Join us for a full day of learning, service, and community as we honor the life and legacy of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and live out our Christian commitment to human flourishing in all places. All are welcome—come for one part of the day or stay for as much as you’re able.
ROBESON HOUSE TEACH-IN
“Where Do We Go From Here?”
Monday, January 19, 9:00 am – 12:00 pm, Sanctuary of Nassau Presbyterian Church
Begin MLK Jr. Day with a morning of learning and reflection as we explore the powerful, intersecting stories of the Robeson family and the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and how their witness calls us to faithful action today. Registration Required:https://tinyurl.com/PRHPTeachIn26
HANDS-ON PROJECTS
Monday, January 19, 10:30 am – 12:30 pm, Assembly Room
Join us for hands-on service projects for all ages! We’ll make pet blankets for orphaned animals, pack sack lunches for Trenton Area Soup Kitchen (TASK), assemble Creativity Kits for HomeFront, pack personal care products for Arm In Arm clients, and create calendars for ABC Literacy. Bring donations to the Assembly Room through January 19.
Donation list: https://nassauchurch.org/an-advent-moment-of-mission/ Contact Ingrid Ladendorf (email, x105)
COMMUNITY CLEAN-UP
Monday, January 19, 1:00-3:00 pm, Mountain Lakes Nature Preserve, 57 Mountain Ave, Princeton
Spend the afternoon caring for our local environment alongside Friends of Princeton Open Space. Volunteers will help remove invasive species in riparian restoration areas and install deer-exclusion caging to protect young tree saplings.
Registration Required https://bit.ly/NPC26FoPOS, choose the 1:00-3:00 pm session. Contact Mark Edwards (email, x109)
COMMUNITY WORSHIP SERVICE
Monday, January 19, 7:00 pm
Princeton United Methodist Church, at the corner of Nassau Street & Vandeventer Avenue, Princeton
Join us for a Multi-Faith celebration of the life, faith, and legacy of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., sponsored by the Princeton Clergy Association and the Coalition for Peace Action.
You are also invited to join the pick-up community choir: the rehearsal is Monday, January 12, 7:00-9:00 pm at the PUMC, and warm up is 6:00 pm on January 19. Choir Sign Uphttps://bit.ly/44X3Cdq
“This will be a sign for you.” One morning this fall, on my way to the church office from our home in the Littlebrook section of Princeton, I ran into four detours for road closures. It took me 40 minutes to get to the office. We live 3.3 miles from here. The frustration was that there was never a “road closed ahead” sign. Arrive at the intersection, and a police car is blocking the road where you intend to go. A sign would have been helpful. When you find yourself traveling on an interstate, have you experienced those sometimes misleading blue signs that list the gas, hotel, or food options at the next exit? I know I am not the only one to experience this. You see a little icon on the sign for the gas you need or the food stop you would like. You exit a mile or two later. Drive slowly down the ramp. Come to the stop. The more honest sign says gas or food to the right in another 4 miles. The better sign at a highway exit is the huge fast food or gas sign towering up in the air with the destination right at the base of the sign. There is a refreshing clarity in that signage.
“This will be a sign for you,” the angel said to the shepherds. The angel of the Lord who stood before them with all that glory that terrified them. The angel was not the sign. The heavenly host of angels that appeared praising God and singing “Glory to God in the highest” had to have been breathtaking. But the heavenly host was not the sign. The shepherds, though they “returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen,” had nothing to do with the sign. For that matter, neither did Mary and Joseph, post-partum, post-swaddling, post-lying the babe in the manger. “This will be a sign for you; a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger…So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger.”
The preacher in the Book of Hebrews tells us that some of us have probably entertained angels unaware when showing hospitality to strangers. Most of us, however, have not come upon an angel with the glory of the Lord shining all around. But we have all seen a baby. We haven’t had a band of shepherds come and preach the good news of great joy for all people. But we have seen a baby. “This….will be a sign for you.” Not a burning bush. Not a cloud by day and pillar of fire at night. Not stormy sea brought to a dead calm. Not a withered hand healed. Not a few fish and loaves of bread feeding thousands. Not a lame person walking. Not tongues of fire falling from heaven and everyone hearing the gospel in their own language. Not prison chains falling off of their own accord. “This will be a sign for you.” A sign we have all seen. A sign we can all understand. A child is swaddled and lying there in front of you.
Generation after generation of students down the street at Princeton Theological Seminary have worked on their worship leadership skills in the required Introduction to Speech Class. Those classes are currently taught by faculty very familiar around here at Nassau Church: Michael Brothers and Nancy Lammers Gross. I am absolutely certain that they continue to carry the mantle when it comes to how to properly read Luke 2 before a congregation. It is the most common example used to teach a pastor the importance of a pause and the purpose of a comma when it comes to oral interpretation. I can still hear the speech teacher in my intro class after a student read “So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph and the child lying in the manger.” “No, no, no! The three of them are not in the manger.” “So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph….., and the child lying in the manger.” “The manger is not overflowing”.
Of course, it is overflowing. For that which is divine, “the one born this day in the city of David, a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord”, is swaddled not just in bands of cloth but wrapped in all that it means to be human. God and flesh. Divine and human. God with us. Look for a sign. The manger is overflowing both with the presence of God and the flesh of our humanity. A child lying there in the manger. Swaddled for warmth and security like a parent wraps every newborn before and ever since. Eyes yet to open. Skin color is yet to recover from the trauma of birth. And therein lies God. This so an understandable and relatable sign of our humanity; this newborn baby bears in this tiny flesh the awesome holiness and otherness of God. All of the mystery of the transcendent Creator of all now nurses at Mary’s breast. It is the scandal of the incarnation, God in human flesh. The manger cradles the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords. It overflows with the very humanity of God.
I was meeting a new friend for coffee one morning last week. We met at the place where he works, but over a period of only a few weeks, we kept running into each other. We both took it as a sign that we should grab coffee. He suggested meeting at Sakrit coffee, which is always too crowded, but I kept that thought. That morning, there was no place to sit. I suggested we go back to my office in the church. He said, “How about we take a walk?” For the next hour, on a brisk but sunny morning, we walked all over campus, up and down Nassau Street. As we walked and sipped, we shared our lives, our hopes and dreams, and complained about traffic in Princeton. We both ran into people we know and introduced each other. I introduced him to Len Scales, a few blocks down Nassau Street. We said hi to John, the unhoused man who spends a lot of time in the seminary library and on a bench in front of the Nassau Christian Center. We both know John. Wished him a merry Christmas. We split up, and both went back to work at 10. I found it to be a God moment, even a holy one. A reminder to me of God’s presence in the everyday, earthiness of it all. That’s when God still comes.
“This will be a sign for you.” It is a simple sign; the child, the manger, and the fleshiness of it all. The earthiness, the smelliness, the prickliness of humanity’s manger still receives the presence and promise of God, God with us. Because it is here, not “here” of this room but the “here” of our lives. Here in humanity’s stable of heartbreak and grief and disappointment, where God still comes. Here, when you and I are trying to keep our heads above water with the flood of the news of the world and the daily drenching downpour of humanity’s sinfulness, God still comes. Both in joyful family gatherings and in family struggles, in the realities of college admissions or difficult job searches or increased job stress or dignity torn away by unemployment, God is still there. As weddings are announced and new babies met for the first time, and medical tests shared and empty places at the table scream too loudly, God is there. Here, as parents seek wisdom in raising children and children seek wisdom in caring for parents, as young people search for courage in adulting or discerning what’s next in school and life, here, as someone we love is being treated for cancer, or struggling for a peace of mind, or a relationship now broken and over, God still comes.
“This will be a sign for you… a child lying in a manger.” Not a throne, not a cushy bed, not a bassinet crafted for royalty. A manger in a barn surrounded by animals and night air. Just so God rests in the rickety frame of our lives, and all of creation stands ready to burst into song. For the manger overflows with the humanity of God. And on nights like tonight, as the world groans with the suffering of God’s people and the darkness of the powers and principalities seems to be darker and heavier, our hope for peace and goodwill again rests in the scandal of God’s love. Out in the darkness, surrounded by other than the fleshiness of our humanity, the night air, and the world’s chaos, God is still with us. God is still for us.
My favorite children’s Christmas pageant story tells of the director deciding to mark the places for the angels and the shepherds. A circle for each angel and a cross for each shepherd. Unfortunately, there was no rehearsal in costume. When the angels took their places during the pageant in their flowing robes and halos, they covered up the marks for the shepherds. “The shepherds, driven by God knows what demonic impulse to indiscreet obedience,” William Muehl writes, “began looking for their places. Angels were treated like they had never been treated before. And at last one little boy, who had suffered about all such nonsense he could handle, turned toward….the teacher in charge…and announced angrily, ‘These damned angels are fouling up this whole show…They’ve hidden all the crosses.”
“Needless to say,” the writer continues, “his mother and I were greatly embarrassed.” But then offered this reflection on the life of faith. “We are, indeed, ‘damned angels’, possessors of gifts and insights which we turn to works of destruction, victims of burdens and infirmities which become occasions for glory. The rich pageant of life is often fouled up by our rigid moralism, and the cross is hidden beneath the flimsy fabric of our piety…Our flesh drives and afflicts us from birth to death. But we have the gall to affirm that it once sheltered the Eternal.
Or said another way, we dare to believe and affirm that the manger still overflows with the humanity of God.
“Do not be afraid, for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people, to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you.”
All the people. Since 1836, in this building. In this space. In this sanctuary. All the people. Praising. Praying. Listening. Singing. Laughing. Weeping. Rejoicing. Lamenting. All the people. Sitting out there on a sabbath morning. Packing the pews on an Easter morning. Singing “Joy to the World” on Christmas Eve. Leaving in silence on Good Friday. Meeting new students in September. All the people. Standing up here in the chancel with a child to be baptized, or to be ordained as an elder or deacon or Minister of Word and Sacrament, or to be confirmed, or to be married, or to serve communion. All the people. Sitting in the same pew, week after week, year after year, decade after decade, generation after generation. Sitting on the floor for Time with the Children. Sitting in the choir loft to lift a voice in praise. Sitting in the first pew to mourn and offer a loved one forever into the heart of God. All the people. A full sanctuary on the Wednesday after 9/11. A full sanctuary on The Rev. Martin Luther King Day, hosting the entire Princeton Community. A full sanctuary on a Sunday evening after the Tree of Life Synagogue murders in Pittsburgh. A full sanctuary of Princeton Theological Seminary Baccalaureate services back in the day. A full sanctuary for lectures, community events, funerals. All the people.
“Here’s the church. Here’s the steeple.
Open the doors and there are all the people.”
It is a bit ironic that one of the strong learnings we all had was from our summer worship in the Princeton Seminary Chapel. Ironic because we were over there because of all the renovations being done here. Singing over there with a different acoustic, meeting new people over there because you couldn’t sit in the same place, lingering longer on the front plaza over there after worship, confirmation, baptisms, communion, and memorial services all over there. We learned, remembered, and experienced that the church isn’t about the building!
“Here’s the church. Here’s the steeple.
Open the doors and there are all the people.”
I can’t tell you when I first learned this. I am guessing most of you can’t either. A Sunday School class, perhaps, when we are all but knee high. One of those lessons from the beginning. Really early on in life. Like learning to sing “Jesus Loves Me”. Almost as ingrained as learning how to say please and thank you. Cover your mouth when you cough. Wash your hands in warm water longer to say the alphabet or sing “Happy Birthday” twice. Beginners’ lessons. Like when you pass by a youth baseball or softball game. You will still hear things like “keep your eye on the ball” or “keep your head down,” or keep those gloves on the ground,” or “who’s ready out there,” or “David, the games are in here, not out there!” Beginners’ lessons. The fundamentals. The basics. The same things….from the beginning.
If you wandered into a Latin I class on campus behind at the beginning of the term, I bet they are still translating, “All of Gaul is divided into three parts”. If you stopped by a preschool some morning, especially around the birthday celebration for Dr. Seuss, you would still hear “Mr. Brown can moo, can you,” “One Fish, Two Fish,” and “I do not like green eggs and ham.” Beginning lessons. They go with you forever. Years ago, I did a wedding over at the university chapel. The bride and groom selected Psalm 23 as the reading. I think it is the only time I have read Psalm 23 at a wedding. It was the first scripture the bride ever learned. The first she could remember. It was from the beginning.
When our children were very young, my playlist of songs to sing when they were in my arms, trying to fall asleep or stop cryin,g was an odd mix of church songs and college fight songs. Abide with me. On Wisconsin. The Church’s One Foundation. Ray Bucknell. Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing. Fight on, State. Just I am. 10,000 Men of Harvard. An odd mix of beginning songs. Cathy’s bedtime song for the kids was “When He Cometh, when He cometh, to make up his jewels. Cathy’s mother sang it to her. Last week, we received a video of our almost two-year-old granddaughter Maddy singing “When He Cometh” at the breakfast table. Beginnings. Fundamentals. The earliest lessons pass from generation to generation.
Beginning. It’s a favorite word of the writer of I John. The epistle is full of “beginning”. We declare to you what was from the beginning, what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and touched with our hands, concerning the Word of life…. Beloved, I am writing to you no new commandment, but an old commandment that you have had from the beginning…Let what you heard from the beginning abide in you. If what you heard from the beginning abides in you, then you will abide in the Son and in the Father….for this is the message you have heard from the beginning, that we should love one another.
This morning, however, it is not the writer’s use of the word “beginning” that is striking for our celebration. It is I John, and the earliest lesson, the fundamental, the basic, the beginning affirmation for discipleship and Christian faith, the earliest lesson passed from generation to generation among the followers of Jesus, the children of God, the people you see when you open the door. “God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God.” “God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God.” “God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God.” God is love. Love. Love. Love. Love.
It is as rock solid for a Christian as please and thank you. Cover your mouth. Wash your hands. Keep your eye on the ball. God is love. Do justice, love kindness, walk humbly with your God. God is love. Love Yahweh with all your heart and with all of your heart and with all of your strength. God is love. 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. God is love. Love your enemies…Love your neighbor as yourself…..The greatest of these is love. “God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God.” God is love.
Get back to the basics. After a long, stressful day at work. When the news of the day is beyond the pale. When your kid is in crisis, or your father doesn’t know you anymore or your sister just received a diagnosis. Remember the beginning lessons. When your college freshman is struggling. When you’re feeling lonely. When you find yourself in a conversation with a close friend that’s uncomfortable. When you see a hateful sign held in a public place. When you read of people demonizing the nameless, faceless other. When you see masked law enforcement needlessly strong-arming people in the halls of justice. When you worry about families being afraid just to send their children to school. When you don’t know what to say to a neighbor whose spouse is so sick. It’s the fundamentals. “God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God.” God is love.
A few weeks ago, I preached at the installation for the new senior pastor in Philadelphia at the Presbyterian Church of Chestnut Hill. Ellen was a former student of mine and an intern here with us. She was ordained to a position out of seminary as an associate pastor in Austin, TX. She began her ministry right before the pandemic in 2020. She was called to Chestnut Hill and began her ministry just before the last presidential election. In a phone call to chat about how on earth to preach to a new congregation she hardly knows these days, Ellen said to me, “I just want to be a pastor in precedented times.” We talked about sticking to the basics of the gospel. I told her congregation that for any pastor beginning a new ministry in the last ten years, the word honeymoon doesn’t exist anymore. Even as I said it, right in the moment, I found myself thinking how grateful I am for you. For the congregation at Nassau Presbyterian Church. For the peace and unity of this congregation, I am privileged to serve. See all the people. And as you have heard me say many times, when the complexities and challenges of day to day are ever on the rise, the simplest parts of the teaching of Jesus become all the more important. The basics. The fundamentals. The earliest lessons. “God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God.” God is love.
I was sitting here in the sanctuary by myself one morning last week. I didn’t turn the lights on, but the morning sun illuminated the chancel texts. I noticed the space below the I John text. “God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God.” And I thought of something we maybe could have added. Because when it comes to the earliest lessons, the basics, the fundamentals, it is never as easy as it sounds, right? If hitting a baseball was just about keeping your head down, we would all be in the Hall of Fame. If loving your neighbor and going to do likewise were that easy, this blasted world would be a different place. So in my mind, I added a bit of a verse here in the blank space below “God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God.” It is also from I John. It’s only half a verse. And the next time I am asked to give my favorite verse for the children receiving their Bibles on a Sunday morning I will offer this one. I John 3:20b: “For God is greater than our hearts.”
“Here’s the church. Here’s the steeple.
Open the doors and there’s all the people.”
“God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God.”
Jesus returns to the Sea of Galilee by way of Sidon, ending up in the area of the Decapolis or the “Ten Towns.” That would be a little like going from Princeton to Richmond, by way of Boston, and ending up in Atlanta.
And the crowds in this vast area, are again and again, bringing to Jesus people needing significant healing. Today, people bring Jesus a deaf man who could hardly speak; and they implore him for a laying on of hands.” [ii]
Who is this man? He has a name. We don’t know it. What we do know is his deafness is profound, his speech distorted, and tongue tied.
The first time I remember experiencing this story was in Mrs. Mahaffy’s 3rd grade Sunday School Class. This was in my home church in Mount Lebanon, PA and Mrs. Mahaffy always had us sit on the floor where there was a big blue flannel board. This is how we learned Biblical stories in those days. Mrs. Mahaffy would use precut, 8 inch, felt characters of the Bible and she would tell the story across the flannel board.
Enter stage right, Mrs. Mahaffy introduces Felt Friends bringing the Felt Deaf Man to Jesus.
Felt Jesus bids them a bright welcome and asks what’s the problem.
Jesus warmly takes man aside. Hands on ears. (I don’t think we heard about Jesus’ Spit on the man’s tongue.)
Healing is complete. Man can hear. Man can speak. All rejoice.
Felt Children jump for joy. Lambs and puppies sound out their delight. Jesus is cheerful.
All go home.
I loved it. I loved it so much I still remember it.
But when we peel away the felt and move to a complex, multi-dimensional Jesus, what we learn is Jesus – rather than delighted, is exhausted and burdened.
He’s trekked over miles, preached, prayed, healed without a break. By the time we encounter him, he’s in serious need of Sabbath. There’s such a hunger for his word and his touch, Jesus is enveloped by masses of people. He’s full of emotional ups and downs, has a frayed temper, and is overwhelmed by the weight of his call. There’s no Felt Jesus here. No one-dimensional, perpetually blissful guy.
He’s exasperated by the foolishness of the disciples.
He’s overcome by the neediness of humanity.
He’s tired of having to be “on” all the time. [iii]
And now a man who can not hear. Cannot speak. Cannot be understood, lands at his feet.
I don’t know the experience of being deaf and can’t imagine being deaf in first century Palestine. For millennia, all over the globe deafness is treated as a severe deficit. In our own country, deafness has historically been treated as a disease, a disorder, a condition.
More recently, we know deafness is not a deficit, but is a unique culture with a spatial and visual language, and it is one of strength and creativity that emphasizes hands, faces, bodies and eyes. [iv]
Where did our contemporary deaf culture have it’s beginnings?
In the church. And in particular at the Methodist Camp Meetings of Martha’s Vineyard. For most of the 18th and 19th centuries, long before it was a vacation spot, Martha’s Vineyard was center of Christian Education. It was a multi-racial and bi-lingual community. It was bilingual because everyone spoke both English and – not French, not Spanish … but sign language.
You see, deafness was a recessive hereditary trait, and Martha’s Vineyard had a pretty isolated genetic population — which meant that any given person on the island could have both hearing and deaf siblings. In the mid-1800s, 25% of the population was deaf. So deafness was just a trait some people had, like brown eyes or tallness. And everyone spoke sign language. It was a bi-lingual, abolitionist, Christian community that went on to shape the beauty of expression through the body.
We don’t know how the deaf man who was brought to Jesus communicated. But there was language enough that:
The intrepid man and his friends moved to the front of the line.
The man and his robust friends came to Jesus face-to-face.
The man and his friends pleaded strongly enough that the exhausted Jesus reached out with compassion.
And here’s the thing I find most beautiful. The deaf man also became a healer for Jesus. By stepping away from the fray, finding a quiet, calm, and private spot: Jesus took a breath, Jesus found stillness. Jesus enjoyed some serenity. Perhaps the deaf man put his hand on Jesus shoulder in an act of mercy. Jesus could catch his breath. Jesus could breathe. Jesus could savor solitude.
And as Jesus opened himself to the power of the Holy Spirit; he lifted one hand to the man’s ears; spit on his other hand and touched the man’s tongue; raised his face to the breeze; looked to heaven and sighed – oh how Jesus sighed – and said to the man – “Ephphatha,” “Be opened.”
Are those not the most beautiful words for healing? “Be opened.”
Jesus sticking his fingers in all of our ears and saying, “Be opened.” Sanctified fingers burrowing down to our eardrums, “Be opened.” Anointing our mouths with spit, “Be opened.”
Be opened to a life where you aren’t the broken one anymore.
Be opened to the possibility that there is healing in the world, and it might not look like you think it would.
Be opened to knowing that your own brokenness doesn’t need to be hidden.
And there’s one more thing I want to tell you. One more note about Openness. One more thing to share.
The most famous school in the world for the deaf is Gallaudet University in Washington D.C. There’s nowhere else on earth where deaf culture is more celebrated, advocated, and encouraged as it is at Gallaudet.
And Gallaudet University has a motto. And the motto is this:
‘Ephphatha.’ ‘Ephphatha.’
Jesus’ words:
“Be opened.’ ‘Be opened.”
And it’s not because they’re a community of the deaf.
It’s because we are.
Jesus lifts his eyes to heaven and sighs for us:
‘Ephphatha.’ ‘Be opened.’
Our ears are opened.
Our tongues released.
Our healing begins.
Thanks be to God.
ENDNOTES
[i] Scripture Lesson: Mark 7:31-37 Then he returned from the region of Tyre and went by way of Sidon towards the Sea of Galilee, in the region of the Decapolis. They brought to him a deaf man who had an impediment in his speech; and they begged him to lay his hand on him. He took him aside in private, away from the crowd, and put his fingers into his ears, and he spat and touched his tongue. Then looking up to heaven, he sighed and said to him, ‘Ephphatha,’ that is, ‘Be opened.’ And immediately his ears were opened, his tongue was released, and he spoke plainly. Then Jesus ordered them to tell no one; but the more he ordered them, the more zealously they proclaimed it. They were astounded beyond measure, saying, ‘He has done everything well; he even makes the deaf to hear and the mute to speak.’
[ii] David Lose, “In the Meantime: Mark 7:31-38.” June 25, 2012, davidlose.net.
[iii] Charlene Han Powell, “Mark 7:24-30: Desperate Belief.” September 6, 2015, day1.org.
[iv] A note on Deaf Culture. The American Deaf community values American Sign Language (ASL) as the core of a culturally Deaf identity. Through ASL, members are given a unique medium for personal expression, a spatial and visual language that does not require the use of sound and emphasizes hands, faces, bodies and eyes. Members of this community share a common history, values, morals, and experiences. Deaf individuals come from diverse backgrounds and influences, and as a result that variation is reflected in the community. Different types of sign systems are used to varying degrees, and the Deaf community welcomes this variety. Handsandvoices.org.
[v] Nadia Bolz-Weber, “Sometimes It Hurts; A Sermon on Healing.” September 11, 2012, sojo.net.
Join us for a full day of learning, service, and community as we honor the life and legacy of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and live out our Christian commitment to human flourishing in all places. All are welcome—come for one part of the day or stay for as much as you’re able.