Paying Attention

Jesus told his disciples a parable:  “Look at the fig tree and all the trees; as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near.

So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near.”  (Lk. 21:29-31)  The signs, Jesus said, will be there for us to know that God is coming near.  But you have to be paying attention.

Now, Jesus pointed to signs in the natural world.  He used a fig tree in the parable.  Just before that he had been talking about other natural phenomenon, some of a dramatic nature, sun and moon and stars and sea and waves.  We know something about the dramatic forces of nature as of late.  And, sure enough, whenever there is some horrendous force of nature that wreaks havoc on us, we begin to ask ourselves about signs.  What is God trying to tell us? 

I wonder, though, if the natural phenomena don’t distract us from the signs we ought to be paying attention to, no less apparent to those watching, but tending to be overlooked because we cannot so easily attribute them directly to the hand of God.  For those who are paying attention, though, they seem to be screaming out for attention.  They seem to cry out:  “Pay attention!  Watch!  Listen up!”  When such things take place, surely the reign of God must be about to break in.

I’m thinking about things like economic signs.  Corporate greed results in the near-collapse of the world economy.  The rest of us are held hostage and have no choice but to bail the whole system out or suffer the consequences of someone else’s greed even worse.  Something is terribly wrong with the signs, as the Occupy movement has tried to tell us.  Are we paying attention? 

The middle class lifestyle I grew up taking for granted is becoming harder and harder to maintain, almost impossible, without all the adults in a household working outside the home.  Does anyone notice that, all the gadgets in the world notwithstanding, life is getting harder and not easier to say nothing of the fact that it’s not getting better?  Something is terribly wrong with the signs.  Are we paying attention?

One of the first things we decide we can no longer afford is beauty.  The arts suffer.  Architecture becomes more utilitarian and less a source of wonder.  Can you imagine someone proposing to build something like Grand Central Station with its magnificent ceiling or the Chrysler Building today?  No one would put up with that sort of expense for a train station or an office building for a minute.  Things that touch on what it is to be truly human and that introduce that humanity to the rumbling of great machines or the conduct of commerce are the first to go leaving nothing to counterbalance them.  Is anyone paying attention?

In order to keep our country from falling off the fiscal cliff, we are all held hostage to what is emerging as a “compromise,” which means the trading of a greater contribution from the wealthiest toward the common good from which they so richly benefit in exchange for taking something away from the poorest of all.  Is anyone noticing that there is something wrong with this?  Is anyone reading the signs?

And then, of course, there actually are the sea and waves and wind.  Acts of God are one thing, but acts of God helped along by human degradation of the creation are another.  There are those urging us to pay no attention to these signs.  Will we?

The signs are all around us.  Signs these days, if they ever did, may not come right up and slap us in the face.  They take, and always have, paying attention.  That is what Jesus is saying to the disciples in this lesson for the first Sunday of Advent.  Pay attention!

And why pay attention?  Because God is coming.  This situation is going to be set right.  What I have no doubt of is that God does not will the way things are.  The way things are is God’s call to action—God’s action and ours in concert.  The promises of God will be fulfilled. 

We are reminded of that in this week’s reading from Jeremiah.

The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah.  In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land.  In those days Judah will be saved and Jerusalem will live in safety. And this is the name by which it will be called: “The Lord is our righteousness.”  (Jeremiah 33:14-16)If you’re paying attention, you’re going to see it happen.  If you’re paying attention, you’re seeing it happen now.  If you’re paying attention, you have an opportunity to be a part of it.  

Peace,
+ Stacy

(This week’s reflection is based on the readings for the First Sunday of Advent, Year C.)

Thanksgiving

This reflection on Thanksgiving began in an entirely different, and darker, direction.  What I had on my mind was what it meant to be thankful in a world as deeply troubled as ours is and in which blessings seem so unevenly distributed.  It was with that theme in mind that I boarded the subway this morning, not terribly happy to be going to work (which, believe it or not, is unusual for me) and dreading the commute on this cold morning.  It didn’t make me feel any better when I just missed a B train and had to wait a long time on the next one.

When my train did come, however, I noticed my mood start to lift.  The subways are not generally thought of as having a positive effect on one’s outlook on life.  Perhaps that is because we’re not paying attention.

Across from me were a young boy, perhaps 7, and his grandmother.  They were completely caught up in each other.  She was telling him a story while holding his hand and stroking his hair from time to time.  The words were Chinese, but I could tell the basic plot line.  The boy’s brow would crinkle in puzzlement.  Then his eyes would grow wide with surprise.  When the grandmother would imitate a mouse chewing on his hand, he would laugh and his eyes would nearly close.  It made me smile.  Thanksgiving.

A young mother and her baby in a stroller got on and sat opposite the boy and his grandmother.  The baby was perhaps 6 months old.  Very cute.  He mostly watched his mother, and she never took her adoring eyes off him.  Occasionally he would glance at other faces, once at mine.  When he started to make a sound, the young mother, perhaps out of concern for the other passengers, reached for the pacifier.  I admit I was a tad disappointed as the sound was sort of a cross between a gurgle and a coo.  When she placed the pacifier in his mouth, she shot him a peace sign.  That made me smile, too.  Thanksgiving.

On weekday mornings in the tunnel where I change trains there is a man playing the accordion.  He plays well, even if he does have a limited repertoire.  He makes me smile.  Thanksgiving. 

It all made me think back and remember how my morning had actually begun, which is how it does every day.  It is so regular that it is far too easy to take it for granted.  I remembered walking out of the apartment, which I never do without Ginger reminding me that she loves me.  This morning was no exception. And Annie wags her tail.  More smiles.  More thanks.

Then there is the man who hands out newspapers at the entrance to the station on 42nd Street.  He always greets me with a big, wide smile, “Good morning, Pastor.”  This morning I intended to greet him first by wishing him a happy Thanksgiving.  He beat me to it.  Then he followed me half-way to the street insisting that I give his own Thanksgiving greetings to my family.  “Have a blessed day,” he concluded.  “And a safe one.”  It made me smile.  Thanksgiving. 

By this point I was seeing things differently.  What had seemed a cold day now seemed fresh and crisp.  I could feel the energy of New York City.  Thanksgiving.

And at the end of the trip came yet another blessing—being able to walk into the Church Center and engage the tasks to which God has set me, tasks that challenge and delight me.  It made me smile again.  Thanksgiving.

I realize the problem with my first approach to reflecting on Thanksgiving is that I wasn’t really seeing what was really around me.  Perhaps it is a problem of working at this level of the Church that it may be too easy to be distracted by the big picture and miss the small ones.  Or maybe I just wasn’t really looking at all.   So now I can be thankful that God opened my eyes this morning to see what is always there. 

It makes me smile.  And it makes me thankful. 

Peace,
+Stacy

All Saints Day 2012

There is a lot to try and make sense of over these last few days.  Few of us can believe the pictures we see on television.  A great many of us realize we narrowly escaped something truly horrible.  I hope you might let me take the liberty of telling you about my day on Wednesday, which has provided a very helpful lens for me to look on what Hurricane Sandy means to me. 

I emerged into the post-Sandy reality of Wednesday morning with more than a little trepidation.  I feared what damage I might find.  I feared what losses my friends and colleagues might have sustained.  I feared news I had not yet (and never did) receive about those with whom I work. 

I also feared what I knew would be hassle getting to and from the office with no subways and only limited bus service.  The uneventful trip to 815 (two uncrowded buses with little traffic on the street) lulled me into complacency.  Getting home was a dose of reality.

               

I left the office at 6:00 and headed to Grand Central.  I was under the misimpression that some limited train service was restored due to an erroneous communication from the city.  Apparently not on the East Side I thought, but I was not disheartened.

               

So I walked up to Madison Avenue.  I’ll take the bus I thought.  It came right away.  Packed.  Not a problem.  But the traffic was absolutely gridlocked.  In 30 minutes I had gone three blocks.  I decided the West Side had to be better.  Actually, as I thought about it, it was the 8^th Avenue subway I had been told was running, so I decided to walk up to 50^th Street and then across town.  I did.  The station was closed due to severe weather the sign said. 

               

So I started walking.  Surely Columbus Circle would be functioning.  I walked by the crane dangling above 57^th Street.  Now I can say I saw it. 

               

Columbus Circle, however, was also closed.  I began to get skeptical about the train.  Buses didn’t appear such a good option there, either.  Columbus Circles was perhaps the worst traffic mess I’ve ever seen in my life. 

               

I got to Lincoln Center.  Still no subway.  I gave up on that.  It turns out I’d misunderstood that things had reopened.  I opted for the bus up Broadway.  A few came.  Impossible to get on.  Walking seemed the best option.

               

At 72^nd Street with its forlorn, closed subway station in the middle of Broadway, I waited on the bus up Amsterdam.  Still, no luck.  However, this is where circumstances began to be illuminated by my neighbors. 

               

I heard the couple behind me talking.  “Is he a real one?”

“No, it’s a costume.  This is Halloween.”
               

“Uh-uh.  He’s real.”  I realized they were talking about me.  I once had a similar experience at a Purim festival at the synagogue down the street from my church in Atlanta where I received numerous compliments on the ingenuity of my costume when I stopped in one Sunday afternoon after church. 

               

“Nope, I’m real,” I said. 

               

“I told you,” one said to the other.  At that point they both felt compelled to tell me where they went to church, which I could tell was not frequently.  The conversation proceeded through a collection of religious clichés.  Finally, a bus came.  It was packed beyond belief.

               

“Go ahead, Father,” they said as they tried to make room for me to board the bus. 

               

“No, thanks.  I’ll wait for the next one.”  Forty more blocks of that conversation on a severely overcrowded bus sounded like a donkey ride through hell.  I passed.

               

Several more packed buses came.  It was now 8:00.  I was tired and hungry.  I decided to go into a restaurant behind the bus stop, have dinner, and try again after things had, I hoped, cleared up a bit. 

               

Well, that was a good move.  The restaurant was a diner, classic New York.  People talking funny, but incredibly kind to one another.  I watched a table of three elderly women sitting next to the window and thoroughly enjoying watching the Halloween costumes outside.  They would waive to the characters they thought had the best costumes.  They had made it through the storm and were clearly enjoying each other’s company, which I suspect is a regular event. 

               

My strategy turned out to be a good one.  By the time I got back to the bus stop, things had gotten better, and the MTA had put on the extended buses making everything move a whole lot faster.  I had no trouble getting on the next bus.  The traffic was gone.  It took a normal amount of time to get from 72^nd Street to 110^th at 9:00 at night. 

               

It’s a story of minor tribulation that probably had a positive impact on my health, to be sure, but at the same time, it was a great privilege to share this experience with you all.  What impresses me beyond words is the resilience of the people who live and work here, and most especially the staff of the Domestic and Foreign Missionary Society. 

I have heard from many of you, both before and after the storm.  I know of at least one person who was in an evacuation area.  I have heard from a number of people who had various kinds of property damage—lost fences, roof damage, car damage.  There is at least one flooded house among us, and even a car hit by a flying boat.  One of us had a hundred-year-old oak tree lift surreally from the earth and land gently right beside his house rather than splitting it in two.  Lots of us lost power, some now restored and some not.  A number are in the midst of significant devastation.  It is not uncommon for our colleagues to be living through very significant travel disruptions, or have no idea at the moment how getting to Manhattan will ever be possible or when. 

We will figure all of that out.  The main thing is that, at least at the moment, I am unaware of anyone injured.  I am very grateful for that.

And, despite what should have been a horrible day on Wednesday, you all made it something much different.  What I think about is a group of senior citizens who survived the storm enjoying streets filled with trick-or-treaters.  I think about a staff member who endured 4 ½ hours on a bus to get to work so that payroll could be done.  I think about a staff member who went to a neighbor’s house where there was power to charge her cell phone so she could stay in touch with the office.  I think about staff members who put together a car pool so they could get across the bridge over the East River when it was restricted to cars with high occupancy.  I think of staff members who walked so they could get here and staff members who stayed in constant touch when they couldn’t.  I think of a staff member who organized lunch for the skeleton crew who were able to come on Wednesday.  I think of staff members who made sure they took plenty of things home just in case they got stranded and couldn’t get back in for a while. 

There is devastation in what I have seen, but mostly what I see is resilience in the face of challenges, obstacles, hardship, and suffering.  In the midst of all the inconvenience, I experience you all, and the people of the city in which we live, being truly neighborly in the very best sense.  I experience you all as dedicated to your work and the people we serve.  On what should have been my worst day in New York City, you and the people of New York made it the best.  I am greatly privileged and blessed to work and live among you.

Now would be a good time to give thanks.  For many of us that will mean giving thanks to God.  For some, perhaps it means giving thanks to each other.  For others, perhaps giving thanks is a vague sense of relief.  I invite you to join in doing so together, whatever that may mean for you.

We will celebrate the first Community Eucharist (a word, after all, that means thanksgiving) in our effort to strengthen our chapel life on Wednesday, November 7.  I invite you to come and take this opportunity to be thankful together, to pray for those who are suffering, and to remember those who have died.  For myself, I will be thinking about my best day in New York . . . so far. 

Peace,
+Stacy