Christ Episcopal Church

The Rev. Diana L. Wilcox
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  • Christianity
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An Anglican Church Growing In Faith ~ Serving Our Neighbors ~ Creating Community

Episodes

  1. 12h ago

    “Go And Learn What This Means”

    June 7, 2026: May God’s words be spoken, may God’s words be heard.  Amen. Sometimes the life of a priest is about prayer, worship, pastoral care, and all the other things many people think about when they wonder what clergy do.  Often it is also about boilers, budgets, broken pipes, roof leaks, personnel issues, or paperwork.  But once in awhile, it offers a special little gift to this priest – the joy of children in our Nursery School on the day of graduation. This past Friday, my dog Lexi and I participated again in our preschool graduation ceremony, bidding farewell this year to 11 children heading off to Kindergarten, including Sophia Reynolds.  Professor Lexi, in her cap and gown, not only leads the procession, but offered up a few words of advice to the graduates: “do not be afraid to snag the treats and be sure to take time for belly rubs.” She then helped to clean up the floor of all the cake and icing that happened to fall. Thankfully, I stopped a child from sliding her a whole cookie.  So, while following the call of Christ into ordination isn’t always what one expects, it is always filled with far more joy than we could ever imagine.  Call is like that – it begins with a willingness to enter into the unknown. And, these kids are leaving behind the teachers and friends they have come to know so well to begin a new adventure too.  Based on the test scores our students achieve when they graduate, I know they are, as they sang in their song “Ready to go!” Today we hear about some other call stories – the one of Abram and Sarai in Genesis, that of Matthew in the gospel, and perhaps some others that will emerge for us as we do a deeper dive.  And today, I want to focus on the passage from the 9th chapter of the Gospel of Matthew. In the first part of the text we just heard, Matthew is sitting in the tax booth when Jesus walks by and says “Follow me.” While the text doesn’t say it, tax collectors in those days were not the beleaguered public servants of our day.  They were ones who collected the taxes due to the emperor– and then some – lining their own pockets.  So, as you can imagine, they aren’t particularly well liked in the community.  Was Matthew one of those crooked types who got rich off the backs of others?  The text doesn’t say.  Yet when Jesus invites him, he leaves that booth and becomes a disciple.  Apparently, so did a few other tax collectors, as the text tells us.  What must that have been like for them?  They would lose all their income.  They did not really know what lay ahead for them – neither, for that matter, did any other follower of Jesus.  I mean, imagine if Jesus just walked into some CEO’s office, said “follow me,” and they got up – leaving laptop and everything else behind, and walked out the door with him?  That sounds crazy, right?  Well, that is what Matthew did. But there is more going on here, because people like Matthew were understandably considered traitors of the people.  Imagine if that CEO had been in charge of a pharmaceutical company that profited off the opioid addiction and death of millions.  Jesus, what are you thinking?  Well, that is what Jesus did.  But wait, there’s still more… Matthew and others like him – tax collectors, other pharma CEO types, and the like, end up having dinner with Jesus too.  And – here’s what we sometimes miss – this isn’t in some town far away where Jesus is traveling.  This is in his hometown, in his own home.  The opening of the chapter begins in this way: “…and after getting into a boat he crossed the sea and came to his own town.”  This Matthew may have been the very guy who ripped off Jesus and his family through the years – who profited on the backs of his friends and relatives in town.  It kinda puts the next part in perspective. The local religious leaders were not happy about this and question Jesus about it (I have to wonder if there were more than just those Pharisees who thought that way too).  And to them Jesus says “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.”  Now, this is where it pays to actually read the text, not just hear it.  When he says “Go and learn what this means,” he isn’t referring to what he just said – that bit about “Those who are well have no need of a physician…”. He is referring to what he is about to say: “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.”  One thing I have to note here before I continue is that this is not Jesus condemning Judaism as a faith.  In today’s context, he would say the same thing to many, many, Christian leaders, to be sure.  That absurd antisemitic reading of the passage aside, a better translation might be this: “I desire mercy, not purity,” which makes the next part more understandable: “For I have come to call not the righteous, but sinners.”  And folks, that’s a good thing for us all. Because if Jesus didn’t eat with sinners, he’d be eating alone!  The same is true for all of us.  If folks are looking for perfect people, they better look elsewhere, because they sure as heck won’t find them in a church.  And the truth is – they won’t find them anywhere else either.  God didn’t create perfect people, but God become incarnate to dwell among us that we might come to know that perfection isn’t what God desires of us.  We aren’t meant to be perfect – we are meant to love – radically and unconditionally.  And that leads us to the rest of the story, because that type of love is what Jesus was offering in that moment, and it opened doors even he did not expect. As he walked along, a temple leader came begging him to revive his daughter who had just died.  With the same words that were used for Matthew, Jesus got up and followed him.  As he walked along, “a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years came up behind him and touched the fringe of his cloak.”  She did this because, as the text says, she believed that just by touching something that touched him, she would be made well.  And – she was.  But more than that, Jesus turned to her, looked at her, and affirmed her. There is a lot packed into these twin stories, but one thing that needs to be understood is that these two people are different in more than just their gender and situation.  The man had agency to come right up to Jesus, the woman did not.  A woman in that time and culture who was bleeding was considered impure.  She would have been kept out of the temple those 12 long years, and most likely pushed to the margins of society.  It was a brave thing for her to do – going into a group of people on the chance of touching even just the fringe of Jesus’ cloak. Bravery born of desperation – for inclusion, for grace, for mercy, for love – but maybe she also heard about the radical welcome Jesus had given to Matthew and the others in his own home. Perhaps we can hold these two stories – of Matthew and this woman – in our hearts and minds in these difficult days.  Let’s give her a name though, she deserves one.  Let’s call her Leah, a Hebrew name which can mean weary or grieved, for she was certainly that, not only from her physical ailments, but by the marginalization it brought her. Matthew and Leah are two different call stories – both are the story of the church today.  Matthew is all of us – flawed people, who have erred along the way, hurt others intentionally or not, and perhaps have been deeply hurt ourselves.  Jesus called to us and we followed.  Jesus welcomes us to this table, and we eat.  Leah is called to Jesus too, for healing and for love, but approaching him seemed dangerous – the doors of the church have not always felt like a welcome place for her.  She is the trans teen, the gay man, the addicted executive, the immigrant or refugee, the homeless woman, the elderly WWII vet with PTSD, the child with autism who is louder than some think they should be, the lonely, the infirm, the lost, and the last of our society.  They are in our hometown too, as Leah and Matthew were in Jesus’, yet sometimes it is hardest to see clearly what is too familiar to us; or, even more likely, they have been pushed into the shadows so we don’t see them at all. As for their call and ours, Matthew certainly was not worthy of the call of Jesus – none of us are.  That’s when we need to remember this quote by the late and great Bishop Barbara Harris: “God doesn’t call those who are worthy.  God makes worthy those whom God has called.” And like Leah, our healing by Christ, here at this table, will give us all that we need to lead the life he calls us into when we leave these doors.  Which is a good thing, because Jesus is saying to each of us today the very thing he said to Matthew: “Follow me.”  He is turning to affirm our desire for grace and love as he did with Leah that we may be healed and live into our lives as his followers. And, when Jesus calls us – it isn’t into a life of safety, but of dangerously prophetic witness. When Jesus calls us – it isn’t into a life of ease, but of discomfort with injustice. When Jesus calls us – it isn’t into a life of purity, but of unconditional love born of redemptive grace. When we answer the call of Jesus to follow him, it means we leave from here – from this table – to seek him out in the world.  In this very gospel, he told us where he could be found – and it was in all those society and the church has for so long cast aside.  We must, as Jesus did, search to find the Matthews yearning for a new path.  We must turn toward the marginalized who seek healing and affirm them with love as he did with

    18 min

  2. May 31

    “Let There Be Light!”

    May 31, 2026 – Trinity Sunday – May God’s words be spoken, may God’s words be heard.  Amen. Good morning, and welcome to Trinity Sunday, when priests usually pass off the sermon to unsuspecting seminarians or assisting clergy.  Kidding.  Sort of.  This is one of the Church’s principal feast days, and the only one that celebrates a doctrine, rather than an event or a person.  The doctrine itself is the work of the earliest Christian theologians, who were trying to find a way to understand the nature of God, Christ, and Holy Spirit.  Each being part of our scriptures, but their relationship to one another was not in our sacred texts.  The Trinity, as a construct, came later.  And this mystery of 3 in 1 and 1 in 3 can often end up leading even well intentioned people of faith down a theological rabbit hole.   So, that’s why I am not going to preach about it, other than to say this: The doctrine of the Trinity is not a complete description of God, because that is impossible. The doctrine of the Trinity is a way of describing relationship – the relationship of God, Christ, and Holy Spirit – yes.  But, it is also a way to understand ourselves – the ones made in God’s image.  “The Trinity is a statement of how God relates, not how God is. Or perhaps how anyone relates is indeed how one is.”[1]  And when it comes to God, the relationship – God, Christ, Spirit, and us, is an eternal and unconditional dance of love. And if there is one thing we all need now is an eternal and unconditional relationship of love – God’s love for us, our love for God, and loving our neighbor.  So, with all that in mind, let’s look at the passage from Genesis that we heard today, because there is a lot there that will feed us as we move along in these difficult days. Now, there are two creation stories in the bible – three if one were to count the Revelation to John as a creation story of sorts. Many, if asked how humanity was created, would say Adam from clay and Eve from Adam’s rib.  But that is found in the second chapter of Genesis, not the story we get here – the one given primacy in the scriptures.   Why two?  Well, why four gospels?  On Genesis, scholars believe they came from two different cultural traditions and were kept together so as not to lose either.  The differences are more than just the introduction of humanity, and a full description of them is really too much to get into today, but suffice it to say that Genesis 1 offers a cosmic God, and Genesis 2 a personal one.  Genesis 1 moves from dark chaos to order to sabbath.  Genesis 2 from dry land to water everywhere.   Which is right?  A rabbi of these Jewish texts would say “they both are.”  Which is why these are not meant to be read literally, but faithfully. The story we hear in those first 35 verses of our bible begins this way (using the NRSVU translation): “When God began to create the heavens and the earth, the earth was complete chaos, and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. Then God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. And God saw that the light was good, and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light Day, and the darkness [God]called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.” It goes on like this, each day God creating something – heavens & earth, sun, moon, and stars, coffee and fast food, etc.  And then there was the 6th day when God created all the animals of the air, the sea, and those that dwell on the earth, and also humans!  Yup, that’s right, we were created on the same day as all the other animals.  That was a very long 6th day to be sure for God.  Oh, and the text also says that both humans and animals were meant to be vegetarians.  Missed that part?  Well, it’s right here: “God said, “See, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is upon the face of all the earth and every tree with seed in its fruit; you shall have them for food. And to every beast of the earth and to every bird of the air and to everything that creeps on the earth, everything that has the breath of life, I have given every green plant for food.” I suspect nobody asked the plant life how it felt about all that. I once pointed that out to a friend from Texas who loves her BBQ and she was like “WHAAAATTTT????  NO!”  Don’t worry though, that all went by the scriptural wayside later. Anyway, then God declared all that was made on that 6th day good.  God didn’t say “Love those animals we created, but the humans – well, they are just awesome!” Nope.  Just the same divine thumbs up at the end of a long day for all of it.  That outta humble us a bit. And, as we point out in the diocesan Anti-Sexism training, God said “Let us make humankind in our image – male and female.”  Of course – there is that bit about God saying “Let us” and “our,” making it clear that God is the ultimate non-binary being.  But something the church and the world so frequently ignores is that the image of God is equally in women as in men.  So – lots to consider in this one creation story.  Of course, as noted earlier, we should read this passage, and our entire bible, not literally, but with a focus on the context in which it was written, and draw from all of it the meaning God has for us – the truth found within and between the lines of text.  With that in mind, let’s think about what it is telling us today.  Why do we need to hear it now?  You know, with all the cold and rain we have had coming into the past week, it has sort of felt like we might never know the warmth of sunlight again.  Some of you feel, or know people who do, this type of darkness from the grief, pain, or fear you face personally.  And of course, for all of us, there is also the darkness of the world that we feel and see and hear all around us.  We all know about the violence of war in Iran and Ukraine and other places.  We know too about the violence in our schools, places of worship, and in the streets.  We know the violence of government agents against citizens and non-citizens alike, and those who protest on their behalf.  But most of us will never know what it is like to be tossed into one of these concentration camps our government runs. Specifically, reports out of Delaney Hall in Newark, just a few miles from this parish, describe what these inmates are living through there –  rotted or infested food, unsanitary conditions, pregnancy, cancer, and other medical conditions left untreated, and physical beatings.  In some prisons across our country with similar conditions, suicides are on the rise.  In a recent study, it was found that 73% of those imprisoned by ICE and CBP have committed no crime, and even if they did, we believe in this country that people should be treated humanely.  And,100% of those picked up by ICE & CBP have not received due process of law that is owed to every single person – citizen or not – within the borders of our country by the 5th and 14th amendments of our Constitution.  The horrible conditions have led some in Delaney Hall to go on a hunger strike.  Protestors, including faith leaders, have been supporting their families outside and speaking on their behalf.  Government leaders have tried to gain their rightful access to the facility to inspect it and speak to the prisoners, and they most were not only denied, but in some cases they have been pushed, pepper sprayed, or arrested. What is happening in our country now has created a chaos as dark as an abyss.  And so, as I stood in protest with other faith leaders at Delaney Hall this past Friday, looking into the eyes of Federal agents, or gazing up at the prison windows, I thought about this text – and there I found hope. Remember – darkness and chaos covered the earth, the Holy Spirit – the breath of God – moved over the waters.  And into this, God decided to first create light.  Was it to see everything better as God continued to create?  I doubt that.  The thing is, scientists know that light plays an important role in sustaining life.  And we all know, that light, even the hope of it, can sustain us in times of deep darkness – the thought of it can keep us going, even when we are unable to see it. We hear that in the iconic poem found scratched into the wall of a cellar where Jews were hidden in Cologne, Germany, which read: “I believe in the sun even when it is not shining. I believe in love even when I do not feel it. I believe in God even when God is silent.” Imagine the darkness that surrounded the person who etched that into the stone – fear, violence, hatred of others, war, loss of loved ones.  The sun was not shining into that cellar, but its promise was a lifeline of hope in a time when love could not be felt.  And it was that knowledge, deep within whomever wrote it, that is a sign that God was not silent at all, but present in that very place in that very moment, with one who felt so alone, so afraid, so unloved. This is why God chose to make light the first act of creation – because God knew that without light, with darkness ever present, life would quickly wither into nothingness.  So, if all of that is true, why then did God not make everything full of light?  I mean, even with the understanding that these stories were not meant to be taken literally, this version does beg the question – why did God keep the darkness alongside the light, and called it all good! Maybe part of the answer is found in what God did on the 4th day – creating the stuff in the sky we see at night – the stars and the moon.  A reminder that darkness is never fully in control.    Perhaps it is also so that we can better understand the nature of light itself, and what that gives to us.  If you light a candle, or flip on a swi

    18 min

  3. May 10

    “Damaris Will Not Be Forgotten”

    May 10, 2026: May God’s words be spoken, may God’s words be heard.  Amen. Happy Mother’s Day, and many good wishes to those celebrating.  It is a joyous occasion for most – offering a time to appreciate the love of their moms with maybe flowers, a visit or a call, or some other way to thank them.  For others, this is also a difficult day, or one that brings about mixed feelings at least.  For they are those whose mother’s have died, or those whose mothers are absent – in whatever way that may mean – or those mothers who have lost a child, or those women who could not have one.  For these people Mother’s Day can be troubling, awkward, or even painful.  And if that is you, know that we, your parish family, are holding you in prayer. And so, as I say each year, that is that is why I like to think of today as less about Mothers specifically, and more about women – mothers, sisters, daughters, wives, nieces, aunts, and friends.  Women who have been a part of our lives – nurturing, mentoring, loving, caring.  That is what we really celebrate today – the journey of women – us, if we are women, and those women who have been a part of our lives. And there was a woman listening to St. Paul in the passage we heard today from the Acts of the Apostles, but you wouldn’t know it based on the reading for this morning.  As the story we heard goes, St. Paul was speaking before the Areopagus.  What we didn’t hear was why.  See, while he was waiting for his preaching buds Silas and Tim to arrive in Athens (why is a whole other story), Paul had been walking around town seeing among the bustling city lots of monuments to various Gods, even an altar that, as he would later note, was inscribed with this: “to an unknown God.”  As Paul does, he taught people in the synagogues and the streets about Jesus.  Now, this is where the previous verses get funny, and why I think they should be included.  It goes like this: “…some Epicurean and Stoic philosophers debated with him. Some said, “What does this pretentious babbler want to say?” Others said, “He seems to be a proclaimer of foreign divinities.” … So they took him and brought him to the Areopagus and asked him, “May we know what this new teaching is that you are presenting? It sounds rather strange to us, so we would like to know what it means.” Now all the Athenians and the foreigners living there would spend their time in nothing but telling or hearing something new.” That is part of what is missing from the story.  The part we did hear was this… St. Paul then speaks before the council, mentions the bit about the “unknown God,” and in classic Paul style, uses their own poetry to counter the notion of such a thing.  He quotes Aratus (a Cilician poet) in the phrase “For we also are his offspring,” and likely refers to Epimenides of Crete with the phrase “For in him we live and move and have our being” to counter the idea that any God would be unknown to their own creation.  Socrates would have been proud of his use of their own words, and given that Paul was university educated, with excellence in rhetoric and debate which we see in his writings, it also isn’t surprising. Then Paul told them about Jesus – about his life, death, and resurrection.  For reasons that confound me, that is where the lectionary stops this reading. But on this day, when we celebrate the women in our lives, we need to hear, as the late Paul Harvey would say, “the rest of the story.” The text continues with this: “When they heard of the resurrection of the dead, some scoffed, but others said, “We will hear you again about this.” At that point Paul left them. But some of them joined him and became believers, including Dionysius the Areopagite and a woman named Damaris and others with them.”  Now, there are are a few things to note about Damaris, especially on a day when we celebrate women.  First, that she is mentioned at all by the author.  In his book Jesus and the Eyewitnesses: The Gospels as Eyewitness Testimony, New Testament scholar Richard Bauckham argues that named individuals in the Gospels and Acts are not random, but rather were known to the early Christian communities as key witnesses, leaders, or teachers.  This would be especially true of any women named. Second, some try to link Damaris by marriage to Dionysius, the other convert mentioned in this story.  Nowhere does it say that, and the author of Luke-Acts, being a stickler as he was, would have done so if it had been the case.  And third, is that she is standing there listening to St. Paul speak before the Areopagus in the first place. The Areopagus was a place for centuries where the learned, the most respected in that region, the most powerful, would listen to and debate ideas, pronounce judgements over serious criminal matters, and wrestle with larger questions of science, philosophy, & religion.  Damaris would have had to have been wealthy, intellectually gifted, powerful, or all of the above.   So, there is a lot for us in this larger story about St. Paul, a bunch of Greek philosophers and judges, and Dionysius and Damaris.  And we need to hear it too, especially amidst all that is happening in the world today.  For starters, there the inscription on the altar that Paul saw and spoke about. One wonders who constructed it, and why?  As I was thinking about that, I was struck by this one part of the Psalm we heard today. The Psalmist speaks of God as one, “Who holds our souls in life.”  Think of that for a moment.  What does it mean that God is one that “holds your soul in life?”  There is such a sense of care, of nurturing, of love in that imagery – and most of all – of knowing.  That God knows us. The thing is, we hear this not only in that Psalm, but throughout the scriptures of our faith.  We hear that same message, or something like it – over and over and over again in many different ways.  From Genesis 1 to the final chapter of the Revelation to John, our scriptures remind us that, as those Greek poets Paul quoted made clear – God created us, and in God we have our very being – God holds our soul in life with great love.  This is why at the Easter Vigil and in Lessons & Carols we get texts that span the entire bible – to tell the story of God’s relationship with us through time as a reminder that our God didn’t begin loving us when Jesus was born, but he was born to us because God has loved us from the beginning of time.  That God does indeed hold our souls in life…or really, in love.  And that type of relationship, the one God has with all of creation, rooted in unconditional love – means that God knows us – knows us deeply – even if God is unknown to us. All of which brings me back to whoever built that altar.  The thing is – it wasn’t built because they thought God doesn’t exist.  Why bother?  No, it was built because they could sense God’s presence – could sense that there was something larger than themselves – they just didn’t know how to name what they were feeling.  This was a seeker – something we all have been, and hopefully still are, or we wouldn’t be here right now. We don’t stop seeking just because we walk in the doors of a church and sit in the pew.  Or I sure hope not.  It is practically in the DNA of the Episcopal Church to seek, to question, to wrestle with what we think we know.  And seeking is as much about what is sought as it is about the one who is searching.  The spiritual seeker wants to understand the Creative force they can sense in the world, but learns as much about themselves when they do.  Understanding is about knowing – about seeing and being seen.  And the truth is that we not only seek God that we may know God, but also that we may feel seen and known ourselves.  So many people in the world today yearn to be seen – not looked past, ignored, or pushed aside.  They want to be listened to, not because they think they have all the answers, but because in listening, we see them a bit more. That is why it is so important to lift up Damaris in this story.  So many women in scripture get ignored or go unnamed – and even our lectionary cuts them out.  But the patriarchy rooted in sexism isn’t just a part of faith traditions like ours. Women all across time have been left out of our history books – their inventions, courageous acts, writings, or leadership unacknowledged – their names unknown.  If we are to ever know God the way God yearns to be known, we cannot ignore or abuse what God creates, especially those made in God’s image – the women as well as the men.  For when we do, when we ignore and abuse the very soul God holds in life – we willingly do the same to God.  Which brings me back to Damaris.  She was noted by the author of Luke-Acts, and we should not make the mistake so many do and take no notice of her.  We will remember Damaris today.  We will say her name and tell her story. But there is something else going on in this story – something missing from our world today (not to mention the lectionary).  Paul was doing as evangelists are meant to do – all of us really – he was talking about his faith.  That’s a good thing!  Yet, the lesson we most need now though does not come from Paul.  It comes from the Athenians, and begins in the part left out from the passage, which I mentioned earlier.  Sure, some thought he was a “pretentious babbler,” which, if you read a lot of Paul’s writings you might agree with them.  And yet, they didn’t throw stuff at him, push him aside, or arrest him for saying things they didn’t like or understand (as we know happened to Paul in other places).  What did they do? Well, this is why this earlier part is so important, and why I cannot figure out why it was left out – I mean, how can you understand t

    17 min

  4. Apr 19

    “Risky Conversations”

    Maximino Cerezo Barredo (Spanish, 1932–), “Emmaus” (triptych), 2014. Carvalhos, Portugal. April 19, 2024: May God’s words be spoken, may God’s words be heard.  Amen. Happy Easter everyone!  Yes – it’s still Easter. In fact, while we celebrate Eastertide for 50 days, in reality we are always a resurrection people. Now, the New York Times had a headline this week about the Vice President that read “Vance Says The Pope Should Be More Careful When Talking About Theology.”  Does anyone else feel like the real news these days sounds more like something the parody news outlet, The Onion, would put out? Seriously though, the Vice President said about the Pope, I kid you not: “If you’re going to opine on matters of theology, you’ve got to be careful, you’ve got to be sure it’s anchored in the truth and that’s one of the things that I try to do and that’s certainly something I would expect from the clergy…” Says the guy who converted only 7 years ago about the man who has been a priest for 3 decades and is now the Vicar of Christ?  Well, Mr. Vice President, I am not the Pope, just a priest in Christ’s one holy catholic and apostolic church, but I do intend to speak on matters of theology, and I suggest you stay in your lane of – well, whatever it is you do.  If you have a problem with that – bring it on.  I would be happy to have a theological dialog with you, because Lordy, you seemed to have skipped some of your RCIA classes when you were prepping for your conversion.     Now, if you think that was the most outrageous thing that happened this past few weeks, you may get the same head scratching stares Jesus got on the road to Emmaus when he asked Cleopas and the other disciple “What news?” So, let’s talk about this beloved Easter story.  It begins with Cleopas and his companion walking from Jerusalem to Emmaus, comforting one another in their deep grief over the death of their teacher and friend, Jesus.  Now, before we go any further, I want to remind everyone about the identities of these two folks.  So many just assume that these are two men walking on this road, but as most of you who have been here awhile know by now, that assumption is a reflection of our society, not the scriptures.  The text says “Now on that same day two of Jesus’ disciples were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened.” Nowhere does it say these were two men!  The Greek is gender neutral.  Given that the bible is rife with examples of women going unnamed, and given that the bible authors have no problem usually telling you the names of every single man in any story, it is far more likely that it is a woman with Cleopas, not a man.  This is not just my own opinion, of course, but that of many scholars who argue as much. So, there you have it – Cleopas was walking the road to Emmaus with his wife, girlfriend, sister, female best bud, wing woman, or whatever. Now that we have that cleared up, let’s give her a name…how about Zoe, from the Greek word for life.  Now, back to the story. Remember, Cleo and Zoe were leaving Jerusalem – leaving the place where the disciples were cowered in fear, where Jesus had been crucified, where those associated with him were in danger.  Tensions were high.  People, including these two, were grieving and fearful.  And as they talked among themselves about the situation and all that had happened to them, Jesus came near and went alongside them.  Now, they didn’t recognize him.  This was a stranger on this road, and not only that, but that same stranger basically says “Heyt, what’s up?” First, let’s look at the word choice of the author here to describe Jesus.  It is the Greek word πάροικος (paroikos) which means migrant, or a resident foreigner.  It often refers to a temporary resident lacking citizenship in a particular place. And they tell this stranger, this foreigner, everything – who they thought Jesus was, what had happened to him, and who was responsible for it.  That they had hoped he was the one to “redeem Israel,” which may not mean much in our context, but then was the same as saying overthrow the Empire and free the oppressed.  They told him things that could get them crucified if he happened to be someone connected to power.  It was risky. And knowing that risk makes the next part even more astounding – they invited this stranger to stay with them.  Welcoming the stranger was the law of God, and one that was a matter of life or death in that time.  There were not Wawas on every corner to grab food, and roads at night were prime places for robbers to lay in wait.  They did not know Jesus, but they knew their God and what God expected of them.  They invited him in, this man on the road.  They took another risk. Today Jesus, the paroikos, the migrant, the resident foreigner, needs us to take a risk.  To risk having the conversations that may put us in danger with those in power, to risk welcoming him as we would if we could have the veils lifted from our eyes and saw the Christ walking alongside us.  And that is exactly what Pope Leo the XIV was doing that prompted responses from both the Vice President and the President. First, let’s step back a bit to get the full scope of all that has happened just since Easter Sunday.  On that most sacred and holy of days for Christians, the President posted on his social media this heartwarming message: “Tuesday will be Power Plant Day, and Bridge Day, all wrapped up in one, in Iran.  There will be nothing like it!! Open the F’in’ [he used the full word – I will not)…anyway] Open the F’in’ Strait you crazy [a b word I also will not repeat], or you’ll be living in Hell.” And then, in all caps (for reasons known only to him) he continued “JUST WATCH!” Praise be to Allah. President Donald J. Trump” This was the President’s Easter message – a pledge to commit war crimes against the Iranian people, and mocking their faith.  But wait, there’s more… The Secretary of Defense called this a holy war, and this week, in a worship service at the Pentagon, he prayed for “overwhelming violence of action against those who deserve no mercy.”  I should note, this same “Christian,” also asked everyone to pray while he quoted a passage of scripture – except what he read was from the movie “Pulp Fiction,” and not the bible.  This was on top of his declaring that journalists were like the Pharisees who opposed Jesus…implying that the President was Christ himself. The President seemed to think so, as he re-posted on social media a blasphemous meme of him depicted as Jesus, healing a sick man, as avenging beings fly in the skies above, and a bunch of white people hold their hands in prayer around him.  And – he claimed that Leo owes his election as Pope to him.  Yup – you can’t make this stuff up. But let me make one thing perfectly clear – while some of this is farcical, this is no laughing matter.  This is what Christian Nationalism does.  It perverts the gospel of the Prince of Peace into a bludgeon for war, hate, violence, and oppression.  Christian Nationalism is a heresy and it must be stopped whenever and wherever it rises up. Now, back in “Sane-ville” – the Pope made it clear that “God does not listen to the prayers of those who wage war.”  While traveling to Cameroon, actually to a city I spent time in years ago – Bamenda – Pope Leo said even more.  Now, he was speaking about the long and violent civil war that had wracked this beautiful nation, but of course a certain President and Vice-President didn’t see it that way.  The Pope said, “The masters of war pretend not to know that it takes only a moment to destroy, yet often a lifetime is not enough to rebuild…” And quoting actual scripture, not the Gospel of Quentin Tarantino, he said “Blessed are the peacemakers!” which we know was a part of the sermon on the mount.  Then Pope Leo added “But woe to those who manipulate religion and the very name of God for their own military, economic and political gain, dragging that which is sacred into darkness and filth.” Why am I telling you all this?  Because Pope Leo is having a risky conversation, in a risky place.  The Pope is exhibiting moral courage at a desperate time in the lives of so many around the world.  Don’t mess with a guy from the South Side of Chicago.  Seriously.  And supporting him in this is our own Archbishop of Canterbury, Sarah Mullaly, who said “I stand with my brother in Christ, His Holiness Pope Leo XIV, in his courageous call for a kingdom of peace. As innocent people are killed and displaced, families torn apart, and futures destroyed, the human cost of war is incalculable. It is the calling of every Christian – and of all people of faith and goodwill – to work and pray for peace. We must also urge all those entrusted with political authority to pursue every possible peaceful and just means of resolving conflict.  As I prepare to visit Rome later this month to meet and pray with Pope Leo, I am mindful of his call to keep our eyes open to the suffering of the world, and our gaze fixed on our crucified and risen Lord Jesus Christ – the image of the invisible God, in whose image and likeness every human being is made.” Let the people say “Amen.” Folks, the Road To Emmaus is what we are walking now. People are fleeing empire today and we, the followers of Jesus, sometimes may feel like those first converts in the passage of Acts we heard this morning, who asked of Peter “what should we do?”  The story of Cleo and Zoe provide the answer. We should have the risky conversations – proclaim the gospel even when it may be dangerous to do so.  Proclaim it in what you say and in what you do. Procla

    17 min

  5. Apr 7

    “It Ain’t Over Till It’s Over”

    April 5, 2026 – Easter Sunday: May God’s words be spoken, may God’s words be heard.  Amen. Well, I had hoped it would be a bit more Springy today.  Still, even if the weather isn’t sunny and bright, Spring truly is here – flowers are blooming, birds are singing, everyone is sneezing, and move aside basketball on TV – baseball is back!  And Lordy, do we need all of that now, don’t we? It’s been a tough winter, and an exhausting year.  Weather wise, this winter has chilled us to the bone, and drenched our spirits in the snow and icy rain.  And the gloomy clouds matched a lot of our spirits with all that we were experiencing in the world around us. On Good Friday, we remembered when empire crucified Jesus.  And this year, it seems we have been in a perpetual Good Friday.  Day after day after day, we see Jesus being crucified. For we know, as this Gospel of Matthew tells us, Jesus taught his disciples where to find him.  As I noted at the beginning of this Holy Week on Palm Sunday, and again on Good Friday, Jesus, using the setting of a final judgement, said about those who will be declared righteous, “…for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger (immigrant in today’s terms) and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” When perplexed as to how they had done that, the answer came, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”  So, the part of the story of Holy Week, the shallow praise of the people as he entered Jerusalem, his prayer of grief in the garden of Gethsemane, and his execution on the cross by the Roman Empire – it feels very familiar now.  It is a darkness that we have been experiencing for so very long as we watch our own empire grab people of color out of their homes, places of work, or even children in school and disappear them.  As we see empire shoot and sometimes kill people outright in the streets.  We feel betrayed. We grieve as we hear of the oppression of already marginalized people, our nation bombing a school for girls, and service men and women returning home in flag draped coffins.  Our country has been in a very, very, long Holy Week. It seems that might has shoved right into a tomb and rolled over the stone.  It sure must have felt that way to the first followers of Jesus too. And yet, that isn’t the end of the story.  Mary Magdalene and the other Mary…  Honestly, can we just stop right there…what is up with that?  I mean couldn’t the author of Matthew give that other Mary a surname too?  It’s a little like on that old Bob Newhart Show – My brother Darryl, and my other brother Darryl.  I know – showing my age here.  But, really? Anyway, those two Marys went to the tomb expecting to care for the body of Jesus, their friend and their rabbi.  Instead, their world was turned upside down – literally.  There was a great earthquake – just like what happened according to this gospel account when he died on the cross, and the same effect was felt too as he entered the city of Jerusalem.  God sure knows how to get our attention.  And the only thing the women found that was dead were the soldiers – or at least they “became like dead men” according to the text.  That was because just as they arrived, a messenger of God appears looking like lightening, who rolled away the stone and sat on it, you know – like you do if you are a messenger of God, I guess. Then the women were told that the tomb was empty, Jesus had been raised from the dead, and they were to go tell all the other disciples.  They did, but before they could get very far, Jesus appears before them on the road.  And if that wasn’t crazy, it gets even stranger – he says “Greetings!”  Seriously?  It’s like he’s messin’ with them.  There they were, having experienced an earthquake, a lightening bolt angel, nearly  dead soldiers, and a missing Rabbi, whom they were told has somehow been brought back from the dead… I mean – that’s already a LOT to deal with, right?  And then Jesus drops down on them and says “Hey you’all!!  What up?”  I don’t know about you, but you could hardly blame her if Mary Magdalene said “It’s five o’clock somewhere, I need a drink.” Instead, she and Mary the sequel grabbed his feet and kissed them. Note that they didn’t need anything more, as the ones in Galilee would ask for – just him being in front of them was all that was needed.  And, not for nothing, but as is needed to be pointed out every year – Jesus came to see the women disciples before Peter, James, John, or any of the other men.  Jesus, in every gospel account, always appears to Mary Magdalene first (and any other woman who happens to be with her in the synoptics of Matthew, Mark, and Luke – in John, she comes alone).  She, and if there are other women with her, are sent to tell the rest of the disciples.  The women were the apostles to the apostles.  The first ones sent to proclaim the good news.  And what was that good news? That the cross, erected by empire to destroy love, to extinguish hope – it wasn’t the last word. Or, to put it another way, since it is the early days of baseball season, in the immortal words of the great Yogi Berra, – “It ain’t over ’til it’s over.”  Now, Yogi said that about the 1973 pennant race when the former Yankee was the manager of my hapless Mets.  They were 13 games back, in other words, a usual season.  The manager wrote a 1998 astutely named book: The Yogi Book: I Really Didn’t Say Everything I Said. In it he said, “That was my answer to a reporter when I was managing the New York Mets in July 1973.” Of course, he also said other, what some call Yogi-isms:  There’s “It’s like déjà vu all over again.”  And of course, this classic: “Always go to other people’s funerals, otherwise they won’t go to yours.”  But, “It’s not over till it’s over,” still has a way of inspiring us.  It sure did the Mets.  They went on the win the pennant and got into the World Series!  In true Mets fashion though, they lost.  Well, here’s the thing.  Easter is when God offers the same message, “It ain’t over till it’s over,” but adds this note of hope: “And I am telling you – it ain’t over.”2 It ain’t over.  Nope – God isn’t dead or defeated, so neither are we. That is the first lesson of Easter – hope. But another is this.  That is in these Good Friday moments, when the tomb looms large and empire seems to have their boots on our neck, God will always meet us there, in our darkest hour – when it seems that all hope has been lost.  God will meet us on that difficult road and instill new life into us to send us on our mission in the world. God will do that, because God loves us – just as we are, unconditionally, and for all time. That is the second lesson of Easter – Love. God.Loves.Us. God.Loves.You! For Mary Magdalene and the other Mary, for the rest of the disciples in Galilee, and for each of you – God meets us where we are and calls us to new life, because of that great love. And God is with us now!  That, my friends, is good news for us all! But sometimes we don’t see it.  Sometimes we don’t lift our eyes to see Jesus on the road, we don’t go to the tomb to encounter an angel waiting for us. When life throws so much at us in these difficult times of our lives, one of the things that can happen is that we, intentionally or not, turn away from the pain and chaos around us.  We dismiss the pain in our body out of fear of a difficult diagnosis.  We turn off the TV so we don’t have to see people being hurt or killed by federal agents.  We keep our heads down looking at our social media feeds of cat videos.  We watch Hallmark movies (or, maybe that’s just me).  We turn to the things that comfort us, even sometimes self-medicate to ease the anxiety and the pain.  Now, don’t get me wrong – comfort is important.  We all need it.  We all need rest from what wears us down emotionally, physically, mentally, and spiritually.  That is a healthy thing to do.  But there is a difference between seeking temporary respite, and deliberately putting ourselves in the tomb and rolling over the stone. I am reminded of something I read once about lost sheep.  “When someone asked a wise old shepherd how sheep manage to get lost and separate themselves from the flock, the shepherd said, “Sheep don’t just get lost. They nibble themselves lost.” The sheep, in other words, never look up to see where they’re going, or how far they’ve wandered from the flock. All they can see is the next succulent patch of grass: and the next, and the next. The grass is a good thing, and essential to life: but they follow it so single-mindedly, it leads them ultimately in the direction of death.”[1] A good patch of comfort to nibble on for a time is a good thing, but we must keep our eyes focused on what will really sustain us, so that we never get ourselves lost – so that we see God sending a messenger to give us hope, so that we see Jesus standing in front of us to offer us new life.  Even in Holy Week, if we focus only on the betrayal, denial, anguish in the garden, the arrest, and the crucifixion, we will miss something else. There was also his great love in washing the feet of his disciples – even the ones who would deny and betray him.  There are always the helpers, the ones who offer great love in all of the darkest moments of humanity’s history.  We just need to watch for them. And, if we really think about it, in these dark times we face, the comfort we truly need isn’t to be found in self-medicating, isolating, or ignoring the world anyw

    16 min

  6. Apr 4

    “I Thirst”

    Good Friday – 2026: May God’s words be spoken, may God’s words be heard.  Amen. Tonight we continue our three day service.  We really began two nights ago – at our healing Eucharist – when we remembered the betrayal of Jesus.  But the three part service that makes up what we call the Paschal Triduum started last night, when we remembered the final meal Jesus shared with his disciples.  There he washed their feet, an example of servant ministry, and commanded all who follow him to love one another as he loved us. And after praying in the garden of Gethsemane, he was arrested. And, so we are now here on Good Friday to stand at the foot of the cross, to experience the pain of grief and loss, to bear witness to the cruelty of empire, to feel the darkness of the tomb. Why would we willingly choose to do this?  Because we know that if we do not, Easter is rendered meaningless.  There can be no victory over death without the death itself.  And so here we are, gathered together, on this most holy night. One particular moment of the Passion struck me this Good Friday.  It was in the sixth reading tonight, and is something that happens in all four gospel accounts – Jesus is offered sour wine or vinegar (the poor man’s wine the soldiers would drink).  Sometimes it is noted that it is mixed with gall, a narcotic mixture offered to those being crucified to ease their suffering.  In the gospel of John, read this evening, this offering of sour wine is in response to Jesus saying, “I thirst.” “I thirst.” We can hear in these words the anguish of Jesus.  Crucifixion was a horrendous way to suffer before death – your lungs collapsing from your own weight, your body exposed to the full heat of the sun for hours, even days.  And so one can only imagine the thirst anyone would have hanging on a cross. “I thirst.” He likely did, but perhaps there is a deeper meaning to his words in this gospel account. Some say it is a reference to a number of Psalms Jesus would have known so well – Psalm 69 in particular.  Perhaps.  But earlier in this gospel, I think we get a better understanding of why he said it, and why it matters to us.  In one of the first chapters of this gospel, John 4, which we read just a few weeks ago, Jesus enters into a dialog with a Samaritan woman at a well.  When this woman wonders why he has come to the well without something in which to draw the water out, Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.”  And yet, as he nears death, Jesus says in his anguish, “I thirst.” The living water thirsts. How can this be? One of the themes I keep being drawn back to this Holy Week, perhaps because of all that is happening in the world, is from another of our canonical Gospels – the Gospel of Matthew.  In that gospel, Jesus tells us where he may be found in the world – in the poor, the immigrant, the imprisoned, the sick, the naked, the hungry, and those who thirst. Tonight, Jesus, the living water thirsts. Indeed, he truly does now.  For he is in all who suffer in this world today. And he thirsts for righteousness, justice, love, healing, and grace.  Mother Theresa had a sign above the entrance to the chapel in all her missions around the word.  It read, “I thirst, I quench.” Whenever we, the body of Christ, who is the living water, tend to those who thirst – physically, spiritually, mentally, or emotionally – we quench the thirst of Jesus himself. That was Jesus’ final message to us all – he thirsts. After all he had tried to do in the world, there was then, and now, more to do – Jesus thirsts, and so we too thirst, for alleviation of suffering for all of God’s children, for an end to the abuse of all of God’s creation. In his final moments, Jesus reminds us of the work we are called to do.  He implores us not to forget him. “I thirst.” So, as we go out into the night of the tomb, let us not forget him in the world, let us thirst too.  Let us hear his cry “I thirst,” and let it be our cry as the body of Christ. Let us offer spiritual gall – not to dope the mind with narcotic, but to ease the pain of our sisters and brothers who suffer. Let us be the water of life, quenching the thirst of others with his love, grace, and light. Jesus thirsts. May we go out into the world to meet him at the cross, and offer him the living water of our lives. Amen. For the audio, click below, or subscribe to our iTunes Sermon Podcast by clicking here (also available on Audible): Sermon Podcast https://christchurchepiscopal.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/04/Goid-Friday-Homily-2026-1.m4a   The Rev. Diana L. Wilcox Christ Church in Bloomfield & Glen Ridge April 3, 2026 Good Friday Psalm 22 Gospel – John 18:1-19:42

    9 min

  7. Mar 29

    “No Kings”

    Palm Sunday – March 29, 2026 – May God’s words be spoken, may God’s words be heard.  Amen. Now, if you’ve been coming here awhile, than you already know that this should just be Palm Sunday, with the passion being our Holy Week journey.  Still, we do include it because Easter without the passion is an empty experience, and some will not be able to attend on Maundy Thursday & Good Friday.  And as in past years, the Dzieci Theatre company will push our imaginations, engage our senses, and challenge our assumptions in the second half of our service as they envelope us in the experience of Christ’s passion.  But, let’s not go there yet.  Let’s give the reading from Matthew, about the entry of Jesus into Jerusalem, its due. It’s a rather odd telling of this moment.  There are cloaks and branches, not palms.  Which was also almost our experience too, as these palms we have today got sidetracked by FedEx.  And, unlike in the other gospels, Jesus doesn’t mount one animal, but two.  I mean, you can almost imagine it looking like one of those rodeo tricks – the cowgirl on with a foot on each animal?  How the heck is he doing that, and even more to the point – why on earth is he doing that?  Well, the short answer is that it ties Jesus directly to messianic prophesy – found not only in Zechariah, as quoted here (and as we heard earlier in the service before the procession), but also in Genesis 49.  The author Matthew is making it clear that Jesus is the Messiah whose reign would not end until he drew all people to himself.  But this author is also telling us that the people who greet him with praise, did not understand who he is, and the moment they were in.  When some asked “Who is this?” Others answered that Jesus was a prophet from Galilee.  This sets the stage for what will happen to Jesus. But there is another part to this gospel, something we will see if we read Matthew through the crucifixion to the resurrection.  The text says “the whole city was in turmoil asking about him.”  Yet the word turmoil is not exactly describing it.  The Greek word here is σεισμός, which means earthquake, shaking, big commotion.  It occurs again just after his death on the cross, and again as the women get to the tomb.  Things aren’t just a bit puzzling, everything was moving chaotically.  That’ll get your attention, just like it did the guards at the cross and the women at the tomb.  Does it get ours?  Because even while the people in Jerusalem didn’t quite get it, the question they ask is one being asked today – of each one of us.  The church is being asked to declare who we are as the body of Christ in this earthquake moment in which we together live, where empire crushes the vulnerable.  What will be the crowds response if asked about us?  Will we show them who we are, as Jesus did, even if they don’t understand, even if they turn against us?  These are questions for us today on this Palm Sunday, as much as they were for those there in Jerusalem so long ago. Jesus knew this would happen to him – he entered into this city, at this tense moment, opposite the powerful Roman military – and he knew that, while the people in the crowds may not fully understand, his disciples needed to. So, after he enters into the city, Jesus teaches his disciples a number of things, both in word and in deed.  First, Jesus goes to the temple, overturns some tables, and heals the sick.  Then, he offers them perhaps the most important lesson they, or we, will receive.  It was about who he is.  Maybe he heard the crowds, or maybe he thought his disciples still didn’t understand, so he answered the crowd’s question.  Using the setting of a final judgement, he said about those who will be declared righteous, “…for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” When perplexed as to how they had done that, the answer came, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”  And finally, Jesus takes it a step further, washing the feet of his disciples as a model of servant ministry, a symbol of his commandment to love one another as he loved us. “Who is this?” the crowd asked. “Who is Jesus?” we need to understand the answer to, and it is this:  Jesus is the stranger, the imprisoned, the hungry, the sick – the one who overturns the tables of injustice – who heals the broken ones – the loving servant – the crucified one. Why then would he be crucified – how could a government do that to another human being., or how could the people allow it to happen? It is questions like these that make this Passion we will experience here today by Dzieci is so powerful, because it is set  – not in the ancient near east – but in the Warsaw ghetto of our 20th century.  A Nazi created neighborhood prison, where the death toll among the Jewish inhabitants of is estimated to have been at least 400,000.  This setting is a reminder to us of what can happen when we fail to understand who Jesus is as his followers.  This is what can happen when we turn our backs on the crosses being erected outside our city walls.  When we look at another as being “them” rather than “Him.”  When we think – “that’ll never happen here – not in the US, not in my neighborhood.” But, the passion sadly isn’t something that just happened over 2,000 years ago. The passion is a story happening through the centuries up to this very moment, because Jesus is being crucified all over the world, not only by governments, but by our own greed, hatred, and neglect.  The crucifixion of Jesus, is happening today, because today – Jesus is Alex Pretti, Renee Good, Liam Ramos, Lumos Campos, Ruben Ray Martinez, and all the other people killed, injured, unlawfully deported or detained.  Jesus is the 150 Iranian girls and other civilians, killed by our bombs, and the US Servicemen and women killed in our unjustified war with Iran.  Jesus is the farmer struggling to make ends meet, the mother with no food for her children, and the homeless veteran.  Jesus is the LGBTQ+ person rejected by others.  Jesus is the Epstein victim and all other women or girls trafficked.  Jesus is the person of color afraid to grocery shop or go to school in our country for fear of being disappeared by masked Federal Agents.  Jesus is the prisoner, the hungry poor, the neglected, and the oppressed. But on this Palm Sunday, Jesus is also the one who enters into the public sphere with authority and overturns tables, even as empire threatens all around, even as he can see the cross looming ahead for him.  What can we learn from all of this? During Lent, a few of us have been reading together a book, “For Such A Time As This: An Emergency Devotional,” by Hanna Reichel. In it, the author writes this:  “As a scholar, I have closely studied this nation. It prided itself in its influence in the world, its intellectual leadership, its technological innovation, its economic prowess.  But as global orders shifted, its social and political system, built for simpler times, crumbled… Polarization increased and made coalition building ever less feasible. Widening gaps led to social unrest economic instability and even violence in the streets.  The nation was overwhelmed and disoriented… Special leaders claiming for themselves special powers rode waves of public disgruntlement against immigrants, intellectuals, and those visibly “other.”  Democratic processes were manipulated, checks and balances hollowed out.  Executive overreach became the order of the day. The nation I am talking about is Germany; the time is roughly a century ago.  But maybe my description sounded familiar to you today.  Maybe, like me, you find yourself thinking: we have been here before…We’ve been here before.  You won’t like what happens next.”  Reichel then asks: “What should the church’s response be?” Or, as Matthew might put it: “Who are you?” There were many in the church who complied with the Nazi’s, even siding with them.  In the decades since, many in Christendom have had to atone for this sinful inhumanity and shameful lack of courage. But there were others – those in what was called the Confessing Church – some of whom came late to it, others who resisted from the start.  Deitrich Bonhoeffer is one of the more famous examples, but there were far more.  But something Bonhoeffer was very clear about, “…the church is not a building, but is also not a people.  It is the body of Christ.”[1] And as the body of Christ in the world, we too need to enter our proverbial Jerusalem – not on military horses with weapons, but as Jesus did – with a message of hope, healing, grace, and love – and some righteous anger to topple the tables of injustice too. And that is what many of us were a part of yesterday in the latest “No Kings” march – the largest single day of protest in the history of the United States – with 8 million people and rising in every state, and nearly every single county across our country.  Joining with others of different faiths, or none at all, we were proclaiming that might does not make right – that we will not bend the knee to any President.  In signs and voice, we said we will not turn our backs on our neighbors – immigrants, people of color, LGBTQ+, women, children, the poor.  We will not allow them to be crucified.  We will protect them, love them, and stand by their side.  Because in them, we see Jesus, and we are called to love and serve him – not any imagined earthly “King.” And for me and many other parts of the body of Christ, we also proclaime

    17 min

  8. Feb 8

    “Armonia”

    February 8, 226: May God’s words be spoken, may God’s words be heard.  Amen. You know, when I left Minneapolis and the -35 windchill weather, I did NOT remember packing that cold air to bring back to New Jersey.  Lordy!  I had hoped to leave that behind, but it is smacking us in the face now, isn’t it?  I am glad to be inside this time, rather than out in it for hours marching down the street.  I am also grateful to those of you who ventured out into this insane cold to be here this morning. Perhaps we all have a better appreciation for the people of Minneapolis and all they do in weather colder than this. So, given all the ice that is around these days, on the sidewalks and armed in the street of our cities, I was glad to hear the texts for today.  In the gospel we are hearing part of the sermon on the mount.  After the familiar “Blessed are those…” statements we call the beatitudes, Jesus then says “You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot.  “You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house.” “You are the salt of the earth.” “You are the light of the world.” Well, that’s good news – considering both will melt ice (come to think of it – maybe that is an appropriate acronym then for that armed band of hate enforcers – it shows just how vulnerable they really are). But here’s the thing about this proclamation of Jesus…he isn’tinviting us to those things.  He is telling us that we already ARE those things.  This isn’t a choice folks.  We are salt.  We are light. Then he offers absurd comments about salt losing its saltiness and hiding a light under a bushel basket.  Jesus did have a sense of humor, and clearly his sarcasm is showing here, because salt cannot lose its saltiness, and no one would put a basket over an open flame, which is what a light would be in those days.  Both scenarios are ridiculous, but then again, Jesus wasn’t trying to offer a science or fire safety lesson.  He is preaching and being a bit cheeky to make a point, as he sometimes does.  So, what was Jesus trying to tell his followers – then and now?  I am reminded of two sayings by the Buddha: “Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.”  And, “There are only two mistakes one can make along the road to truth; not going all the way, and not starting.” Some have suggested that Jesus studied Buddhist principles in India during his early adult life, but whether he did or he didn’t, he is certainly preaching them here.  He wants humanity to understand a fundamental truth – our very essence – in the hope that we will honor that truth within ourselves, allowing God to shine in us and through us.  We can turn away, we can forget, we can get lost…but the truth of who we are cannot be hidden – not to God anyway.  And, as the Buddha says, the path to understanding that truth is only impossible if we don’t try, or we stop trying. But still, what does it mean for us to live this truth – what does that look like in our lives?  Well, maybe we need to think about what salt and light do, particularly for those in the time of Jesus, to understand how important it is for us to be what we were born to be. The thing is, we are so far removed from what these things would have meant to the people in the Ancient Near East, that the meaning of Christ’s metaphor may be lost to us.  We have refrigeration and electricity. But they did not.  Salt was a way to preserve the life of meat and fish, and to enhance its flavor, and it was used in health regimens.  It was so important to them that Roman soldiers were sometimes paid with salt – hence the word we use today – salary – sal being the Latin for salt.  And light – well, in these dark days of winter, even with our electricity, we can understand the value of that, but imagine living where there is no electric light.  It is hard for us now, but if you think about it – in the long history of the world, there has been less than 150 years of light bulbs.  In the time of Jesus, and up until 1880, there was the sun, and then there were oil lamps, candles, fires, moonlight, and torches for the night.  Light then and now makes it possible to see dangers in the night, to keep warm, and to thrive, and without the light of the sun, life would be impossible. Jesus is telling us that we can enhance and preserve life and overcome darkness for the world.  But note – not for ourselves alone.  Salt’s very purpose is to enhance or preserve life.  The purpose of light isn’t to shine for itself, but to illuminate other things, to dispel the darkness.    If we are the salt of the earth, and the light of the world – and we are – then what does that mean in practical terms for us now?  We get that answer in the passage from Isaiah we heard earlier. First, we need to understand the setting:  The powerful elite who benefited from the oppression of others believes its pious rituals of fasting will please God.  But God tells them that there is only one fast that is righteous – the one that comes from a place of empathy and compassion, not haughtiness and privilege.  In words we will hear again on Ash Wednesday, God makes it clear that only a fast from oppression by loosening the bonds of injustice, and freeing the captives, is what we are to offer.  Only a fast from abundance by caring and feeding the poor and the hungry, will be acceptable to God.  Notice then, that the acts God wants from us are not ones that draw attention to ourselves, or are miraculous feats, but are ones that serve others.  The truth that Jesus is asking us to see is that we are the salt that will give life to those who have been pushed to the brink of death. We are the light that will overcome the darkness of hate and division.  We live this truth when we offer the fasts God chooses – compassion, mercy, grace, and love in whatever small way we can.  Or, as our own Anglican archbishop, the late Most Rev. Desmond Tutu, put it “Do your little bit of good where you are; it’s those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world.” And so that brings me to the Olympics.  How many of you watched the Opening Ceremony of the Winter Games Friday? It was wonderful.  But there was a message there too that we need to consider today. The theme of this Olympiad is Armonia, meaning Harmony, and of course – the parade of athletes is always one of the best parts.  But this Olympiad’s opening ceremonies had a message for the world too.  Sure, like all them, it celebrated the beauty and gift of the host country’s culture, in this case, Italy, but far more was going on this time.  It was essentially a colorful display of diversity, and the hope for harmony in a world filled with conflict and division.  From red, yellow, and blue paint seemingly pouring down onto the platform from enormous suspended paint tubes, to multi-colored swirls of people dancing across the platform, the message of harmony amid difference was hard to miss.  But it was the speech of Kirsty Coventry, a seven-time Olympic swimming medalist, and the 10th President of the International Olympic Committee, given just before the lighting of the Olympic flame, that I think offered the world a good definition of what it means to be the salt of the earth and the light of the world, even if that was not her intent. Speaking first to the athletes, Ms. Coventry said “Over the next two weeks, you’re going to give us something truly special.  You’ll show us what it means to be human. To dream. To overcome. To respect one another. To care for each other.  You’ll show us that strength isn’t just about winning – it’s about courage, empathy and heart. You will not only make incredible memories. You will reach your Olympic dreams – and you will show the world how to live. This is why we all love the Olympic Games. Because through you, we see the very best of ourselves. You remind us that we can be brave. That we can be kind. And that we can get back up, no matter how hard we fall.” Then she addressed everyone, saying “And to everyone watching, here in Italy and around the world – thank you for joining this moment. Thank you for believing in the magic of the Olympic Games. When we see an athlete stumble and find the strength to rise, we are reminded that we can do the same. When we see rivals embrace at the end of a finish line, we are reminded that we can choose respect. When we see grace, courage and friendship – we remember the kind of people we all want to be. The spirit of the Olympic Games is about so much more than sport. It is about us – and what makes us human. In Africa, where I’m from, we have a word: ubuntu. It means: I am because we are. That we can only rise by lifting others. That our strength comes from caring for each other. No matter where you come from, we all know this spirit – it lives and breathes in every community. I see this spirit most clearly at the Olympic Games. Here, athletes from every corner of our world compete fiercely – but also respect, support and inspire one another. They remind us that we are all connected, that our strength comes from how we treat each other, and that the best of humanity is found in courage, compassion and kindness.” Coventry was telling everyone that the very things the athletes embody at the games are examples for all of us.  Jesus might call their example being salt and light.  God might say “Yup – do that!” I just want her to come preach here some Sunday. Now, in the audience that night was the US Vice-President, and watching were millions

    18 min

  9. Feb 1

    “We Will Make It After All”

    February 1, 2026: May God’s words be spoken, may God’s words be heard.  Amen. Tomorrow there’s this pesky groundhog that is supposed to tell us how much winter we have left, and I swear, if that rodent sees his shadow I’m gonna go have a word with him, and it won’t be pretty.  This has been a rough winter – bitter cold, lots of snow, and darkness that is cutting us to the core. But the groundhog isn’t the only thing that happens tomorrow.  February 2nd is primarily, for catholics, Roman or Anglican anyway, the Feast of the Presentation, which is the final day of Christmas – for real this time – despite the stores telling you that Valentine’s Day goes from December 26th– February 14th. Now, you may have noted that our gospel today is from Luke Chapter 2, and we are clearly still in the birth narrative, as Jesus is all of 40 days old.  He isn’t even out of onesies or eating solid food yet.  It’s a bit of whiplash, since he was just walking around as a 30 something calling his disciples in the gospel we heard the last time we were able to be here on January 18th.  But as it is such an important moment in his life, the church marks it as a special feast day on February 2nd.. Now, the church expects us to only celebrate this feast on the actual day.  But, because so many do not attend special weekday services, this day, like other feasts – of the Magi, for example – will get ignored if we do not celebrate them on a Sunday.  So, as we did last year, today we will celebrate the Feast of the Presentation today.  It is also a day on which candles are blessed for use at home and the church, so it is called Candlemas.  The scriptures of this moment feature so much in our daily lives for those of us who pray what is known in our church as the Daily Office.  It also is part of our parish’s history, with two prominent stained glass windows associated with it – the center window of the Tiffany triptych in St. Mary’s chapel, and this one up there in the main tower.  The chapel window shows the scene, and the tower windows have the words of Simeon, which we heard in the gospel reading.  Now, let’s get to this story, because it is offers something important for us in the context in which we live now. In the verse just before what we heard today, we find that Jesus is going to a bris, and unfortunately for him, he isn’t the one bringing a gift.  Joseph and Mary have him circumcised and he is named.  Then we get to this story today, where 40 days after his birth, they bring Jesus to the temple to be presented to God in accordance with the law for her purification and his redemption that we get in that fabulous book that everyone loves – Leviticus.  All this to say that Jesus is raised in the knowledge and adherence to Jewish scripture and law.  There’s a lot going on in these verses, but I want to focus on two people – Simeon and Anna. Now first we need to set the scene.  The temple isn’t like the size of our churches today.  This place is huge – many times larger than our largest cathedrals. So, you’d think no one would really pay any attention to this little family walking in.  And yet, against all odds, two people did notice them – Simeon and Anna. Simeon was, according to the text, a righteous and devout man who had been told by God that he would not die until he had seen the Messiah.  He is guided by the Holy Spirit to come to the temple that day, and he listens and goes.  There he sees the child Jesus, and takes him in his arms and says what is known in the church as the Nunc Dimmitis, Latin for the first words “now depart.” I will use the version we say in Evening Prayer, which differs slightly from the wording we heard today: “Lord, you now have set your servant free to go in peace as you have promised; For these eyes of mine have seen the Savior, whom you have prepared for all the world to see: A Light to enlighten the nations, and the glory of your people Israel.”  He then foretells to Mary the destiny that awaits this child, and that it will pierce her heart. Then Anna, a prophet, sees the baby Jesus, and also proclaims the destiny that awaits him and what it will mean for the people of Israel.  Of course, Simeon gets the focus in our prayer book, and Anna is essentially forgotten – what else is new, right? So, what does all this have to say to us? Well, let’s go back to our righteous guy Simeon.  He says “…these eyes of mine have seen the Savior, whom you have prepared for all the world to see: A Light to enlighten the nations…”  To be sure, this is about far more than bringing light into the darkness – which, of course, is a powerfully important thing to do.  But this is also about that light casting aside ignorance and bringing knowledge to the people – specifically, the knowledge of God.  Jesus would do both.  His presence among the people was the light that overcame the shadows of darkness, and he taught his followers what it meant to be part of the kingdom of God, rather than of humanity.  He did this, not by sitting back in Galilee preaching in the synagogue, but by being out in the world healing the sick, advocating for the vulnerable, and spreading the good news of God’s love. We are called to be like Jesus – a light to enlighten the nations. – in what we proclaim, and by our actions in the world. And if there was ever a time to live out our lives in Christ, it is now, because darkness has spread across our country.  People are being snatched out of their homes without a warrant, pushed to the ground and beaten, children are grabbed and sent to prison, protestors exercising their first amendment rights are sprayed intentionally up close with chemical irritants or bombed with tear gas, and others are brutally killed.  This is a time when all the world hopes for a light to enlighten our nation!  And folks, there are a LOT of followers of Jesus being exactly that right here in our country.  Clergy and laity are in the streets loving their neighbor, welcoming the stranger, protecting the vulnerable, and crying out for justice for the oppressed.  Two days ago, 150 Episcopal bishops signed a letter that put a simple question before us: “Whose dignity matters?”  They called “on Americans to trust their moral compass” – “to question rhetoric that trades in fear rather than truth.” Noting that “As Episcopalians, our moral compass is rooted firmly in the Gospel of Jesus Christ.” Indeed.  And I take heart, as I hope you do, that our leadership in the church is witnessing to that gospel of all inclusive love. We must join with them, and so many others, as a witness to the gospel – as lights to enlighten this nation.  We must do this both by what we proclaim and by our actions in the world.  What that looks like will depend on your own situation. As I said last time we were together, if you are caring for others, are aged or infirm, or are vulnerable yourself – you will need to protect yourself first, and proclaim the gospel in ways that do not put yourselves at risk.  The rest of us – we need to be out in the streets.  And as your priest, I cannot ask of you what I will not do myself.  I am called to set an example in word and deed, even to the cross if necessary. Now, I shared much of what I am about to tell you in an article I wrote for the Diocese of Newark, but I also want to share it with you now, in case some have not read it. When I got home from church two weeks ago, after preaching on the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Sunday, a call went out from clergy in Minneapolis to clergy across the country. Echoing King’s call to clergy to come to Selma, they asked us to come to Minneapolis to stand, march, and pray with them on January 23rd for what was being called A Day of Truth & Freedom. Like many others, I knew in my heart that I had to answer that call.  Yes, we were being asked to enter a dangerous situation. Yes, it would be winter in Minnesota, with temperatures predicted to be 30 below with the windchill. Yes, we are exhausted, like so many of you, having shown up again and again for vigils, marches, and protests. And yet, as King’s words resounded from our pulpits on the day we celebrated him, I was reminded of something he said that I had just included in my sermon on that very Sunday: that there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but must do it because conscience demands it.  How could I preach it, and not live it? And so, on Thursday night, January 22nd, I found myself in Minneapolis during an extreme cold warning. The morning of the march, I woke to a temperature of -21 degrees and layered myself accordingly. I headed to Gethsemane Episcopal Church, a closed parish of the Diocese of Minnesota just a few blocks from The Commons, where the march was to begin. The streets were empty, the shops and schools closed – all part of this act of resistance. When I arrived, clergy and laity were already gathered to pray  before joining the thousands who had come to stand against the brutality, cruelty, and lawlessness of the federal occupation of this once-peaceful city.  While there, I received a text warning that federal agents might use water cannons on protesters – which, of course, in that type of cold, would be deadly. I put my phone away, donned my make-shift tear-gas mask, and joined my colleagues as we headed out the door. Singing “This Little Light of Mine,” we left the church and merged with thousands entering from every direction. The crowd was so massive that it took nearly an hour for those of us gathered at the starting point to fully enter the march. We moved slowly, navigating ice-covered streets before surging forward into the march itself. Despite the bitter cold, which with windchill was about -35, nothing could dampen the fervor of the protest

    19 min

  10. Jan 18

    “Now Is The Time!”

    January 18, 2026: May God’s words be spoken, may God’s words be heard.  Amen. Twelve years ago tomorrow, I celebrated the Eucharist here for the first time as your Rector.  It was January 19, 2014 at 10:30am.  I remember it well.  I knew way back then I had been called into something amazing – a new relationship with all of you.  And so, twelve years ago today I stood here by God’s grace and nothing for me, and I pray for you, has been the same since. That is why the date of January 19th at 10:30am is something I will never forget.  It’s the way it is with life altering events, right?  Folks remember the day a child was born, the first date we had with our spouse (and of course the day of the wedding itself – or we better!).  And, on a sadder note, the day a loved one died – their saint day, as we like to call it in the church, is a day each year that doesn’t go unnoticed. We remember too moments that changed the country or the world – the day Pearl Harbor was attacked, WWII broke out, President Kennedy was shot, Astronaut John Glenn put his foot out onto the lunar surface, the Challenger spacecraft exploded, the 9/11 terrorist attack, and the January 6th insurrection.  And, those who were around for it remember too when the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. delivered his “Dream” speech to the thousands gathered for the March on Washington for Freedom & Jobs…and where they were when they heard the terrible news that he had been assassinated. These moments changed us – challenged us – demanded something of us.  And we were never the same from those points forward.  And so when we hear in the second part of the gospel of John read today this story of people’s first encounter with Jesus, it should not surprise us that the community that wrote this gospel noted something about it.  The gospel account says “The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?” They said to him, “Rabbi” …where are you staying?” He said to them, “Come and see.” They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon.  It was about four o’clock in the afternoon.  That’s a kinda funny thing to write down, don’t ya think?  What was so special about it being 4pm?  Something tells me it wasn’t the first century version of “It’s 5 o’clock somewhere.”  Clearly the community that wrote this fourth gospel knew that the lives of first disciples would be changed so much in that initial encounter with Jesus that they would never forget where they were and what time it was when it happened.  That is what call does.  It stops us in our tracks for a moment, and we are forever changed as we accept Christ’s invitation to come and see. I suppose the question for each of us now is – do you recognize that moment for you and what will you do about it?  Because Christ is calling us to come and see in this life altering moment for our community and in this country.  As we watch ICE agents, sent by our President only into cities that did not vote for him, terrorize people regardless of citizenship status – wounding and killing children of God as they drag them without warrants out of their homes and businesses, shatter the windows of their cars with children inside, attack those who dare to peacefully protest with tear gas, pepper spray, and flash bombs, as well as using lethal choke holds (like the one that killed George Floyd) on those they detain. As this country fails to support those who are laying their life on the line for democracy in Ukraine, while the President imitates Putin, calling the US to invade Greenland, a sovereign territory of Denmark, and threatening NATO allies that have sent military and financial support to Greenland to prevent it. As we read the social media comments of people who think ICE agents have a right to abuse, kill, or deport people without due process because they are “illegals,” in a land where none of us are originally from here, save those of the indigenous tribes. As we find that our nation’s highest court, in defiance of precedent and the US Constitution, affirms the right of ICE agents to target people based on the color of their skin, their accent or the language they speak, or their place of work. As we mourn the 32 killed by this administration ICE enforcement action in 2025, including Jean Wilson Brutus, who died while in custody at Delany Hall in Newark. As we hear our President refer to the countries these people come from as s-hole countries, while saying that we need more people from places like Norway – translation – he wants less people of color or Asian descent and more white people.  As we continue to wait for the Department of Justice to follow the law and release the files associated with the pedophile Epstein and stop protecting anyone who was involved in this horrific human trafficking of young girls for sex. As we hear over and over again the racist, misogynist, homophobic, and xenophobic garbage this President, his staff, and those who support him spew on a near minute by minute basis. I could go on and on and on…it’s exhausting, isn’t it? But in the midst of all of this – Jesus bids us to follow him as he goes to where he always stays – beside the vulnerable and afraid, alongside the oppressed and the lost.  This is a pivotable moment for every one of us as we stand amid this turning point in our nation.  We see, surely, what is happening.  The question for us is – will be follow Jesus when he bids us to come with him? It is a good question to consider as we celebrate the life of a man who did follow Jesus – followed him all the way to the cross – the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. King’s final Sunday sermon was at our own Episcopal cathedral in DC.  In that grand pulpit of Washington National Cathedral, King said this: “…Our experience [is] that the nation doesn’t move around questions of genuine equality […] until it is confronted massively, dramatically in terms of direct action […] I submit that nothing will be done until people of goodwill put their bodies and their souls in motion and it will be the kind, the sole force brought into being as a result of this confrontation that I believe will make the difference […] On some positions, cowardice asks the question: is it expedient? And then expedience comes along and asks the question, is it politic? Vanity asks the question, is it popular? Conscience asks the question, is it right?  And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe nor politic nor popular. But [one] must do it because conscience tells [them] it is right.” (https://cathedral.org/blog/today-in-cathedral-history-mlks-final-sunday-sermon/) Folks, that time is now.  Jesus’ call to us is now. And here’s the thing – the passage in Isaiah about the prophet we heard this morning was telling us something perhaps we need to hear as we consider what Christ is asking of us.  Because in no less a way as was said about the prophet Isaiah, God is saying this to each of you now: “I formed you in the womb to be my servant, and I give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth.”  And that salvation, my friends, is the hope God has in mind for all of us – that beloved community where all are welcome, and no one is harmed. This is who you were formed in the womb to be – God’s transformative agent, following Christ to where he abides – with the least, the last, the lonely, and the lost.  This is our faith, what we committed to in baptism.  And this is how we should honor the saints, like King, too. Because if we truly want to honor people like the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., then we have to do more than attend breakfasts and recall his sermons/speeches – we must live as he lived, and be willing to die as he did. And if we truly want to follow Jesus, we must do more than go to church, pray, and read scripture – we must live as he lived and be willing to die as he did.  This past week, the Rt. Rev. A. Robert Hirschfeld, Bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of New Hampshire, put it this way: “We are now engaged in a horrible battle that is eternal, that has gone on for millennia. […] and we are now, I believe, entering a time, a new era of martyrdom. Renee Good being the last of note of those martyrs. New Hampshire’s own Jonathan Daniels, a man also of white privilege, stood in front of the blast of a sheriff in Haynesville, Alabama, to protect a young black teenager from a shotgun blast. He died and was martyred. We know of the women, the Maryknoll sisters, who stood alongside the poor and the oppressed in El Salvador and were brutally raped and murdered in the name of Jesus. [Archbishop] Oscar Romero, in a mass, called upon the death squads of El Salvador to lay down their arms or risk excommunication [and ] was martyred the next Sunday at the altar.  I have told the clergy of the Episcopal Diocese of New Hampshire that we may be entering into that same witness. And I’ve asked them to get their affairs in order—to make sure they have their wills written, because it may be that now is no longer the time for statements, but for us with our bodies to stand between the powers of this world and the most vulnerable. And it may mean that we are going to have to act in a new way that we have never seen perhaps in our lifetime, except for these remote stories that I’ve just cited, to put our faith in the God of life, of resurrection, of a love that is stronger than death itself.” (https://www.nhepiscopal.org/blog) Amen Bi

    17 min
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