For my internship year in seminary, I was assigned to Trinity Church, Sigourny Street, in Hartford. Some of you may notice a familiar sound. This is where our previous Ministry Director, Dante, was placed last year and continues to work as a social media specialist. In the mid-1980s, the west end of Hartford was a very different place than it is today. Even though the Aetna office is right across the street. Almost every evening prostitutes and drug dealers plied their trade on the front steps of the church. The congregation was a wonderful mix of well-heeled insurance executives, doctors and lawyers who purposely came from the surrounding suburbs because they wanted to worship with the people in the neighborhood, the homeless who often joined us for relief from the cold, families who lived in public housing premises and in section eight who found in Trinity a place where they were warmly welcomed and respected by members of the congregation as a whole. After his first visit, Bishop Rowthorne noted with some delight that Trinity was the only church where the names of those confirmed ranged from William, Mathew, and Mary to Angel, Jose, and Shakara. Trinity was and still is a beautiful tapestry of humanity. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an original essay While I was there, part of my job within the congregation was to lead the youth ministry. Just because Trinity was a diverse congregation didn't mean it was free from problems. The youth group I inherited reflected the diversity of the parish. We had an equal number of young people from the suburbs and young people of color from the inner city. They came every week because, for some reason, they liked Maureen and me, and because they enjoyed the activities we had designed for them. But to tell the truth they didn't like each other very much. If we sat at the table, or stood in a circle, the kids from the suburbs sat on one side and the kids from the city on the other. Whenever I tried to get them to explain why this was the case, the conversation quickly became heated as each side accused the other of being the cause of the problem. When Maureen and I, along with the volunteers, discussed the problems we faced with this group, we knew that if we ever wanted to bring this group together, we would have to take the kids across the divide between suburbs and the inner city. The solution was to lock up on Holy Thursday and invite the children to keep vigil with the sacrament reserved for the whole night in the side chapel. The rules for the night were simple. We would keep vigil all night until, at seven the next morning, we celebrated the Good Friday liturgy. The boys took half-hour shifts in the chapel. They were encouraged to pray as long as possible, but if they could not maintain silence, they could speak to each other. But under no circumstances could they leave the chapel. The kids were okay with it until the leaders announced that we had paired them up. The moans were deafening as they realized that the time they would spend in the chapel would not be with one of their friends but with a person on the other side of the great divide. Being stuck in a dark and silent chapel is a unique experience. As each couple entered the chapel, their prayers lasted a maximum of five minutes, followed by more minutes of staring until finally neither could bear the silence any longer and the conversation began. This is what I was hoping for. In the midst of their conversations, each couple discovered that, although on the surface, their lives were very different. InUltimately they weren't that different, they shared similar frustrations and fears about what the future would bring, they were worried about test grades and the sense of isolation that most teenagers experience at some point in those early years of life. . When the group gathered to debrief the following morning, they all gathered on the large tufted sofa as they always had, only this time it was different. The great divide was no longer evident as they spontaneously and happily sat down with the person they had prayed with and shared what they had discovered about each other over the course of the night and the new bonds they had made. This morning Saint Paul asks the Corinthians: "For who knows what is truly human except the human spirit within himself?" In this statement Paul challenges the Corinthians and offers wisdom in a way similar to the Native American value of not judging a person until you have walked a mile in their shoes. In today's contentious and polarized world, we have lost the ability to actually talk to each other beyond jokes, social media memes, and protests. Instead of trying to understand each other, we are quick to judge while trying to convert each other while digging into our wounds, ready to defend our position with chauvinism and insults. If our world were ever to become the Kingdom we seek, we as God's people must heed Paul's challenge and wisdom by not settling for what is merely human but seeking the deeper reality of the spirit within. Over the past few weeks I have struggled with how to preach the gospel in the context of this divided world. And I know I'm not alone, countless colleagues have shared articles and blog posts about this various issue. We are all wondering how to preach the biblical commandment to seek justice and mercy when feeding the poor, welcoming the stranger, and loving our enemies have all become so politicized that we seek refuge and hide to avoid conflict. words of Christ this week to be the salt of the earth, to be the light on the stage or the city on the hill, I have come to understand that we must redefine our role as the church. Yes, we will continue to advocate for the poor and marginalized in whatever way God calls us to do. However, at the same time, in the same way Vince Lambardi reintroduced football to the Packers when he took over as head coach, we, the Church, must reintroduce ourselves to the art of listening and understanding without judgment. This is in line with how and why Jesus and the Church grew in the early years. Our message was not about judgment but about acceptance. The young people of Trinity learned during that wonderful night of Maundy Thursday, when they stopped judging based on what they thought they knew about each other and took the time to listen and learn about the other, what divided it was easily crossed on common ground. When we seek to understand our enemy, or someone who has hurt us, understanding may not bring us to agreement or to condone behavior, but it can lead to a place of forgiveness. When I started working for the Department of Children and Families, I was assigned an abuse case. I still remember how angry I was at the mother for what she did to her daughter before I knew anything about her. Luckily, before I went to meet this mother, my program supervisor sat me down, looked me straight in the eyes, acknowledged the anger I felt, and then said. “I know you don't understand why this woman did what she did, you're a young parent, you have a good marriage and a support system to help you, but trust me, when you're.