July 2, 2026

 

Dear Friends,


Happy Fourth of July! I recommend reading my friend Ben Dueholm’s piece on his Substack, the Parish Bulletin. The piece is called America is Awesome, and if you click that link, you’ll see that Ben is also awesome. I highly recommend a subscription. He quotes himself to remind himself about what he loves about his country:

I’ve been focusing on what I think of as my Ken Burns patriotism: I love jazz, baseball, Union generals in the Civil War, national parks, the civil rights movement. I love local public libraries, a legacy of America’s unique strain of do-gooding busybodies who wanted everyone to read. I love our literary tradition, which isn’t centered in one or two big cities, a dominant ethnic group, or the social elite but reflects and refracts our intrinsic hybridity. I love the Reconstruction amendments to the Constitution, with their lawyer’s theology of universal freedom, citizenship, and access to the franchise.

I find these things to be true for myself, as well. I think the best thing about our country, and perhaps the way it reflects best the kingdom of Heaven, is that we have repeatedly fought against a blood-and-soil view of our citizenry. Anyone can be American. You don’t have to be from anywhere in particular, adhere to any particular identity. We have universal citizenship, and universal invitation. It’s always good to remember Emma Lazarus's poem engraved upon the base of the Statue of Liberty, one of the greatest descriptions of the American spirit that I know:

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she

With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

This view was enshrined in our Constitution after a bloody civil war in the 14th and 15th Amendments to the constitution. Justice Jackson, in a concurring opinion to the recent Supreme Court decision that upheld birthright citizenship by a disgracefully small margin, wrote: "The Reconstruction Amendments were an anticaste, antisubordination reset for the Nation, not a mere spot treatment for the dark stain of slavery,” and continues:

When ratified, the Citizenship Clause thus vindicated the universalist vision of the delegates at the Colored Conventions and their allies in Congress. Far from the principal dissent’s representations, freed Blacks did not receive citizenship as a reward for their military service or for having, through no choice of their own, “no other homeland [and] no allegiance to any foreign power...”Instead, the Amendment recognized their rightful claim to birthright citizenship simply and solely by virtue of their having been born on American soil. John Bingham—one of the Amendment’s principal architects—said this clearly: The “rights of citizenship” are universal because they are the “sacred rights of person[hood].” With this recognition, the U. S. Constitution finally got an anticaste engine. And with it, the Nation gained a new font of legitimacy and vitality. 

The writers of the 14th Amendment and the people who ratified it meant that the children of Chinese migrant workers, Romani, and people of all ethnicities were to be included in citizenship, because they were people born in the United States or within its jurisdiction. In other words, citizenship is conferred by being people under the law. 

This in itself is enough to let out a whoop of pride this fourth of July: that our nation has fought to overcome its flaws and has enshrined in its constitution the promise of home for all.  Let that whoop be also a pledge to continue pressing on to the promise of its declaration: that all people are created equal.

Baptism, which is not a law but a promise, is a yet more universal declaration of freedom. It knows no borders, no nationalities. It is a pledge of allegiance from God to us, God’s people, God’s creations. It is a celebration of our common image, and delight in each of our unique gifts. It is a good and worthy thing to work for the health of the body politic, and yet a better and more glorious thing to work for the health of the body of Christ.

One more Substack it’s worth following is by Joel B. Green, the biblical scholar. He wrote recently a few posts on 1 Peter, which we studied together in our spring Bible Study. He carefully situates 1 Peter in its context, a world very different than ours, and draws out the real implications of the letter, which is a call to live freely and differently. He writes, 

Peter isn’t asking his audience to accommodate to Roman society, nor to withdraw from it. He is asking them to go on writing the next chapter of the Israel-Christ story—empowered by the Spirit to maintain their allegiance to the merciful Father by journeying through suffering in hope of eschatological honor and, so, bearing witness to the coming of the new age.

Which turns out to be exactly what he’s asking of us.

That’s what we do after we whoop and holler: we sing the promise of God for all people, for the final freedom in the coming of the Lord of All Creation. 


Have a happy and safe Fourth of July. Keep hydrated. And I’ll see you soon.


Pastor John

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June 26, 2026

 

Dear Friends,


Anyone who knows me knows I’m into soccer. I also insist on calling it soccer, not football, because I’m American, and gosh darn it, I’ll use American words for things. I like to tell people that when I was a kid, I was really into the players, and then in my thirties I got really into the coaches, and now that I’m squarely in my mid-forties, I’m really into the geopolitics around soccer, of which there are many. Did you know, for instance, that in the last World cup in Qatar, the stadiums and infrastructure were built with forced labor in crushing heat, and more than 6000 people died? Or that the owners of the Manchester City Football (Soccer, that is) Group, which owns our local club New York City Football (ahem, soccer) Club is the sportswashing arm of the United Arab Emirates’ royalty and politicians, responsible for many reprehensible human rights abuses across the globe. The 2034 World Cup will be held in Saudi Arabia, whose crown prince allegedly ordered the murder and dismemberment of Jamal Khashoggi, a Washington Post journalist. Famously, when England won its only World Cup in 1966 (they’d win more if they had kept calling it soccer instead of switching to football), the referee allowed a goal to stand when it probably shouldn’t have, and decades later, when asked why, the USSR/Azerbaijani ref replied, “Stalingrad.” Supposedly he allowed the goal in revenge for the German assault on that city.

Now the world’s game has returned to the United States, but this time with the internet. So far, my favorite thing has been the Tartan Army, the Scottish fans dedicated to singing, marching, playing the bagpipes, donating money to children’s hospitals, and drinking every single beer—except Bud Light, which they don’t count as beer. One of them, JJ Bull, has released a great video he titled The Very Unofficial World Cup Song, and it includes the line, “It’s bread and circuses, baby!” And as much as soccer brings people together around the world, it also reveals the gross inequities, murders, every kind of odious oppression—side by side with pure joy. 

Juvenal was the Roman writer who coined the phrase “bread and circuses,”: Already long ago, from when we sold our vote to no man, the People have abdicated our duties; for the People who once upon a time handed out military command, high civil office, legions — everything, now restrains itself and anxiously hopes for just two things: bread and circuses.” Wikipedia says, "In much modern literature, this is a "briberous and corrupting attempt of the Roman emperors to cover up the fact that they were selfish and incompetent tyrants.”’ Which, when it comes to sportswashing, the World Cup, taxpayer-funded stadiums, and the like: yes. Yes, indeed.

Of course, who doesn’t love bread and circuses? I sure love a good game of soccer, especially when the US plays. But nothing can cover the real problems this world faces, and our country faces—the consolidation of oligarchic power, the affinity of authoritarians working to squash democracy, and twin drugs of sports and entertainment that can soothe our justified fear and anger.

This week’s readings in Jeremiah and Matthew work together to focus our attention on the revelations delivered to us by the world’s “most important unimportant thing,” that is, soccer. Jeremiah is basically a slow clap to the soothsaying prophets who say everything is fine, everything will turn out all right, basically in two weeks it’ll all be fine. Jeremiah says, “As for the prophet who prophecies peace, when the word of that prophet comes true, then it will be known that the LORD has truly sent the prophet.” Peace, peace, but there is no peace, Jeremiah says. No one likes Jeremiah, including Jeremiah himself. No one likes to hear him slow clap positivity. And yet there is a promise here: when peace comes, it will be known God sent the prophet.

We call Jesus the Prince of Peace—the one who promised to bring a sword last week. But here he is telling us to welcome the stranger, to give water to the thirsty. “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to be free,” Jesus seems to say. The Prince of Peace promises peace not in a nation, but in relationships across borders. Indeed, across every kind of border. Peace comes in finding yourself in a human family, creatures of God, one body with many members from every walk of life. That peace can only be found in faith and in active love. 

Who knows what can happen? One of the delights of this world cup is seeing fans of different countries celebrate together, win or lose, discovering and enjoying barbecue and other American foods, and forming little communities of joy. Who knows what can happen when people of different languages, colors, heritages, unite for a common purpose. It happens every day in the church, where Christ’s peace reigns.

See you soon,

Pastor John

 

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June 19., 2026

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Dear Friends,

The color adorning our sanctuary is green--the color for the bulk of the church year, the times between Epiphany and Lent and Holy Trinity and Christ the King. Green means growth--growth in discipleship, in faith, and in love for one another and the world God has made. This means we generally focus on the texts that teach--the fancy word is paraenetic, which means ethical teaching. How to act, what to do. Sometimes we also hear stories the proclaim good news, which evoke or call forth faith. Often the texts do both--because to act in the way Jesus teaches requires faith. 

This week Jesus tells his followers to do his work knowing that whatever is hidden will be brought to light. This means things we think are secret God sees, both good and bad. But it also means the things we try to cover up will be uncovered. Our attention may flag; God's doesn't. So Jesus teaches us not to worry about who notices the good work God gives us to do: we should do it whether or not anyone celebrates it. And, Jesus continues, it may very well be the good work God gives us to do makes other people very angry. 

I think about this a lot--especially in times like these. The whole city celebrated the Knicks' championship, and the aftermath of that victory included scenes that highlight the beauty of our city: the dancing and singing of our diverse city. The World Cup has brought a significant amount of joy and cross-country solidarity: I've loved seeing the videos of people discovering barbeque for the first time, or the Tartan Army of Scots dancing with Iraqi fans, and dancing with the Haiti fans after their game. 

Underneath these scenes, however, there's trouble. Just over the river in Newark, there's a place called Delaney Hall, where ICE has interned many people. The prisoners there have started a hunger strike, and are organizing in other ways to protest the despicable treatment they endure. You can read a daily update about conditions inside and outside the detentions center here. But what is done in darkness will be revealed in the light, including the closing of our eyes.

Jesus told his followers that to follow him is to follow a path of suffering. Why? Because to overcome hate and evil with good, the good must overcome evil by encountering it. As Jesus embraces the weak, the downtrodden, and the sinner, so must his followers. And that clash is suffering. The reformers took this up to say that one of the signs of the church is that it suffers--suffers evil when it offers the world love. We can dance with the Tartan Army, but not to the extent that we forget our neighbor. There's a satirical Scot with an unofficial World Cup song, and the chorus has a line, "It's bread and circuses, baby!" And he's right.

Kierkegaard mocked his contemporary Christians for their attachment to ease: "Calling oneself a Christian is the means whereby one protects oneself from all possible inconveniences and discomforts." #Blessed theology, I call it. But we are called to something else. To keep our eyes open, to continue to work for compassionate community, to love as Jesus did. 

See you soon,


Pastor John

 

 

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June 12, 2026

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Dear Friends,

There’s a teeter-totter in the middle of Christian theology, rising and falling depending on the weight one places on the two sides—or, perhaps, the height you give to humanity or to Jesus. On the right side are the folks who really think about people and think about the power of people, the goodness of people, and put their weight on the actions of human being's ability to either please God or enter into a relationship with God. Jesus becomes either the icing on the cake of religious practice, or an exemplar of human behavior. On the left side of the teeter-totter, you’ll find the folks who take a dimmer view of human beings and human nature, and as you get to the end of that side you’ll find people like Lutherans and Calvinists, who say there is absolutely nothing a human can do to earn their way into God’s good graces, but rather God’s good grace comes always as a gift. In influence and popularity, the teeter-totter goes up and down.

I have found that most people want some agency in their faith lives. Sometimes it’s from a real affirmation of the goodness of humanity, the goodness of what God has made. “I’m pretty good,” that side says. “I’m not perfect, no one is, but God’s going to weigh up the plusses and minuses, and I’ll pass on through.” The other side of the teeter-totter has much less confidence: “I am human enough to know I’m not holy, and God is. I cannot really hope to reach God, much less please God. So I am in desperate need here.”

One thing, though, that I have not seen discussed very much is how this teeter-totter relates to the wrath of God. The Lutherans realized this, especially because Luther himself felt fear over an angry God. One way for humans to deal with the idea is to simply deny that God has anger. I worry that this also denies God’s justice—because anger can be a sign of injustice. The relationship of humans, God, and anger probably deserves a lot more reflection, but the Lutherans addressed it from the human perspective: “How can the human heart love God as long as it believes that he is terribly angry and that he is oppressing us with temporal and eternal calamities? However, the law always accuses us; it always shows that God is angry. Therefore, God is not loved until after we grasp his mercy by faith. Not until then does he become someone who can be loved.”

The tension of the left side of the teeter-totter is palpable. You feel guilt at the sins and wrongs you have done, despair at never measuring up to God’s standards, and finally, resentment that God holds impossible standards and is angry when you, a human being, cannot do the impossible. How can you love someone who simultaneously makes you feel guilt, despair, and resentment? I suppose you could say that you dearly want to be loved by that one but have no way to know if they love you, and if your love is even real.

But the reformers wanted us to remember that God’s love comes through faith in God’s promises, and God’s work. We are like small children on a teeter-totter, raised to new heights when a parent comes to play and sits on the teeter-totter, sending the child skyward. That is delight, squealing happy delight. A child loves a loving parent fully and freely, and it comes from a relationship built on trust. “We love because God first loved us,” the reformers remembered. And the irony of the left side of the teeter-totter is revealed: the deeper you fall, the greater God’s love appears for us. The more we have to grasp it by faith, the wider God’s love seems, because anyone can love a perfect person. But to love the imperfect so much to fill the imperfections—that’s Godly.

See you soon,

Pastor John

 

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June 5, 2026

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Dear Friends,


We are coming into the summer now, which is a long green season in the church calendar. Green because the paraments and colors for worship are green, signifying growth. Over the summer we listen to the stories of Jesus’ ministry, his teachings and acts of love. In some ways we are like the church over the centuries, gathering around the stories of Jesus and figuring out how to follow his lead. Even the earliest accounts of worship, like the Didache and the letters of Paul include hearing Scripture and preaching and prayer and a shared meal. The main differences are that the Scripture mentioned was what we call the Old Testament now, and the meal was more fulsome than a single bite of bread and a sip of wine.  The presence of the Hebrew Bible in worship since the beginning is one of the reasons I don’t cut it from OSA’s worship, despite the temptations of time. Jesus preached from it, and claimed to fulfill its promises, and so along with the Gospel stories, we continue to listen to it.

Summer can get sleepy at church—by August a whole lot of people have left the city, either to get away from the heat or to get out before school starts, or some other reason. After a while some of the texts may blur together. Jesus casts out demons, he heals the sick, he preaches. We’ve heard the stories before, and some of them we’ve heard over and over again. Sometimes the words read from the pulpit seem horribly out of date and awry, almost completely out of context. Take this week’s Gospel reading, when Jesus says to some people, “Go and learn what this means, God desires mercy, not sacrifice.”

Mercy—what can that be? Who could grant it? Mercy implies an imbalance of power. And what about justice? Is there room for both mercy and justice?

One of New York City’s great summer traditions is Shakespeare in the Park, and my family and I were lucky enough to get tickets last night to Romeo and Juliet, perhaps the most famous of all the Shakespeare plays. Like church, Shakespeare in the Park continues an ancient human practice, of sitting in a semicircle listening to artists’ words and watching actors bring them to life. I had forgotten, however, the role of the prince in the play. After Romeo and Juliet, following a long list of bad decisions, die in one another’s arms the prince has finally had enough: what the heck in wrong with you people, he says. What will it take to make peace? And the play ends with the Montagues and the Capulets laying down their war and raising statues in peace.

It’s a beautiful moment. It’s also partly a fantasy—if the death of loved ones stopped the swirl of hate, we’d have far fewer wars. But nevertheless, mercy sometimes is simply restraint, is putting away violence in favor of some kind of peace. 

There’s a great organization called CeaseFire that does this work of mercy in our cities. CeaseFire is an organization of Violence Interruptors, trusted community members who are able to talk people down from killing one another. They use empathy, social knowledge, experience, and authenticity to reach people driven by anger and fear, and talk them down. CeaseFire is by no means a cure all for gang and street violence, but it makes a difference. If Mercutio weren’t killed, he would have grown up to become a member of it. 

We find ourselves caught in patterns: patterns of worship, patterns of violence, life patterns both gratifying and degrading. It is to our detriment that we sometimes cut a pattern out of the Gospel, and wear our way around it. It is my fervent hope that this summer, somewhere in the heat and familiarity, mercy will hit you, and change you. Because that’s what God is all about—God wants mercy, not sacrifice.


See you at the community celebration tomorrow from 10-4!

Pastor John

 

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