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Bishop's Message

RSS By: Bishop Robert Alan Rimbo




"Bridges Not Walls" 


"Puentes No Fronteras"



Grace and peace to you in the Name of Jesus as we enter 2018 together!


We are on the bridge - on many different bridges, to be frank. Transitions and changes surround us. So, I invite you to look back with me at two parts of our life together as a Synod that will have lasting impact. 


The Commemoration of the 500th Anniversary of the Reformation, "Reformation 500: Committed to Unity in Christ", on November 1 and in a variety of other events, marked this great year. At this Eucharist, we turned a page in our ecumenical and interfaith relationships. The response from various communions has pointed to a desire to join us on this bridge and work at tearing down walls that divide. I am pledged to lead us in these efforts drawing on the great spirit experienced at our remarkable commemoration. 




The second part of the new vision I have coming across the bridge into 2018 is our renewed and renewing commitment to various issues of immigration and welcoming of all people into our country and our churches. The SENT Committee is working hard at making the renewal happen and I pledge to be at the center of these efforts. Not only are we called to build bridges; we are also called to break down divisions by active participation in our communities at all levels. Lutherans have been central to the work of immigration justice for decades; it is an even greater need today. 


These two gifts from 2017 will continue to guide our efforts in 2018. Our unity as a Synod is a tremendous gift from God and together we will, by God's grace and power, cross these bridges into a bright future together.


A blessed New Year to all of you!



+ Bishop Robert Alan Rimbo

Metropolitan New York Synod, ELCA


















Finding Faith in an Age of Terror


This time of year, in a culture facing terror of all sorts, many people are wanting to find faith. I think a better way to approach this is to be in places where faith can find us. I’m not simply writing to invite you to a mosque or synagogue or church – although it would be great to see you there. I’m inviting you to places where people of faith gather. And, just to be clear, those are by no means restricted to houses of worship.


To be sure, there are plenty of those places available. On Christmas Eve I expect churches to be full. And I expect many who will sing "Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful" will be those who are simply wanting to be faithful, if only for an hour…or wanting to be more faithful because of what they are fearing. And that will be true not only of the Lutherans I represent.


The faith we seek to make available to people, the faithful community we will enter, are gifts from God. This faith and these people are marked by certain characteristics we need for the common good.


You may know that Lutherans are completing a year of grand celebrations surrounding the 500th Anniversary of the beginning of the Reformation. What I am hoping is that in the coming years we will move from that historic grounding we have commemorated toward greater cooperation with people of faith in ecumenical and inter-religious movements.


There is a great commitment among leaders of various communities of faith to engage progressive advances at the grassroots level, to promote tolerance, and to encourage people to flourish in a new and needed age of community. The amazing strides between Lutherans and Roman Catholics point to this.


There is a strong desire and willingness to work on welcoming all people in a spirit of generous hospitality. As a Lutheran I can say that many of my tribe are engaged in ministry with the LGBTQ communities. In our own Synod here in Metropolitan New York, we are working to address the systemic racism which is America’s original sin. We are strongly speaking out in opposition to the anti-Semitism and Islamophobia all around us. We are engaged with faithful people in our own country and around the world in addressing the abuses of power we see every day.


There are remarkable efforts at offering God’s welcome to immigrants and asylum-seekers and refugees, though we certainly look for more such opportunities in the face of governmental resistance. We will work actively to participate in inclusive welcome, as our Lord Jesus was himself a refugee.


There are local congregations in which people of faith are welcoming people of all races and nations, one of the great gifts of the amazing communities in which we live. We are striving to welcome the stranger without fear but with the same kind of faith that our ancestors experienced when they reached these shores and were welcomed by the first nations people.


There is a commitment to practicing a faith that is intimately connected with "peace on earth," the gift of wholeness that is truly the meaning of shalom.       


There is, in our churches and in many other religious communities, a welcome to the open table of God’s Reign where all can gather together.


And while we do not have all the answers, of course, we are faithful in responding to the terror all around, knowing that God is with us and guiding us into a new day of faith when war and hardship and suffering and oppression will be no more.


This is pious language. True words. What I am calling the synod I serve as bishop to do is to put these words into action for such a time as this. And I invite you to join me as faith discovers us together again and again.



Bishop Robert Alan Rimbo

Metropolitan New York Synod




Recovering a sense of community

Mar 31, 2015

Preached at the 2015 Chrism Mass

John 17:1-11

In the Name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

I have preached at Chrism Mass more than a dozen times, here in New York City and there in Detroit, and as far as I can recall, never once faced the challenge of the texts for Maundy Thursday, just proclaimed even though Maundy Thursday is the traditional day for this liturgy. They are filled with images: servant, like Jesus kneeling to wash feet; body, like the dead lamb, cooked and eaten in haste, like the crucified Christ, shared in the bread; blood that reminds God not to nail the Israelites, and like the blood Paul proclaims is the wine in the cup of the new covenant; a meal which is a kind of indicator of God’s community. And in this wondrous mix, we gather to renew our covenant with God, that which God made in water and the Word. And that which we have expanded in some sense with various vows made in various settings. There is enough, much richness here.

This is a week to immerse ourselves in that richness, in the paschal mystery, which is difficult to do if you are wondering about that missing acolyte or unprepared singer. So today, dear friends, I invite you to immerse your whole selves – mind and imagination, heart and senses. To see and listen, to touch and taste, to savor the presence of our Lord. This week a breath-taking event is taking place: we enter into the paschal mystery. Jesus Christ, hiding all that is divine in him, comes to us this week, here, and on the tongue of a Ukrainian miner and in the palm of the Salvadoran cook; on the stone altar of a cathedral in St. Petersburg and in the crude cement blocks of a Tanzanian chapel; in a hospital bed in Phoenix and in the splendor of this church today.

But, as always for us, it is much more than simply his coming to us in this meal but it is at least that. If that were all he did it would be enough. But this is the paschal meal. This is the meal that by God’s command each Jewish family celebrates each year to commemorate the exodus from Egypt, the passage through the Sea, the escape from Pharaoh. Jesus and the disciples did what faithful communities had done for centuries and still do today.

And that would be enough, but there is more. This is the meal of the new covenant, a pact not restricted to any one tribe or nation, a relationship open to all who will believe in him, a covenant of flesh and blood.

This would have been enough: the blood of God’s Son poured out for everyone. But there is more. Here is the new Paschal Lamb, the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. And, by his own telling, those who eat of this flesh and drink of this blood will be raised up on the last day and live forever.

That would have been enough, but there is more. We are reminded that all humanity is called to live in this covenant, to follow as disciples. Which could have been announced by simply saying so. But no – love is never content with simple words. He adds the final touch, the last stroke: Do this in remembrance of me. Until the end of time, all over the earth, take into your quivering, trembling hands the bread and body, the cup and blood of this Lord. For as often as we do this we proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes. By this death Jesus gave us life, and this Jesus is our Lord.

All of this would have been enough. But there is more. A meal with friends, family, community…Passover meal…a new covenant in the blood of God’s Son…a new Lamb…a Eucharist: and more, because all this takes us from Jesus to ourselves – each of us lay and rostered alike – and our calling to share this with the world God loves.

This Meal of Christ’s love reminds us that every meal has something of the sacred about it. Witness the simple luncheon we just enjoyed. I fear we’ve lost the age-old sense of that. Over the centuries, in myriad cultures, to break bread together was a privilege. To be a guest at table was to be invited into a community. To share bread was to share love.

We do as Christ did, in remembrance of him. We eat and drink his body and blood. But we do it as a community. The new and everlasting covenant Christ created was not a private pact with individuals. Yes, each of us is embraced in this covenant, but only because we are embraced with a people, the people God has chosen.

That is why, when we come together to share this covenant meal and to remember our Lord, we do so in community. There is no such thing as a private mass. We eat and drink together even across the tiny table in the hospital room.

This new community in Christ was always true, I think, but not always obvious.

As I grew up, the stress was indeed on communion – but primarily on my individual communion with Christ, a sort of me-and-Jesus spirituality. I was surrounded, of course, by others – sometimes ten, sometimes five hundred. And at the best times I actually was aware of them, even prayed for them. But nothing, no one, was to come between Jesus and me.

But there is more, isn’t there? Today, I think we are more aware of others. This is one of the reasons it is so important for us to have conversations in our congregations about the relationship between font and table, between Baptism and Communion, if for no other reason than to talk about this faith we share, this communion of which we are a part. We come to know one another, we come to know God in the mystery itself. We try to break down barriers. But it’s not the first time Christians have been called to work on things in community; read the Corinthian correspondence and you’ll be inspired. In the early Church there is evidence of some attempt to cool off the kiss of peace which apparently some people engaged a bit too lustily. Fact is, you may, without sin, find hugging another member of the community repulsive or even contagious. But the significant thing is what the Church, the community, is trying to do: help a covenant people live the covenant, recover the sense of community. The Church is the "we" of Christians. Christ gave his body and blood at the Supper and on the Cross, to fashion one body – the Body of Christ – linked in unique love. If that love is ever to break out like the love of Christ, it should begin here, in this community and in the communities you represent, the communities you serve.

You, members of communities of faith, the baptized and in some sense the great unwashed, pastors and deacons, diaconal ministers and associates in ministry, you too are claimed, chosen, blessed, broken, given for the life of the world as Jesus was. You – we – do not belong to yourselves. You – we – are given to others for their life. God changes us into Christ again and again – the body of Christ for the life of the world.

That’s why we gather here today, near the beginning of Holy Week, a time when you could use more time at your desk, even some preparatory resting at home, gearing up, anticipating the rigors and the sorrows and the joy of the Three Days… we gather here because we need to respond again and again to God’s promises to us and our promises to God. This meal, this ministry, this community makes sense only if it is linked to a passion, to redemption – our own and others’. It will bear the fruit for which Christ was lifted up when we become really present, when we are given for the life of the world, when our lives are so filled with Christ’s life that the eyes of the desperate light up with hope, the bellies of the starving are fed with bread, the hearts of the loveless beat with love, if someone who has no reason for living discovers it in Christ through you, taken and blessed, broken and given, living the Paschal Mystery for the life of the world.

In the Name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Bishop Robert Alan Rimbo

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