What is Your Only Comfort?

Music from Worship on March 30, 2008

To go along with the themes of the John 20 text, Rob Kendt played this great version of U2's song "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For."

As you can tell, I'm still looking for a better way to record music in church. But for now, the handy voice recorder will have to do. It's much better for sermons than it is for things like music. If you happen to know of a good way that a small church might be able to record music from worship, feel free to let me know.

Sermon for March 30, 2008

On the first Sunday after Easter, we encounter some fearful disciples. One of them seems to have a few extra questions for Jesus. This sermon on doubt and faith from the Greenpoint Reformed Church affirms those who are brave enough to admit they want to know more about Jesus, and aren't afraid to ask for some evidence.

The text of the day is John 20:19-31 and the preacher is Rev. Jennifer Aull.

Sermon for Easter Sunday 2008

This Easter, the Greenpoint Reformed Church experienced its own miracle. For the first time in several decades we had so many people we had to set-up folding chairs. We read the Easter story from John 20:1-19 and listened to the ultimate in miracles as Mary Magdalene encountered the empty tomb.

Sermon for March 16, 2008

This Palm Sunday sermon from the Greenpoint Reformed Church is based on the text of Matthew 21:1-11.

Sermon for March 9, 2008

March 9ths sermon at the Greenpoint Reformed Church focuses on the story of the raising of Lazarus with extra attention to Thomas, the disciple who says to his fellow disciples, ""Let us also go, that we may die with [Jesus]."

"The young people don't come any more."

We have a new colleague in the neighborhood these days.  The Daily News reports that St. Cecelia's Parish is now being served by Rev. James Kirsche, who's just home from serving in Iraq. 

The headline "The Cell Tolls for St. Cecilia Church" piqued my curiosity since I've tried looking into acquiring a cell tower for our church (for those of you who have been to our building, this might bring a slight hint of laughter or perhaps desperation since...well...since we don't have a steeple and we're only two stories high).  But it's part of the article itself that's stuck in my craw.  The gist of the story is familiar - a historic church has fallen on hard times and is now looking to [fill in money-making activity here] to help pay the bills.  In this case, it's a cell tower, but other churches find other ways.  It's a standard-issue filler story that usually ends up in the Sunday edition.  And within the story is the same old tired quote

"A parish trustee summarized the situation with a single word yesterday morning.

'Struggling.'

He added, 'The young people don't come any more.'"

The author then illustrates this point by noting that at a recent 8:15am prayer service, "The only youthful figure was the pastor himself."

I'm tired of always blaming the young people who "don't come any more."  Instead of blaming them, why doesn't the church (and by "the church" I don't mean St. Cecelia's but rather the wider church) ask itself, "gee, why don't young people come to church anymore."  And don't go off blaming culture or society or Sunday morning soccer matches. 

When I arrived here, several folks told me with a sad, bewildered sigh that "the young people don't come any more." The problem, we discovered, is that NO HAD ONE INVITED THEM.  And even at that, FEW INCLUDED THEM. 

Look, it's no secret that the church is made up primarily of older folks.  But how many churches "allow" young people to actually be on their committees, their boards, their consistories? How many empower young people to actually make decisions on behalf of the congregation?  How many put their trust into the hands of young people and say, "you know what? maybe we're past our prime, we'll be here to mentor and guide you in the faith, but you have to figure out how to make the coffee, pay for the heat and teach Sunday school to the young kids."  How many historic churches say "yes" to the ideas of young people? 

We are primarily a congregation of people under the age of 50, with most being in their 30s and 40s.  This in churchland is "young" by most standards.  But we only ended up this way because older folks saw fit to give up some of their power and bestow it upon the next generation and the generation following that one. 

You want young people in your church?  The first step is to pray that God will send you some.  Then go out and do your part -invite them.  The next step is to listen to their ideas on ways to  reach out to other young people. Then empower the young folks you have to implement their ideas.  And when things start happening and young people start coming, don't relegate them just to the happy-clappy praise and worship service.  No, integrate them into the full life and ministry of the congregation.  And once and for all - stop blaming young people for not wanting to come to YOUR church.  As long as it's YOUR church, they won't want to come.  It has to be OUR church - yours and theirs - in order for a church to grow in a multigenerational and healthy way.

P.S. - and a big frirendly welcome to Rev. Kirsche. If you're reading this, I hope you'll be pleased to discover that by virtue of your age you are the elder statesmen among the clergy in our neighborhood.  All the Protestant clergy as well as the Muslim Imam are all under the age of 35.

Sermon for March 2, 2008

Funerals

There are two types of pastors in the world: those who prefer weddings to funerals and those who prefer funerals to weddings.  Each comes with its own set of challenges and joys.  Weddings provide a sense of joy at the prospect of a new life lived jointly between two people in love.  Funerals, on the other hand, offer an opportunity to celebrate the gift life while at the same time reckoning with pain, loss and grief. 

I've done a number of funerals for people I had never known personally.  Occasionally we'll get a phone call from one of the local funeral homes requesting a Protestant service.  One year I had three funerals all during Holy Week.  Not knowing the deceased means that I get to juggle a couple extra balls in the air - keeping faith, hope, and social decorum balanced as they fly through the air. 

Today I helped lead the first memorial service for someone I knew  He wasn't exactly from our official congregation, but rather from what my family refers to as "the downstairs congregation" - that would be the AA group that used to meet in the basement.  They've since grown so much that they meet in the room next to the sanctuary, but we still call them "the downstairs congregation." 

When I came to Greenpoint, I felt called not just to the Christian congregation, but rather to the whole community.  If an ambulance parks down the block, it's my responsibility to pray for the person they're treating regardless of whether or not he or she is a part of our church.  And so, when we learned that our friend had died, it was only natural to offer to organize his memorial service, even if he happened to be Jewish.  The Higher Power is the Higher Power after all.

What I hadn't  realized is just how hard it is to officiate at a funeral or memorial service for someone you  know and love.  Jen led the beginning of the service and after everyone had a chance to share their stories I was supposed to say the final prayer and lead the commendation. I totally thought I had things under control, but when it came for my turn to speak I absolutely lost it.   Let me share a little secret about butch girls (or at least this one).  We don't cry much in public, but when we do it often comes out in a gigantic sob-fest.  I cried and cried right there in front of a whole congregation full of people.  And not like those subtle tears that gently fall down my father's face.  No. He can talk through his tears.  I haven't yet mastered that art.  I just blubbered through.  No one seemed to mind.

It wasn't only that I was sad about this guy's death, or even that I was necessarily grieving, that made me well-up.  It was that this entire group of people had come together in our church to find a bit of comfort and remember their friend.  It was that this guy who had been drunk and homeless had managed to get himself sober, find a job and an apartment.  And then, after all that, he gave back to those around him with such dedication and kindness.  He helped anyone in need, and did so with a true sense of grace.  That's part of the reason why so many people came to remember him.  But they didn't do it in a park or at some other church, or even in a synagogue.  They did it in our church.  All that came together in a perfect storm, and now everyone knows that I cry in public.