I saw a cartoon recently. The picture is of Noah’s Ark drifting off from the shore. And all the animals on the ark are looking back toward the shore with distressed looks upon their faces. They’re looking at two dinosaurs who are left on the shore. And one dinosaur is saying to the other, “Oh rats! Was that today?” (They didn’t actually say, “Oh, rats,” but that’s the only word I can use here in church.)

We all know what the scientists say about how the first dinosaurs were destroyed. A huge meteor struck the earth and destroyed them. But it didn’t destroy all living things. By a process of evolution, a whole new type of living beings emerged after that destruction. But the cartoon is based on the popular belief that the world will be destroyed by fire. There was a very important book that came out in the 1950s by James Baldwin called “The Fire Next Time.” It was basically two long letters that he wrote about the legacy of slavery and segregation, and the challenges of integration at his moment in time. But the title he chose came from an old gospel hymn – a black gospel hymn – called “Oh Mary, Don’t You Weep. Don’t You Moan.” And, in the gospel song, the singer contrasts the flood that killed Pharaoh’s army and saved the Israelites with - not another flood, ‘cause God promised, after the Noah’s Ark thing, He’d never destroy the world by water again - but the next time, by fire.

Those of you who grew up in my generation and the generation just after mine, probably were prejudiced in our lives and experienced prejudice in our lives. We referred to other people with expressions that are no longer acceptable in public discourse, and we were called those kinds of names ourselves. And, to a certain extent, those things rolled off our back and nobody took all that much umbrage in what was being said by us or to us. But now we live in a binary culture. Partly because of the wonderful gift of computers and infinite technology, we tend to think in on/off, yes/no, good/bad, white/black. And the spaces in between are beginning to disappear from our public discourse.

If you paid close attention to the second reading, it sounded very much like Paul was trying to convince the people of Colossae not to be prejudiced. But is that really what was going on? First of all, you have to understand the context of much of the New Testament writing. Both the gospel of Luke, which we just heard, and most of the letters of St. Paul, the writer’s presumption is that the world is going to end. Jesus is coming back in their lifetime. And those who are baptized are an exclusive group, the ones who will be saved. The rest of the world is going to hell in a handbag. And so it was very much a binary attitude toward the world. It’s us and all those other people. So, when St. Paul talks to the Colossians, he’s talking about people within the Christian group who are very disparate, one from another. That’s why I asked you to pay close attention to the dichotomies he expresses - Jew/Greek, circumcised/uncircumcised, slave/free, Barbarian/Scythian. In another letter he says exactly the same thing, including in those dichotomies male/female. He’s saying all of us are one because we all follow Christ.

You know this is not the first summer heat wave we’ve ever had in Wurtsboro. I said Mass here in the summertime for almost all of my 50 years as a priest before I came to live here as your pastor. And, back then, there was no air conditioning in this building. Up there, where that beautiful stained-glass window of Joseph and the boy, Jesus, is now, there used to be an exhaust fan. The theory was that the exhaust fan would suck out the hot air because hot air rises. Nah, not so much. No. And each one of those pillars had a little oscillating fan that went back and forth and just blew the hot air around. The windows, back then, used to open, but they opened from the bottom. They just pushed out a little bit, and a little bit of air could rush in through those openings.

And, on a very hot weekend, I remember that by the time I began the 9 o’clock Mass it was already beginning to swelter in here. It was in the high 80s, maybe the low 90s outside. It was beginning to percolate up into the 80s in here. People were sitting here going like this [fanning] with their missalettes and so on. And I got up to preach and I said, “You think it’s hot in here? There’s someplace else a lot hotter. Stay out of it. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

Upgrades. The commercials nowadays are always telling us how we can get an upgrade. And it makes people want to buy more because they’re going to be able to buy better if they buy more now. When we travel, we hope for an upgrade to first class because a seat has become available in first class. Well, Pope Francis recently did an upgrade for two of our saints. Later in this month, exactly a week apart, on July 22nd and July 29th, we celebrate the Feast of St. Mary Magdalene and the Feast of St. Martha. But you wouldn’t really understand this unless you were able to look in our instruction books, but there are different kind of feasts. Most feasts are just memorials and, if the priest doesn’t feel like celebrating that memorial, he doesn’t have to. But if something’s labeled a Feast, then every priest has to celebrate that Mass on that day. So the Pope just upgraded Mary Magdalene from a mere old memorial to a Feast day. He did that to make sure that everybody understands how important this woman was to the foundation of the faith. That she was the first witness of the empty tomb. For too long she’s been relegated to those women who weren’t quite virgins before they became saints. The week after that, he changed the Feast of St. Martha to the Feast of St. Martha, Mary and Lazarus. How come?

Well, we’re reading this morning from St. Luke’s gospel. St. Luke has just this story about Martha and Mary, and it’s very vague. “Jesus entered a village.” The village has no name. When St. John gets ahold of the story, 20 years later, he tells us where Martha and Mary lived. They lived in Bethany. They had a brother named Lazarus. Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead and, after the resurrection of Lazarus, the family threw a big resurrection party. And, at that party, Martha served like she usually does. Mary washed Jesus’ feet with perfume, which caused Judas to have a hissy fit and ask why didn’t they sell the perfume and give the money to the poor, and then I can get my cut as well. And Lazarus was there presiding at table. How come this big upgrade in John’s gospel.

On a beautiful summer Sunday morning, just like this one, back in the 1950s – I don’t remember if it was ‘55, ‘56 or ‘57 – there was a horrific auto accident right out here on the hill going up toward Wurtsboro Hills. If you’re coming down, there’s a big curve in the road and, just beyond that curve, an oil tanker flipped over on its side and burst into flames. Behind it, twelve more cars collided, one after another. The car right behind it had six passengers, all of whom were killed. And there were another three or four people in addition to them who lost their lives in that accident. The accident was so terrible that, for a dozen years, nothing grew on the shoulder of the road right by where Valentine Dam Rd is today.

There used to be a sign at the top of the long hill, right by Sarine Rd in Masten Lake, that said, “Steep hill. Truckers use low gear.” And it had a little picture of a line like this, with a truck going downhill. That’s how dangerous that road was. And this dreadful accident, which made the front page of the New York Daily News the following day, that’s how dangerous that was.

A lone rider on horseback travels through a chilly and damp October day. It’s near evening. His horse has carried him more than ten miles, from Lockport to the little village of Cayuga Creek, New York. It took him only three days to get from Rochester to Lockport on that marvel of modern travel, the Erie Canal, stopping along the way each evening to take whatever comfort there might be at a local tavern or farmhouse. As he rides along, the wind whips up and a light rain begins to blow in the wind with some icy needles of snow, the harbinger of a long, hard winter to come. Off in the distance he sees the glow from a lamplight in a window and knows he is nearing his destination. Dismounts his horse. Knocks on the door. The farmer opens the door and says, “Fr. Neumann it is so good to see you. Come in.”

That night, over a simple farmer’s dinner, they make plans for the next day. The older children will be sent to the outlying farms and, by horse, a little bit further on, to let everyone know that the priest is here. The day will be spent hearing confessions, anointing the sick, baptizing any babies that have been born in his absence, and planning with young couples for weddings to take place the next time he comes through. The farmers have been building a small stone church with the little money they’re able to collect and their own hard work. The wall’s about halfway built, about four feet high, and there is as yet no roof on the church. But, counting on good weather the next day, Fr. Neumann will celebrate Mass inside that little square, in the open air.