boundless grace and love will triumph over our biggest mistakes and our worst sins.

I definitely find comfort in that idea.

But I wonder if there is another reason Jesus tells Peter to feed my sheep three times?

I wonder if Jesus says that three times because Peter isn’t quite getting it who the sheep are; that the sheep aren’t just the 12 guys enjoying breakfast together.

The sheep are many. The sheep include all of us who are here today; and the sheep include people who haven’t found their way here yet.

They include our students from across the street and people in our community who are hurting. Jesus does not come to establish a private dining club. He feeds his disciples breakfast and then sends them out to feed the sheep – and feed them everywhere.

He especially sends his disciples to be with the poor, the sick, the starving, the prisoners, the homeless, the unemployed.

He sends us.

Feed my sheep.

Feed my sheep.

Feed my sheep.

William Temple, the truly great Archbishop of Canterbury in World War II, once said: “The Church is the only society that exists for the benefit of those who are not its members.” Feed my sheep. All of them.

In 2010 we celebrated our centennial with Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori, the chief bishop of the Episcopal Church.

She challenged us in this pulpit, where I stand, to hear Jesus’ call to “be bold.” And we’ve been living into that challenge of how to be bold here at St, Paul’s.

Our Stephen Ministers visit with those who need a sympathetic ear; our hospital visitors spend time with the sick. Our Sunday school teachers educate our children in the faith, and our acolytes and choir brighten and inspire our worship.

Many of you bring dinner on Sunday for our university students, who gather regularly for prayer, study and friendship.

Martha’s Guild volunteers work tirelessly on hospitality events like the “Women Walking Together” luncheon yesterday.

Feed my sheep.

Our sheep are many, and are beyond our walls. PACEM volunteers give shelter to to people who live on the street, and our Salvation Army dinner teams feed those who are down on their luck. Feed my sheep.

We also need to look at why some sheep are hungry. We are part of a coalition of congregations in Charlottesville called “IMPACT,” which stands for:

“Interfaith Movement Promoting Action by Congregations Together.”

IMPACT is the only organization in our region that brings Christians, Jews and Muslims together, and a common cause to change the social systems that perpetuate poverty, unemployment and homelessness. In a world that is torn to pieces by religious strife, uniting across religious lines to do anything at all is extraordinary.

These past two years it has been my privilege to serve as the co-president of IMPACT, and my time in this post will soon draw to a close.

So there is something I want you to do while I am gone.

IMPACT’s annual gathering, called the Nehemiah Action, will be on Monday April 29 at 6:30 pm at the John Paul Jones Arena.

I cannot go, but I want you to go.

All of you.

And I want you to invite others to go with you.

This year we’ve been working on the most complex and difficult issues we’ve ever tackled – unemployment and homelessness in our region.

We need you there to show support for these efforts.

You need a ticket to get in, and you can get one this morning from some folks right near you. Feed my sheep. Be at the Nehemiah Action.

My friends, thank you for having me as your pastor and priest, for supporting Lori and me, and for serving each other and the world beyond these walls.

We have traveled far together already, and there are more miles to go on our road together. You will be in my thoughts and prayers, and may each of you go from strength to strength, and blessing upon blessing.

It is time for me to go fishing. Be bold.

By James Richardson, Fiat Lux

Abraham's Stars

St. Paul's Memorial Church is one of the founders of IMPACT, an interfaith coalition of 27 congregations -- Christian, Jewish and Muslim -- working together on community issues in Charlottesville.

We will soon gather at the John Paul Jones Arena on April 29 at 6:30 pm to hear our proposals for a coordinated effort to reduce homelessness and create new entry-level jobs for young adults. I hope you will come.

The other evening I gave a reflection for IMPACT leaders from our congregations, and I used the occasion partly as a refresher on how IMPACT does what it does. Roughly one-third of our congregational leaders are new to this, so it was a good moment to pause and reflect on how we got where we are and the accomplishments we have so far achieved. Here is the text of my talk:

+ + +

Abraham’s Stars

Genesis 15:1-6

After these things the word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision, “Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great…” He brought him outside and said, “Look towards heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them.” Then he said to him, “So shall your descendants be.” And he believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness.

I want you to look around – look at each other tonight and count the stars among you, for you are Abraham’s stars. The Lord has reckoned you as righteous and good and beloved. Do not be afraid, God told Abraham, and God tells us: Do not be afraid. You are Abraham’s stars.

Tonight I want to spend a few minutes talking about IMPACT, what we are, how we got here, what we’ve accomplished and why we do what we do the way we do it.

So let’s have a little refresher on IMPACT.

We were founded in 2006 by a group of congregations who came together wanting to make a difference in our community.

Many were already involved in ministries of mercy like PACEM and the Salvation Army. They wanted to see if they could change the system so that ministries like PACEM and the Salvation Army would no longer be necessary one day.

The group affiliated with a training organization based in Florida called DART that began showing our congregational leaders and clergy how to create a listening-based community organizing structure that would tackle tough issues in Charlottesville.

Rabbi Dan Alexander of Congregation Beth Israel came up with the acronym, IMPACT, which stands for: Interfaith Movement Promoting Action by Congregations Together.

IMPACT’s method is based on listening to members of our congregations to find out what issues are most on their minds and hearts.

We do that every year in our congregations. In my congregation we have a series of house meetings. From there we narrow the issues. In the fall, we hold the Annual Team Assembly and hear presentations on the problems we’ve heard about from you.

Everyone in our congregations is invited, and we vote to narrow the issue to one or two for the year.

Then members of our congregations volunteer to serve on research teams to find out all we can about the issue for the year.

They come up with proposed solutions, and they meet with decision makers to further refine these solutions. Our goal is to not blindside anyone.

That’s where we come in tonight – to hear about the progress on the two issues we are working on this year: youth unemployment and homelessness – and how we are pushing for action with decision makers in our community.

You will hear more on these topics soon.

Then comes the Nehemiah Action where we ask you to bring at least three people with you to fill the John Paul Jones Arena.

We ask that the decision makers who can make changes in the system come to the Nehemiah Action and appear in on stage.

We ask them if they will commit to the solutions. We will applaud them for positive answers and remain scrupulously polite at all times.

We do this in public because this is a public process we are engaged with. We ask they make their commitments in front of you, the people who have raised these issues and worked on finding solutions.

We ask that you bring as many people as possible to show that there is support in our congregations for these solutions.

This is about grassroots support for realistic solutions, but that also can make some people very uncomfortable because it may not be the way they are accustomed to conducting business.

There is another level to this that I want to talk to you about.

What we do with IMPACT is to share the influence that we have together – power that we have by being together rather than working apart.

We are being asked to come together to share our collective power especially with those in our community who are not accustomed to having much influence or having their voices heard, like our unemployed young people or the homeless.

And IMPACT is remarkable for another reason: In world torn apart by religious differences, we come together looking for what we have in common as heirs to Abraham.

That may make some of us uncomfortable for many reasons. But this is not about our personal comfort. You are being asked to be uncomfortable by standing with those who don’t have much influence on their own.

All of us are being asked to stand up with one voice, to use our voice, and to use keep standing together to change our world.

And you know what? We already have, right here in Charlottesville. Let’s count our successes in the last four years:

* In 2007, IMPACT won new bus routes serving low-income neighborhoods so that people can get to school and work, or go to the grocery store. 

* In 2008, IMPACT won approval of a free dental clinic serving thousands of people who have no dental insurance. 

* In 2010, IMPACT won approval from local law enforcement agencies to develop translation services for non-English speaking people who encounter the Justice system.

Many of our successes take more than one year.

* It took two years to win expansion of pre-school education programs.

* It took two years to win approval from the city and county for the healthy transitions program for the mentally ill. 

* It took three years to win approval of an affordable housing trust fund and the refurbishment of hundreds of housing units for low-income people.

And now we are engaged in the most difficult and complex issues we have ever engaged with: jobs and homelessness.

The outcome of this year’s Nehemiah Action is still uncertain. You will hear more on these issues a little later, but let me underline this year – more than ever – it especially important that you bring as many people as you can to the Nehemiah Action on April 29.

Last spring, we brought 1,537 people to the Nehemiah Action to speak with one voice and have an impact in our community, and that got us part of the way on our issues.

But we still have a long distance to go. We will not get there without you.

If we were to bring the equivalent of one day’s average worship attendance we would have 4,000. Think of the impact we would have with that many voices and the bigger issues we could tackle in the years ahead. Think of what we might accomplish together.

Tonight we are on a journey like our ancestor Abraham. We are walking together on a road with many bumps and curves. We will make our share of mistakes and a wrong turn or two.

But know this: This same God, the God of Abraham, the God of Moses, the God of Jesus, the God of Mohammed is with us, and will guide us, and will bring us safely through. Do not be afraid, God told Abraham. Do not be afraid, God tells us.

You and I are Abraham’s stars.

By James Richardson, Fiat Lux

Jesus saves, and the people on our doorstep

Sign on the roof of
the Church of the Open Door,
Los Angeles

Today's readings are 1 Samuel 2:1-10, Psalm 16, Hebrews 10:11-14 (15-18) 19-25, Mark 13:1-8.

Here is my sermon for today:

+ + +

“My heart exults in the LORD; 

my strength is exalted in my God.” 

 -- From the Song of Hannah

Last Wednesday, as is our custom here at St. Paul’s, we had our community night dinner and fed everyone who came through our doors.

We had adult classes, showed a film, and the youth group went bowling. People prayed, they were fed, and had a little fun, and, we hope, they learned something.

It was a good evening – until the very end, when a young man in a hoodie asked me if he could sleep in the church. He said he had nowhere else to go.

I told him he couldn’t sleep here. I made sure he had something to eat, and let him stay inside until it came time to lock up.

It was too late for him to get to PACEM, the program whereby churches in our area take turns housing homeless people in the cold months. Our turn to host PACEM will come, but it wasn’t yet our night. I talked to this young man about how to get to PACEM the next night, and I haven’t seen him since.

I went home praying he would be OK, and feeling low and frustrated that I offered so little when the needs are so great all around us.

Could I have done better? Certainly.

Yet the truth is we see a great many homeless people regularly on our corner, and sometimes they sleep in our bushes.

We live in a deceptively bucolic community, but beneath the surface we have a great deal of poverty and homelessness right here.

You may not know this, but Charlottesville adopted a plan in 2009 to end homelessness by the year 2012. The plan had concrete steps, and a few have come to pass, like a low-income apartment house called the Crossings.

But very little else has happened with that plan.

And we still have people who arrive on our doorstep. If we are to truly claim to be followers of Jesus, then we here have a role, and we have just got to do better.

I want to take you to another place today, a place that in its own way gives me hope. Many years ago, when I was a news reporter, I carried a notebook into gritty neighborhoods where life is hard, and often violent and short.

One of the places I used to go is Skid Row in Los Angeles, where there is an old bleached-out boxy building, dating from 1935. On the roof is a big red neon sign that flashes “Jesus Saves.”

You can see that sign for miles.

I must admit, the sign has always entranced me, but also bothered me. Why would anyone who lives on Skid Row even believe it?

It may not seem very Episcopalian to talk about “Jesus saves” – and we certainly don’t like neon signs, and I am not putting one on the roof of this building, thank you.

Yet, that neon sign underlines an audacious claim by this Christian religion we practice:

“Jesus saves.”

It is up to us to make that sign real. Why? The Bible tells us so.

If you read the Bible closely, you will discover that most of the stories of God’s salvation are in this world, with real people in real places. Very few stories are about salvation in the next world.

The Bible and our prayer book, our baptism and our Eucharist, and the very words of the hymns we sing, all proclaim the very same thing:

Jesus saves – now, here, today.

So what does that mean?

Back up a little. Our religion is built on the idea that we follow a Jewish holy man who lived 2,000 years ago half a world away, in a place very, very different than Central Virginia.

He was no hippie, no Zen monk. He worked with his hands and he enjoyed a good meal and strong drink, and he could spin a good yarn.

But he could be quite harsh with his followers, and he did not shy away from telling them about the gritty realities of the world – and what they had to do to be his follower. Feed the hungry, heal the sick, turn the other cheek, give away your possessions.

Why would anyone follow this Jesus? Why would anyone claim he saves anyone? He could not even save himself from the Cross, as his detractors pointed out. Over the centuries, many have tried to explain why Jesus willingly goes to the Cross, and to be candid, some of those explanations fail.

We get one explanation today in the Letter to the Hebrews. The letter writer wants his listeners to believe that Jesus saves.

And he explains it with words that are strange to our ears, words about blood sacrifice and “curtains of flesh” – language that meant a great deal to people steeped in the ways of the Hebrew Temple.

The problem is that the language of blood offerings doesn’t resonate well in our own time, and, worse, is easily misunderstood.

Some have heard in these words the image of a bloodthirsty hateful God. If we take these images literally, as many do, we end up with a God who is satisfied only with death.

Is there another way to understand this?

I go back to the neon sign on Skid Row:

Jesus saves.

Jesus loves the world enough to experience everything we experience, even the pain and loss we suffer, and to live with us, especially in our hardest most perplexing moments. That is why he goes to the Cross, to be there with us – and not to satisfy some bloodthirsty deity.

He brings every ounce of his own divinity to be with us in the lowest places, to live on all the skid rows of this world.

In today’s gospel lesson from Mark, a passage laced with images of apocalypse, Jesus tells us wars and famines do come. Great buildings like the Temple will fall.

Yet Jesus offers us another way of seeing: look beyond the appearances, he says, because pain and hardship will fade into history, and I will be right here with you, and will never let you go no matter what.

But there is a challenge for us in this:

If, indeed, the Risen Christ is within us, then what are we doing to bring God’s dream of compassion alive here and now? How are we the hands of Christ?

Skid Row is right outside our doors some nights, and the weather is getting colder. It is up to us – all of us – to make real that Jesus saves. It is up to us – up to me – to do better.

But have heart: All will be made new, all will be blessed, and God’s dream of love and compassion is coming alive within you and around you – so have eyes to see and ears to hear – and hands and feet to act!

This is the faith of the ancients; we hear it echoing in the Song of Hannah, our Old Testament lesson for today:

“He raises up the poor from the dust; he lifts up the needy from the ash heap, to make them sit with princes and inherit a seat of honor.”

And this is the faith of people I’ve met on Skid Row:

Jesus does save, here, now. Today.

The man with a fist full of quarters

BERKELEY, CA. -- I arrived Sunday night at San Francisco International Airport after a tedious day of highways, airports and airplanes, and very thankful that my flight to California was uneventful, thankful that there were no weather complications and thankful that my body and bag had arrived intact.

I boarded the BART train at SFO like I have so many times before, and then buried my nose in my Blackberry, catching up on the emails that had chased my across the continent while I was in the air. The train was mostly empty except for me and a few other weary air travelers.

We rode on past San Bruno and Daly City and into the Mission district of San Francisco, making stops along the way, picking up more passengers. As we cruised along, I tippy-tapped my e-mail replies on my Blackberry, oblivious to anything and anyone else around me.

Just then, an old man in the aisle walked up, leaned over and put his face a few inches from mine. He was gray, his face wrinkled, his clothes disheveled, and he held a fist full of quarters. I was startled. He asked me for money, shaking his open hand with the quarters he already had. I mumbled "sorry," and buried my nose back in my Blackberry. The the-old-man-with-quarters moved on to the person in the next seat and then onto the next car. He didn't waste much time.

A few minutes later, a BART Police officer came striding through our car, probably looking for the the-old-man-with-quarters. For a moment I thought to say "he went that-a-way," but I said

nothing.

I've encountered many street people and panhandlers over the years. They don't scare me but I am not usually taken by surprise either. I almost never give money, but I almost always do more than just mumble "sorry." My gift can be a smile, a hello, or asking "what's your name?" A few street people I've gotten to know.

But the the-old-man-with-quarters caught me up short in my own shell; I had slipped all too quickly into the familiarity of my surroundings.

Maybe I notice more in Charlottesville, Virginia, because it is still so unfamiliar to me. There is a street person who is a regular on our corner in Charlottesville. Call him "Joe" (I know his real name). He is heavy-set, he has bad eye sight, usually smells and has drinking issues. He is a musician and he is a survivor. He is always polite, he knows a lot of things and talks a lot. "Joe" came to church on Sunday to our smaller 8 am service. I was happy to see him, happy he is surviving the grinding winter.

After the 8 am service, and after chatting with "Joe," I left the church and drove two hours to Dulles airport to catch my flight and quietly congratulated myself that "Joe" feels comfortable enough to come to my church once in awhile.

So why did the-old-man-with-quarters on the BART train startle me? I could chalk it up to jet lag and travel fatigue, and that would be partly right. But it is more than that. The truth is that I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings, to the people riding with me in a BART train. They were as connected to me as anyone in an email on my Blackberry, truthfully more so in that moment.

My sin wasn't in my declining to give the-old-man-with-quarters any money -- I rarely do with any street people. My sin was in not engaging the-old-man-with-quarters as a human being. I even resented him for invading my train ("he went that-a-way"). Today I ask God's forgiveness for that.

I also ask forgiveness that we still have old destitute disheveled men who feel they have to get onto trains looking for quarters.

The San Francisco Bay Area is an opulent place, full of dazzling wealth, amazing restaurants, rich intellectual and cultural life, and it is breathtakingly beautiful. I am from here. I was born and grew up here; the water of the Bay flows in my veins and in my heart. I know its history and I am part of its history. My dad's ashes are scattered at the Golden Gate. I know this place better than anywhere else on earth.

But do I really? Noticing those on the fringes is still a challenge for me especially in the places I know best. Doing something about what I see is an even greater challenge. It is for all of us no matter where we are.

Riding along, I noticed an advertisement on the BART train for Riedel wine glasses with a caption that Riedel has the correct "messenger" for every grape variety. The City has so much wealth that people can buy a different shaped glass for every variety of wine in their collection.

Yet we still have the poor on our streets, not enough beds in our treatment centers, and we resent them for asking for a quarter. I would guess that the old-men-with-quarters are not particular about the "messenger" that brings them sustenance, wine or otherwise.

What kind of messengers are we? What kind of messenger am I? Leading a life of faith is not just about tending to my own interior spiritual development; it is about being the hands and feet of Christ in our own hurting world. We are the messengers. The good news is that this is not a challenge for us as isolated individuals but for the entire community of faith. We are called to do this together and there is great strength in that.

The prophet Isaiah 58:1-12 had something to say about this in Monday's Daily Office readings, and I leave you with this:

"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,
and your healing shall spring up quickly;
your vindicator shall go before you,
the glory of the Lord shall be your rearguard.
Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer;
you shall cry for help, and he will say, Here I am."

+ + +

I am in the Bay Area this week at a meeting at the Church Divinity School of the Pacific and then attending to personal and family affairs. Please keep my mother, who is ailing, in your prayers. I may not post here as frequently as I usually do, but please check back here from time to time.

Blessings to all.

James+

We've lost a saint today: Greg Bunker

I received very sad news this morning. My dear friend, Greg Bunker, the executive director of Francis House in Sacramento, died last night of a heart attack. It was my honor and privilege to be his friend and to serve on his board for many years.

Greg was a tireless advocate for the homeless, and found endlessly creative ways to get people off the streets and on their feet. He never, never, never gave up. He built Francis House from the ground up, and it serves thousands upon thousands of people who have no other place to turn. The world has lost a saint.

I saw him last in June at a tribute by Sacramento Cottage Housing for Catholic Bishop Francis Quinn. I've always been amazed at how the various organizations working on homeless and poverty issues in Sacramento have been able to work closely with each other. A big reason for that was Greg and his willingness to find the good in everyone. He didn't have a territorial bone in his body.

Greg Bunker worked with homeless folks on a daily basis. And he spoke truth to power, getting at the heart of seemingly simple things that had a huge impact. I worked with him lobbying legislators when he discovered that ex-cons were being paroled from prison with no Department of Motor Vehicles state identification cards (and thus could not apply for a job). Greg was relentless on that issue and so many others, and he won powerful converts like Senate President Pro Tem Darrell Steinberg.

When the state of California invoked its imminent domaine rights to claim the property of Francis House so that the state could build the (infamous) East-End office project, many thought it was the doom of Francis House. But not Greg. He found an old building over on C Street, and built Francis House bigger and better.

Greg was a prodigious fund-raiser; he managed to get United Parcel Service to give $100,000 to rehab the old building -- the largest charitable gift in the history of UPS. That was an amazing day when Greg called to announce the grant.

Here is a video of Greg at the tent city in Sacramento, protesting how homelessness has become virtually a crime: